Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“We have a problem,” Dutton says, not even greeting me first. He tosses some photos onto the desk.
I walk over and frown at the images. Anger immediately pumps through my bloodstream.
“Who did this to her?” I ask, looking Dutton dead in the eyes. No one gets past Dutton’s security, especially here at Pearl or any of his other clubs. They focus solely on their women’s safety, so how the fuck did one of his dancers wind up dead? I know her. I’ve partied with her. And although I can’t remember her name, no one deserves this.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. We have a few men who have been rounded up who weren’t regulars with whom she danced with that night. This happened last night after her shift. Her boyfriend called me this morning saying she hadn’t come home. She was drugged. Obvious struggle. Abused. Killed,” he tells me.
My jaw tics. All I can see is Ivy’s smiling face. This could’ve been her.
What if I hadn’t been lucky enough to intervene in time?
“I’ve had a few reports that drugs are circulating that aren’t our product,” Eli says. “This is the first woman who has been drugged and attacked. It hits too close to home.” He lights a cigar and takes a deep inhale. “Another woman went missing.”
“It’s not just the drugs or attacks. We might be looking at a sex ring coming into town,” Dutton growls.
My hands curl into fists, and the tension in the room shifts. We might not be good men—we profit from power and making men bleed—but we don’t stand for women being hurt.
That stir of guilt rolls in my stomach as a set of wide, shocked eyes flash in my mind. A woman, dead because of me. I try to push it away.
Is this related to Ivy or just a coincidence? I open my mouth and then close it. I can’t tell them about Ivy when she asked me not to say anything.
“We need to deal with this before it becomes a problem,” Eli says, stating the obvious. “So now we hunt. I want us to track back to whoever the fuck thought it was a smart idea to put this shit out on my streets. We’ll make an example of them so everyone knows the consequences of angering the Monti’s.”
CHAPTER 22
Ivy
Ihaven’t seen Hawke since we had dinner with my parents. He messages me daily, checking in to see how I am. I don’t usually reply because the moment he thinks I’m not okay, he’ll be on my doorstep. Besides, I’ve picked up more projects this week to try and keep my mind occupied.
I have absolutely no interest in going on any dates, and the itch to find someone to satisfy my needs shrivels when I think about the effort. I just hate that I don’t feel like myself right now.
Makayla tries calling me several times, and I ignore her. I don’t blame her for everything that happened, but I’m very mad. Who even was that guy, Lester? I’ve never seen him at one of her parties before. Is she even aware that he’s doing this to women?
I finally decided to answer her a week later and agreed to meet up with her. While I wasn’t ready to speak to her last week, I think my mind is clear enough for it now. I needed some time to work through things before confronting her because Hawke is right; she’s a shitty friend. Not that I consider her that anymore, but I have to know how many other friends she’s let that happen to. Or was she just so fucked-up herself that she had no idea?
We meet for coffee in a cafe we’ve been to before. It’s pretty, with pink and blue flowers hanging from the ceiling, but I can’t appreciate its atmosphere as I approach where she’s sitting.
She stands as soon as she sees me, but I make no attempt to give her a hug. I don’t even pretend to smile as I take the seat across from her, and her smile falters. I don’t blame her for what happened, but I’m pissed that she didn’t check on me that night. She knows how much alcohol I can drink and not get sick. So for her not to be concerned that I was acting wasted after I only had a few shots was perplexing.
“Have you been avoiding me?” she asks, then takes a sip of her drink. Her nonchalant attitude pisses me off further.
“Yes.”
Her brows scrunch together in confusion and she begins to play with her nails, as if thinking that would magically dissipate the tension between us.
“Can I get you something?” a waitress asks me.
“No, thank you. I won’t be here for long,” I tell her, keeping my gaze pinned on Makayla.
Makayla’s focus snaps to me again. She’s not used to me being angry at her. I’m always happy and up for a good time. But that’s because I’m not usually hurt or in danger. I’m nice until I’m not. I was raised with sophisticated thugs, so not much scares or irritates me. But this does.