Ch 1-10

Summary

This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers. Wattpad’s Fiction Award Winner for The Best Protagonist, The Best Plot, The Best Supporting Character & The Best Friendship. At age nineteen, I was content to live in my older sister’s shadow to avoid the demons of my past, where I felt safe, protected and blinded from everything I had run away from. But then Kathy left for work one night and never came home. Lost in hope and forced to leave the impenetrable shield I built around myself, I traipsed in her footsteps, desperate to uncover the truth behind her disappearance, grappled possibilities and found myself sat in a familiar spot, gazing out of the same window to watch the only person I knew had the answers: Kathy’s former boss, Liam Warren, the most ruthless crime lord in London. You don’t approach a man like him, or solicit favours from a renowned criminal. You didn’t lie to get a job at his club, or portray to be someone you’re not. And most importantly, you do not fall in love with him. Follow Alexa’s journey of love and heartbreak, where she finds out everything she once knew turned out to be a lie.

PROLOGUE

I dreaded the sound of his heavy-duty boots on the hard floor. Each stealth-like step intensified innermost fears and anxieties. He was here this morning, his corpulent body on mine, his greedy hands cleaved to my skin, his low, throaty voice hot to my ear. It’s unlike him to return to the basement twice in one day to demand more.

Snatching the filthy threadbare blanket over my head, I laid motionless with bated breath, the thumping, muscular organ beneath my rib cage plunging to the depths of my empty stomach.

Please fall down the stairs, I thought, tasting salty tears on my dry lips. Let him miss a step and plummet to his death to relieve me from a life of darkness and shackles.

His footsteps stopped. I felt his intense stare roam over me and curled my toes, tucking my feet under the blanket away from the evilness that glinted in his eyes.

A tired, breathless sigh blew from his mouth.

Praying that he will forget I exist and move on, I closed my eyelids.

“Alexa, I know you are awake,” said a familiar voice, and my pinched eyes snapped wide. “Please come out.”

For a long moment, I remained under the safety of the duvet, wondering if perhaps the sound of Kathy’s voice was a misconception. Her closeness, a mystifyingly phantasmagorical encounter, one that I had dreamt and wished to see for countless days, or has it been months? Years?

I had lost count a long time ago.

“What if you’re not real?” I whispered, chewing my fingernails. “What if I come out and you’re not there?”

“I’m real.” She settled beside me on the floor, the protruding mattress springs complaining as she shifted for comfort. “Alexa.” She gingerly eased the blanket from my iron grip. “I’m real.”

I caught a throaty sob in my hand. “Where were you?” Bolting upright, I swiped sweat-slicked hair from my face and, lowering the blanket to meet her soft gaze, threw my arms around her. I sniffled into the groove of her neck. “I have missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” Tucking hair behind my ears, she kissed my cheek. “Guess what?”

My hands clung to her back. “What?”

“We are getting out of here.”

“What?” I eased back and stared into her hazel-coloured eyes, the same eyes that mirrored mine. “How?”

It’s an impossible task. There is no way out of this horrible place. I have tried many times and repeatedly failed.

“How did you get down here?” At the top of the stairs, I eyed the steel door in loathing. “Does he know?”

“No.” Her two rough fingers pressed on my chapped lips. “We must be quiet.”

Considering our depressingly unfortunate circumstances, her decent appearance, warm knitted clothing, flushed cheeks, and braided hair surprised me. I ran my sweaty palms over the stained nightgown he forced me to wear. I had begrimed toenails, and my hair reeked of stale vomit and other bodily odours. “We can’t leave,” I croaked, using the back of my hand to remove the consistent ooze trickling from my nose. “I have tried, Kathy, but I never make it past the hallway before one of them catches me and drags me back down.”

Sometimes I wonder if those men, the monsters above, leave the door unlocked like a sick, twisted, misleading game, allowing me to believe freedom awaits when, in actuality, I entertain them with my desperate struggles because there isn’t a way out of this mess.

“They are asleep.” Her hopeful eyes flickered to the ajar door. “This might be our only shot, Alexa.” Soaring to her feet, she extended an arm, silently asking me to take her hand. I warily slipped my palm over hers, and she helped me stand. “We can do this,” she assured confidently, lingering a kiss on my forehead. “We can get out of here.”

Unconvinced, I nodded half-heartedly.

“We mustn’t make a sound,” she warned, creeping towards the stairs.

In her shadow, I latched onto the back of her jumper and watched as my bare feet ascended each concrete step.

Kathy worked the door handle, the hinges groaning as it eased it open. “Stay close.”

Unable to formulate words, I nodded again.

Kathy crept into the darkened hallway, sidestepped raised floorboards, and gesticulated for me to keep up.

Fear gripped my heart. I slipped out of the basement and settled my back to the smoke-stained wall, spurning the wafting cigarette stench in the humid air.

I braved another step.

The floorboard creaked.

Kathy shot me a condemning glare.

Holding my breath, I skulked, not stopping until we entered the small box kitchen at the end of the hall. When she reached the back door, I held onto her with urgency. My body shook from head to toe. I don’t want them to catch us. “I’m scared.”

“We got this.” Her fingers jittered with a set of keys and, one by one, she inserted them into the lock. “Come on.” In frantic nervousness, she rattled the handle and the back door unlocked. “Stay close.”

Torrential rain and dark, starless skies greeted us. I am underdressed, undoubtedly unwell and bear no footwear, but the soft breeze against my face and wet dews dusting my lips were what I imagined heaven felt like.

“Shit.” Dread etched her twisted features. “We’re going to get soaked.”

Eagerness urged my restless legs to give away the moment I rushed to descend the concrete steps. I lost my footing and slipped, my body launching across muddy grounds. I am not on the floor for long, though. Staggering to my feet, I grappled the bottom of the stained gown and chased behind Kathy, darting into thick shadows. I had no concept of what was beyond the dense meandering trees as we snaked into the obscure woodland area, but I pray there is another house, one where we can find help, a kind couple that’ll protect us or call the police.

“I can’t breathe.” Goosebumps sheathed my skin, and heat rippled through my body, causing my cold cheeks to burn and chest to cave. I might struggle to breathe, and my body might ache from the balls of my feet to the tightening in my stomach—years of captivity have taken a toll on my limbs—however, emotionally, I’m unaffected. I welcome the rain and embrace the chilly night air. I savour the fresh, earthy smell as my lips instinctively part to taste downpour on my tongue.

“Keep running!” Kathy yelled over her shoulder.

Mist formed in front of me as I wrestled for breath. My feet sank into sodden grounds, mud squelche between my toes. I lethargically trailed behind Kathy, light-headed yet determined.

Wide-eyed and pallid, Kathy lurched into a tree, her hands fusing to the rough bark.

I came to an abrupt stop and followed her horror-stricken line of vision. “Why did you…?” An insurmountable lake, its waters eerily still and emitting fogs, taunted us. “What are we going to do?”

Deep in pensive thought, Kathy stepped back, her eyes downcast in defeat. “I don’t know.”

Over the sound of wailing winds, angry dogs shrieked into the night. Horripilation attacked my body. With parchedness of the throat, I worked on a tight swallow. “He knows.” I waded into the frigid water, the thunderous storms above wreaking havoc on our horizon. “They sent the dogs, Kathy.” Her fear matched mine. “What are we going to do?”

“We swim.” Shrouded in the murky fogs of darkness, her body disappeared into the water until her chin remained on the surface. “We need to go, Alexa. Now.”

Polluted waste and filamentous algae had me squirming as my chin floated. I ignored negative thoughts of diseases and what could be swimming around us. I’d rather filth on my skin to avoid one of those hounds mauling me to death. “Oh, my God.” Withering from the unidentifiable objects floating between us, I propelled forward. “It’s too cold.” Something slimy glided across my foot. “Kathy…” It touched me again, and I panicked, my arms and legs thrashing hysterically. “Kathy, what is it?”

“Alexa, don’t panic.” Kathy’s concerned voice failed to mollify my apprehensions.

Water invaded my throat. I coughed and spluttered. “Kathy!” My head dunked under the surface, causing momentary deafness, blindness. For a split second, while sinking into the dark, unknown, I feared that she’d leave me behind, forget about me. Relieve herself from this encumbering indebtedness. But then her hand found mine, her fingers tight on my skin, drawing me back to the surface.

My head flung back on a refuelling gasp. I braced my hands on her shoulders, salt sticking to my lips. I stared deep into her eyes, watching water beads dance on her lashes and her blue, chafed lips slow-moving as she murmured undetectable words. “Understand?” she mused, and, teeth clattering together, I nodded regardless of incomprehension.

Her eyes drifted over my head as animalistic howling amplified. “Now is not the time to panic.”

Respiring a choppy breath, I rested my chin on the water and drowned out the echoing barks, numbing all heightened senses until I reached the other side of the lake. Plunging my fingers into the muddy bank with tree roots, I utilised the precariously low hanging branches to pull myself onto terra firma.

Kathy, her wet clothes sodden to her pale skin, toppled onto her back beside me, choking up water, and then, lurching to her feet, she helped me to stand.

Matted hair stuck to my face, the raw night air tautening my ice-cold skin. Barely strong enough to uphold my weak limbs, I crawled ahead, making a lackadaisical attempt to stand.

I tumbled and growled.

I tumbled again.

Inwardly berating myself, I soared above every obstacle, every tree, boulder, and strewn debris, and dragged my sore feet back into the woods.

Branches snapping under her feet, Kathy, rubbing a chill from her arms, slowed to a calming pace.

Somewhere along our journey, the rain subsided. I looked up to the sky, but pea-souper smog blocked the views I had waited so long to see. “I never forgot,” I said, and Kathy glanced at me. “I still remember how wonderful freshly cut grass smells on a summer’s day and how mother’s baking lingered from the kitchen window when we played in the garden.” Out of breath, I paused, doubling over at the waist. “Do you remember?”

“Why have you stopped moving, Alexa?” Kathy placed a gentle hand on my lower back. “We need to keep going.”

“My lungs feel like they’re caving in.” Attempting to steady erratic inhalation and sporadic heart rate, I put a palm to my chest. “This is the most exercise I have done in years,” I half-joked, but she didn’t crack a smile.

“We can’t stop now, Alexa. I finally got you out of there.” She pinned me with a serious stare. “Do you trust me?”

“You’re my sister.” I trusted her with my life. “You know, I do.”

“Then trust your big sister.” She interlaced our fingers. “Run, Alexa. And don’t look back.”

Her motivating words repeated inside my head.

Gown hoisted to my waist, I shouldered past Kathy and broke into a jog, my feet striking the filthy floor. Everything encircling us became a passing blur, a heinously distant memory, a forgotten place that I never wish to revisit. I had no questions, no understanding, or explanations, but I knew this was our only shot, our final opportunity to salvation and freedom, a life beyond those prison walls in a place that never felt like home.

After what seemed like hours and miles of intermittent running, Kathy authorised an alleviating traverse through the forest. Woeful and uncommunicative, she toyed with a twig, whacking leafless branches aside as we strolled through trees—and then, amid the settled quietness between us, I heard a recognisable sound. “Kathy.” Eagle-eyed, I detected tremors under my feet. “Can you feel it?”

She bore an impatient expression. “Feel what?”

I squatted to splay my fingers into brown-stained sludge. “Vibrations,” I said, a small smile teasing my lips. “Feel it, Kathy.”

Kathy crouched beside me and put her hand atop mine. “I don’t feel anything.”

I listened to the quiet roar of elapsing cars and melodious songbirds in the distance. We stood in tandem, but it was me who took the gallant first step. Ambling around the trees, locating overgrown and unkempt hedges bespeckled in wild berries and climbing vine weeds, I brushed my fingers over a delicate white flower.

“There is nothing here, Alexa.” Kathy tossed the stick aside, dusting dirt from her hands. “I think we should climb up one of those trees to get a better view of our surroundings.” While she prattled on, I seized the vines, snapping and untangling them. “I mean, who knows? There’s probably a farm close…What are you doing?”

Ignoring Kathy’s lecturing rant of disapproval, I anxiously disassembled and eliminated the vines, thorns ripping across my arms, in search of an escape route. I parted the final hanging tendril, inches away from a metal barrier, and soft, warm light appeared. Serpentine rocks nestled in the soil, deeply rusted old beer cans, and shredded litter crushed under my footsteps. I stared at the fence and, seconds later, a vehicle sped past, the strong gust of wind blowing hair strands across my face. “We found cars.”

Amid omnipresent traffic, unbeknownst to the drivers speeding without a care in the world, stood two young girls, terrified, confused, unwell and heartbroken.

I raised a trembling hand to feel the warm sunrise on my fingertips, expecting flesh to burn, singe, or for someone to jump out and drag us back to the eternal fires of hell. I have dreamt of this moment too many times to enumerate, imagining what freedom entailed with each restless nightmare.

“Alexa,” Kathy seized my nightgown, halting my next step. “Please, don’t go out there.”

“There isn’t a force on this earth that could stop me now,” I said fiercely, tilting a defiant chin and hiking a leg over the waist-high barrier. “Not even you.” I hesitated, my barefoot almost touching the ground, and then, one toe at a time, I made it onto the other side. An ear-splitting horn blared as a car dashed past. I cowered behind my hands and recoiled to the ground, a slight whimper falling from my lips. “Don’t be scared.”

Headlights raced past in colourful patterns.

“We did it.” Deranged laughter rattled in my throat. “We made it, Kathy.” I studied the night sky, a stray tear creeping from my eye, rolling down my cheek.

I fight the urge to slap myself to ensure our escape isn’t a cruel dream or a ridiculous yet realistic fantasy, one with intensified emotions that’ll awaken me at any given moment to return me to those four imprisoning walls. Needing reassurance, I sink my fingernails into my forearm, hissing through the stinging pain I had caused myself.

Bright beams blinded me. I squinted, shielding my eyes with a draped arm. Hearing a door slam, followed by feet shuffling towards me, I awaited whoever gravitated. “Dear,” a soft yet throaty voice croaked, “are you alright?”

I laid motionless and peered through my fingers to see an older man holding stark terror and fear in his eyes.

“I’ll get help.” He fumbled with a mobile phone, putting it to his ear. “I need the police.” He visibly swallowed, Adam’s apple shifting in his throat. “I found a young girl—no, she needs help, ma’am.” His sadness coasted to the bruises on my exposed legs, the filth and blood on my once white sleepwear. “We’re on the hard shoulder of the motorway, ma’am—not an accident. Yes, I can wait.” Ending the call, he whipped his head from side to side, unsure what to do or how to help. “We’re going to get you some help, kid, okay?”

I trust nobody, but he doesn’t seem threatening or harmful, so I nodded, embarrassed and ashamed.

Immobilised in the bushes, Kathy stood taller, her eyes never leaving me. “Kathy,” I said quietly, and her shoulders drooped timidly. “Don’t leave me.”

“Good God.” The nameless man stood to his full height, the cap from his head held to his chest. “Please come out. I won’t hurt you.”

Kathy climbed over the small barrier. “Stand up,” she said quietly, and I listened. Her back shielded me from the male.

“What happened to you?” He asked. “No. It can’t be.”

Pressing my chest against Kathy’s back, I glimpsed over her shoulder.

“You’re the…” His mouth opened and then shut. “I recognise you…”

Impossible, I thought.

Nobody knows we exist anymore.

The distant sound of sirens intruded my ears, slicing through our awkward exchange and approaching emergency vehicles began to corner us. Flashing blue beacons illuminated alongside an ambulance. Police officers reared first, decreasing the volume of their crackling radios.

Kathy fussed with my appearance, effacing dirt from my cheeks, her fingers unsuccessfully combing through the ends of my ratty hair. “You know nothing,” she said in a low, thick voice. “You don’t know who took us or why.”

“Why?” I asked, not wanting to lie. “They will help us.”

Kathy held onto me. “I don’t want him to get mad.”

When the emergency services arrived, I expected an ambush, but surprisingly, the detectives reduced their pace. “What’s your name?” The question came from the younger male. He wriggled his fingers into sterile gloves, and I found myself oddly fixated on every movement, each step, the way he narrowed his eyes and how he sucked his upper teeth. “I am coming closer,” he continued, and Kathy’s protective grip on me tightened. “I am not going to hurt you, so please do not feel alarmed or do anything stupid. We only want to help you, okay?”

I forced my sister to let go and sidestepped her shaking body to meet the detectives halfway. Kathy hissed something I didn’t quite catch; however, I felt her anger.

“It’s okay,” the detective assured. “You are safe now.”

Paramedics opened the rear ambulance doors, preparing to drive us to the emergency unit. I welcomed the detective’s touch on my hand and listened when he instructed me to become seated.

I answered questions numbly while journeying to the hospital but declined water, wondering why they hadn’t let Kathy travel in the same vehicle. At least, I have her, the woman who smiles a lot.

On arrival, a team of doctors awaited, wheelchairs and nurses in tow, ushering me through the building into a private room where I felt like a caged animal undergoing scientific tests and examinations.

All I wanted was my sister.

Kathy was close but not close enough to touch or converse.

“Not yet,” the male doctor advised the female nurse, refusing my right to shower. “Evidence.”

He closed the door behind him.

I am standing in a stark white room, disrobed, red-faced and abashed. The quiet nurse slipped my nightgown into a clear bag, sealed it for evidence and examined my body while jotting down notes. “Can you open your mouth for me, sweetheart?” She asked, and my lips parted for her to swab my inner cheek. “Well done. Can you lie on the bed for me, please?”

Reading the national health poster on the wall, I laid on the bed. I waited for her to finish the swabs. “Let me know if you feel any pain or discomfort,” she said, her assessment between my legs proceeding. “Not much longer.” I continued to read the poster. “Can you read that, sweetheart?”

My brows drew in. Of course, I can read. I am not illiterate.

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Assisting me into a sitting position, she used tools to eliminate grime from under my fingernails, scraped skin cells, and then, after cutting strands of my hair, she led me to the small bathroom to collect a urine sample.

Once the examination ended, the nurse handed me a white towel and asked me to shower. I never wanted to leave the small cubicle. I stood under the warm spray, watching dirt dilute with water as it coiled around my feet. Gentle, she told me. Don’t scrub too hard—but her words had zero effect on me. I tore my flesh, cleansed my body, mind and soul, eliminating every vicious beating, unpleasant touch, and unwanted memory.

“Not much longer,” the female detective said, asking me to turn for her to capture images of the abrasions on my back. “You must be hungry?” A flash danced off the wall with another shot. “Turn for me.”

I cupped my breasts and turned. “Yes, I am hungry.”

Startled by my voice, her finger paused above the camera button and our eyes collided. “Do you have a sandwich preference?” I shook my head. “Soup, perhaps?” I nodded. “Can you confirm your name?” I stared unblinkingly. “Okay. You can get dressed.”

I changed into warm clothing, longed for my sister, and soon fell asleep on a comfortable bed.

“Malnourished,” the doctor told the male detective who helped me inside the ambulance three nights ago. “Infections and broken yet healed bone structure along the ribs…” He checked notes on a clipboard. “Clavicle damage, cranial fracture, arms and left elbow fractures.”

Past beatings unaffected mobility. I stroked my protruding ribs, recalling the pain, but not when it happened.

“We removed Nexplanon from her arm.”

Nexplanon, I thought, glimpsing at the purple bruising on my upper left arm.

“I am happy with her progress. I will sign her discharge papers.”

The doctor walked out of the hospital room, leaving me alone with the male detective and his female co-worker. He put us shoulder-to-shoulder, highlighting how tall I was for a twelve-year-old.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked, and I shook my head again. “I need you to come down to the station with me for a short while so that I can ask some questions. Is that okay?”

I nodded.

I am only allowed to nod.

Presently, I stand inside a small, windowless room, pacing back and forth and counting floor tiles. On the table, a ceramic mug filled with coffee beckoned me. I pulled out a chair, became seated and lifted the coffee to my nose to inhale its pungent aroma. I sipped a generous amount, licked the rich flavours from my lips. My mouth twisted in disapproval. Maybe it’ll grow on me. I heard the door unlock and straightened, the quick, panicked movement jerking coffee onto my rigid fingers.

Offering another friendly smile, the male detective, who I assume is handling my case, takes a seat opposite me. “I heard you’re upset because we separated you and your friend, kid. Separation is for your mental state. It’s not because you are in any trouble.”

Yes, I had screamed earlier when they locked me inside this room. I am worried about Kathy. I need to know if she’s okay.

“Now that you’ve had the chance to calm down. Are you prepared to answer some questions for me?”

Kathy told me not to breathe a word about our abductor. I should listen to her, but I want these officers to find him. I will never rest if he’s still out there, waiting for an opportunity to retake me, or worse, snatch another defenceless child from the safety of her home. “Yes.”

Eyebrows jumping to his hairline, the detective shot me a surprised look. “Okay.” Pleased by my cooperativeness, he placed various case files across the table, exhibiting missing children.

Some as young as three years old stare back at me. I focussed on the folder belonging to us, Kathy and me, for a while. Reaching for the stapled image, I unclipped it from the file and touched my mother’s beautiful face.

How did they obtain our family photo?

It was only the three of us. I wore a flowing dress decorated with red and green flowers. Mother made a picnic for dinner. We spent the entire afternoon at that park, playing, running, stopping for juice and the occasional snack, returning to the swings, and failing at headstands.

It was a scorching day. Mother applied sun cream to our skin to avoid burns and blisters. Kathy had complained for hours about the heat and how she wanted to be with friends, not at the park with her baby sister. But she had tried. She taught me how to kick a ball in the net, and when I missed, she encouraged me never to give up, and eventually, albeit unenthusiastically, I did nail the net. I kicked the ball straight and scored, and she was so proud. Mother soon bought us ice cream.

They talked while I listened. Mother was a beautiful woman. She had lustrous back hair that sat just above her shoulders, red-painted lips, high cheekbones dusted in shimmer and modelled long summer dresses, strappy sandals and bug-eyed sunglasses. I recall their heated argument.

Kathy promised not to stay out late if Mother let her attend a party, and mother worried our father might be angry if she allowed their eldest daughter to party with friends. In the end, Mother had agreed just as long as Kathy kept their secret. I am unsure of how the day ended. I do, however, recall our mother chasing us until we hid behind a tree…

I smiled at the memory.

The detective was still looking at me. “Is that particular photo familiar to you?”

I nodded.

“Can you confirm that you and your friend in the other room are the two sisters in the photo?” His broadened eyes pleaded with me to cooperate. “Kid?”

A string of silence stretched between us. “Yes,” I answered. “I’m Alexa Haines.”

“You are Alexa Haines?” he asked again as if he required reassurance. “And the other girl is Kathy Haines.”

I released my iron grip on the mug. “Yes.”

The detective glared at me in bewilderment and then jumped up so fast the chair beneath him crashed against the tiled floor. He rushed to the door, swung it open and yelled at anyone with a pair of ears.

In the wake of my confession, the hours went by in yet another blur. Despite the fact the police department trod cautiously around us, I sensed they silently celebrated our case. It’s not often incidents like ours, Kathy’s and mine, resulted in happy endings.

The following morning, they interrogated me again.

Where did you stay?

Do you remember any names?

Can you tell us what he looked like?

Were there others?

Familiarities? Disfigurements? Tattoos? Smells? Surroundings?

“Did you suffer from any sexual exploitation?” His gaze lingered on my frail frame. “Miss Haines?”

Mortification heated my face. Hands fumbling on my lap, I clenched my thighs together. “No.”

“Just for clarification,” he probed while scribbling notes. “No sexual assault or penetration took place.”

Odious flashbacks sprung tears to my eyes. “No.”

His lips thinned into a grim line. He peered over black-framed reading glasses, sympathy in his soft gaze. “Can you tell us where you slept?” He changed the subject. “Was there a routine? Were you authorised to leave the house?”

“In a room…” Four concrete walls. No windows. Clattering, rusted pipes and sewerage stench. “There was a mattress that I slept on. It was cold down there…” Freezing, I thought, revisiting its icy temperature. “I used to paint…” Yes, I painted, drew colours, flowers and happy memories. “I think—his voice. He had a strong accent. He frequently talked in his native language.”

The two co-workers shared an unreadable look. “Do you have any concept of what language he spoke?”

“Lexi.” My throat tightened. “He called me Lexi.” Overwhelmed by undesired emotions, I lowered my gaze, wishing the uptight female psychologist sitting next to the detective would stop trying to psychoanalyse me. “Sometimes, there was a chair in the room and bugs. Yes, bugs crawled on the concrete and…” My teeth sank into my lower lip. “I don’t know.” I closed my eyes again, searching for memories, failing at finding them. His face—he was much older, but what colour eyes did he have? What did he wear? Who were his friends? “What’s happening to me?” I asked in despair. “How can I not remember the most significant part of my childhood?”

He exchanged another illegible glance with the female before saying, “Trauma.”

“Trauma,” I repeated in frustration. “Do I have that?”

“Psychological trauma damages the mind.” Straightening her elegant posture, the therapist, who had barely said two words since joining the meeting, balanced a clipboard on her crossed legs. “Typically, trauma is the outcome of an overpowering quantity of stress which exceeds the mental capacity to cope with emotions associated with that experience.”

Baffled, I waited for her to finish.

“It may take weeks, years, or even decades for you to deal with trauma. Divulging can only relieve you, Miss Haines. Withdrawing and refusing help can be damaging to your mental health. It could lead to severe, long-term negative outcomes.”

My features hardened out of stubbornness. “I don’t want to live like that.”

“That’s why I’m here so that I can help you,” she said, the scribbling sound of her pen continuing. “Now, distress differs among individuals according to their personal experiences. People of victimisation react to similar distressing events differently. Not everyone who undergoes such incidents is psychologically traumatised, particularly if they address their problems and receive help.”

“Everything you say is significant,” the male detective explained. “Even the smallest of details has the potential to lead us somewhere.”

“He was older.” I picked imaginary lint from the oversized hoodie he’d given me to wear. “And he smelled disgusting—like stale cigarettes and something musky.” I grimaced, listening to the rain sprinkle on the window. “There were others.”

“Others?” His folded arms braced on the table. “What else?”

“Other girls. They never stayed long. Only a few days if I were lucky.” Lucky enough to have company, I thought. “I stopped befriending them.”

“Do you know where he kept you?”

“In a basement,” I replied, exasperation simmering inside me. “That’s all I remember. I slept in a basement, separated from everyone else who lived there.”

“Were there other adults accompanying your captor?” His lower lip rolled between clenched teeth. “Men or women?”

“Men…” I don’t think there were women. “They didn’t visit me, though. They brought other girls to where I stayed, but they’d be gone again—never looked or talked to me. It was only him. He was the only person who handled me.” Admitting his fondness aloud sickened me. I will never understand why he held onto me yet discarded the others. “Him.”

“You claimed that you and Kathy managed to run away.” He revised notes. “How long did it take you to find the motorway?”

“I already told you this.” Wearisome, I huffed out a breath. “I managed to escape and run. I did not look back or count steps or take any damn notes. I had one opportunity to regain freedom. I took it.”

He tossed the notes onto the table. “I am only trying to help you, kid.”

“I know that!” I yelled defensively. “But you ask me the same questions when I have already told you that I do not remember.”

“Our team has worked all night investigating the area we discovered you and Kathy. We are going to do everything we can to find this man.” He slipped the therapist a sad smile. “I think she’s suffered enough over the last two weeks.”

I frowned at his words. “Two weeks?”

Has it been that long?

Where did the time go?

Why am I losing all sense of awareness?

He gestured for me to follow. “Come on.”

Kathy was in the hallway, impatiently waiting for the interview to end. “Why did it take so long?” she asked him, holding my hand in fear they might separate us again. “Is it done? Can we go?”

“Yes.” After signing the final documentation, the detective brandished a set of keys and an envelope. “Let’s find somewhere safe for you girls to call home.”

Home, I thought.

I looked at my sister. “What happens now?”

“I’m twenty-one, Alexa.” Kathy entwined our fingers together. “I’m going to take care of you.”

I put my head on her shoulder. “You promise?”

Her lips pressed to my temple. “I promise.”

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

Alexa

I ran across the pavement full pelt, frayed rucksack over one shoulder, unusable laptop tucked under my arm, dodging commuters and tourists alike, and then, as if the windswept hair and ruined makeup weren’t enough reason to turn around, rain-filled potholes seeped into the second-hand daps on my feet. I saw the coffee shop, double-checked the busy road for oncoming vehicles, and dashed to the entrance in time to avoid incoming Bentley vehicles.

The smell of strong coffee permeated the air. I skipped the queue, as cheeky as ever, apologised to customers and, emptying change on the counter, ordered a regular latte. With the beverage in hand, I rushed to my favourite booth, the one by the window with mismatched fabrics and random scatter cushions, and set everything on the rustic table, two pens and a notepad laid next to the broken laptop. I twirled the biro between pinched fingers and scribbled my sister’s name across the lined paper. It’s my go-to method to look busy, write, doodle, draw.

I checked the time on the wall-mounted clock.

He will be here any moment.

Sipping coffee, I unlocked my phone and utilised the camera to inspect the dire state of my appearance. Gale force winds wreaked havoc on the mane. I removed the bobble from my wrist, dragged my hair into a messy bun atop my head, leaving a few loose strands by the ears, and used a napkin to efface the smudged mascara under my eyes.

I spotted the first black Bentley outside and felt a thrill of nervousness. Pretending to type on the laptop, I lowered my head and got a handle on erratic breathing.

You can do it, I thought, reaching for another sip of coffee.

No, I had to do this.

Walking away was not even an option.

Kathy Haines. My sister. My best friend. My keeper.

I am doing it for her.

Tears saturated my eyes. I blinked them back and concentrated on the task. After all, if it weren’t for my past behaviour, Kathy would still be here. It’s my fault she’s gone. I am responsible for her disappearance.

Kathy and I are the product of child abduction. We are also survivors who outlived gruesomeness, which sounded very poetic and somewhat inspiring, but it’s more complicated than that. Doctors, nurses, therapists, psychologists and detectives, forget to highlight the severity of post-captivity, the restoration of the human mind and how the encumberment of traumatisation leaves permanent indelible scars.

For many years, I have battled nightmares, voices inside my head, memory lapses, unpleasant flashbacks and panic attacks, which both debilitate and humiliate, and Kathy, having to be strong and brave for her younger sister, saved her tears for the pillow at night.

At least, the above mentioned habituated before my sister’s forbearance snapped under too much stress and frustration. I recall the night like it was yesterday. I had roused to disembodied voices and hallucinatory shadows in the bedroom, and, in my mind, he was there, taunting me, watching me, touching me. I screamed, the loud, ear-splitting shriek tearing my voice box, impermanently damaging my ears, and Kathy, having only been in the room next door, rushed to my side, wrapped me in her arms and whispered our mother’s song until I was sweaty yet calm.

Kathy stayed in my bed that night, and when I reawakened, she was studying the ceiling, dark, grey circles around her eyes, and I knew, just by looking at her pained expression, something was brewing.

How can you look forward to the future if you let the man of our past control you?

Kathy’s question had me by the tongue. I wanted to argue that nothing in life is that easy. No amount of pep talks and therapy sessions prepare you for the aftermath of abuse. You live with those memories daily. You see the person responsible for your pain before shutting your eyes at night. You see the very same person when opening your eyes in the morning. You feel his unwanted touch when scrubbing yourself raw in scalding showers. You hear his voice whenever you sit in mute silence.

Don’t you want to be happy, Alexa?

It was another question to render me speechless. There was a point in life that I craved happiness more than oxygen. No, I did not want to live with the demons of my past. I wanted to make more friends, go to college and land a weekend job. I also wanted to meet a cute lad and date like all the other teenage girls.

I snorted at the thought.

Not once, while attending high school, did a lad pay attention to the “missing” Haines girl. I was not on their radar. Hell, I skipped prom to save dateless-face and ate my weight in strawberry ice cream while watching classic movies on the box instead.

I have more or less surrendered to the fact I may never date. I mean, over the years, while visiting grocery stores or perambulating through the streets of London, I had, on occasion, bumped into an unthreatening guy, and every time, they seemed intrigued, possibly interested, and one gent went as far as asking for my number, but I did what I do best. I freaked out, said something too humiliating to repeat and ran in the opposite direction.

You see, I hate the touch of a man.

I have trust issues and question their motives.

Are they really interested, or is it sexual attraction?

Will they get what they want and then toss me aside like a worthless carcass?

I refuse to be any man’s plaything. Not again.

More Bentley vehicles mounted the curbside outside.

I took another sip of lukewarm coffee.

Who cares if it’s just sex? We are allowed to have fun, Alexa. Besides, meaningless fucking helped me. Maybe it can help you, too.

Those wise words came from my older sister. Kathy’s uncaring, unaffected persona was her chosen coping mechanism, but she is a lot stronger than me, both physically and mentally.

I am not ashamed to admit that I am the more delicate sibling.

Kathy had to grow up quicker than expected. I guess we both did on some level. With her being the eldest, she embraced all the responsibilities and encouraged me to live the life of a typical teenager, which I tried, irrespective of fears.

I adore Kathy. She is a gorgeous woman, long ebony hair, beautiful hazel-coloured eyes, curvy, toned, and muscled. I am not curvaceous, but more on the thinner side of life with minimal assets. My long, brown hair fell to the waist but lacked lustrousness. We’re alike yet different. I’m quiet and reserved. She’s loud, frank, and tells people exactly what she thinks of them. I enjoyed pyjama days cooped up on the sofa and wore unrevealing clothes, while she loved the big hair, full-faced makeup and skimpy outfits.

We can’t go on like this, Alexa. You refuse to take medication to help with anxieties, and you no longer wish to seek therapy, yet there is no improvement. You still cry. You still suffer from panic attacks. I am tired. I am so, so tired, sis. Something has to give. It’s unavoidable. We must address this once and for all. I cannot sit back and do nothing. So, I have an idea. It’s something I have thought about for a while now. Hear me out first. What If I told you I did a little digging?

Kathy’s lecture that morning weighed heavily on my shoulders. I felt guilty for exhausting my sister. Who was I to hold her back when she had done everything within her power to overcome psychological trauma?

Justice, she told me. We deserve justice. You need closure. It’s the only way. The police department failed us, Alexa. Our case remains unsolved. If they can’t help us, then we have to help ourselves. I have to do this for you.

Naturally, I blame myself for Kathy’s conclusion. If I hadn’t complained and groused so much over the years, she’d have never looked for the man responsible for our terrible childhood.

That’s because you refused to meet them halfway, Kathy.

Do you blame me?

It’s not that I blame you. I’m just saying that you were older. You probably remembered more than me. Perhaps if you went back to the police and gave them a thorough statement, they might find something. Your memory is better than mine. It’s better than looking for the man ourselves.

No. I’m not asking those officers for help. This is on us—only us, Alexa.

And how do we do that?

I think I know someone that can help. I asked around. I got information about this guy who might help us, but I must play my cards right. He isn’t someone you can just walk up to, either. I heard, when he wants something done, he accomplishes it.

As you can imagine, I was profoundly sceptical. How can a young woman haul our monster behind bars if an entire police department failed? And the mysterious man, how much help could he really provide? Yes, I wanted our childhood captor incarcerated, but isn’t it best to let sleeping dogs lie?

Kathy, do you think this man can help find our abductor?

Alexa, I believe this man could wipe our captor off the face of the earth.

I entertained the ideas for my sister’s sake as I assumed her ludicrousness would blow over eventually. It wasn’t long before I realised Kathy was serious when she started brainstorming ridiculous plans of luring our monster straight to our lair. The woman had lost her marbles because no one in their right mind hunted down the person who had ruined our lives. However, it did not matter that I opposed Kathy’s stratagem. She had made a final decision.

She was to locate the man and give us the closure we deserved.

Presently, this is where he comes into play.

Liam Warren.

He is the man I am watching right now, the one who owns the Bentley vehicles out front, the one who entered this very coffee shop every Friday, suited to the nines, to order black coffee from the flirtatious redhead before he leaves.

Liam has an army of staunch Suits protecting him. Yes, I titled them Suits because it’s easier than trying to learn all their names. The blond Suit is utterly gorgeous and should be on the front cover of Vogue for men. He models expensive attire and a striking jawline. Beautiful whiskey-coloured eyes aid his amorous mannerism and a teasing grin that has women losing their knickers at the drop of a hat. The number of times I have witnessed him entice women for morning sessions in the male restroom is shocking. Blond Suit winked at any lady who captures his attention. He appreciates them in all shapes and sizes and is easily pleased just as long as he has an awareness of the female population.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Bald Suit. He is the unapproachable and miserable member. He zones into space, never smiles, and has the hair on your neck stood in trepidation with one look. He is also unattractive and openly checks out women half his age.

I swallowed chilled coffee.

Baldhead and unsmiling scares the shit out of me.

Next up, we have the mixed-race guy. He’s always the last to enter, just behind the blond Suit. Today, he’s smiling. That’s an odd occurrence in itself. He’s the quiet, mysterious Suit. He clasped the boss’ shoulder and murmured something in his ear, which had them both suppressing a smile. I will call him the green-eyed Suit because his forest green hues stand out like beacons.

Green-eyed Suit is handsome, muscled with outstanding features. He oozes maleness. From jawline to knuckles, tattoos artistically decorate his light brown skin, and gold statement rings iced his inked fingers. He appears to be one of Liam’s closest men alongside the blond. I have observed enough to distinguish those two men as more than colleagues to their boss, particularly the guy who should cover Vogue. He is unquestionably Liam’s right-hand man.

There are more Suits outside by the black Bentleys, smoking cigarettes or the occasional joint. Those men never involve themselves with Liam and his routine. They stand back, observant, always ensuring their boss’ safety.

I never allow these men to catch me surveying. Pretending to type on my broken laptop, I keep my eyes down, listening to music spilling from aloft speakers.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

In their eyes, I am a typical nineteen-year-old college girl that enjoys studying in an aroma filled environment, drinking an abundance of beverages.

I do not stand out. I tap away, drinking too much caffeine and feigning to be none the wiser to the Suits hanging around here.

So, now you wonder why I have been watching Liam Warren on Fridays. Well, he was the man my sister told me about. He’s the hired help, the person who could track down our childhood captor.

Kathy landed a job at the famous Club 11, or some might call it a hooker house. Well, the preferred term is a strip club or gentleman bar, but Kathy told me the erotic dancers had many roles and earning additional cash in private rooms from clientele was one of them. Her boss, Liam Warren, the man who currently reads a message on his phone, hired her on the spot. Apparently, it was an easy interview. All she had to do was flaunt her assets and prove she could dance, which, in her words, she nailed like fine art.

Kathy worked long, graveyard shifts at Club 11, but she promised never to entertain clientele, not even for the extra cash. She did, however, make massive sterling on the poles as men loved her erotic boldness.

Liam was unsuspecting of Kathy’s motives. He hired the woman and paid her generously, not knowing that her no-brainer plan of action was to befriend him for abetting the enemy.

I have to earn his trust first, Alexa.

Kathy’s strategy was to lure him under false pretences and, well, get him to like her, I guess. Two months later, her master plan worked. It wasn’t long before Kathy and Liam did the deed, or, as my sister loved to tell me, fucked like wild animals.

If they had a sexual agreement, it meant answers, right?

I demanded juicy updates weekly.

Have you managed to ask for Liam’s help?

Do you think this is a waste of time?

What’s your boss like, anyway?

Kathy never returned with any positive news.

Not yet, Alexa.

It’s too early to ask, Alexa.

We need to be patient, Alexa.

Give it another month, Alexa.

I need more time, Alexa.

I stopped requesting updates.

After a few months, I noticed a change in my sister’s demeanour. Working for Liam started as a chore for Kathy, but she was eager to be early for her shift as time passed. She smiled and sang as she glamorised and purchased expensive lingerie and designer heels. And then, she stayed away most nights and seldom took time off work. I was mostly alone in our flat, twiddling my thumbs, eating more ice cream, cleaning until bleach burnt my skin and stung my eyes.

One morning, Kathy stumbled into our flat with the world’s largest hickey on her neck, and when I eyed the redness on her skin, she told me it was love. Love. Kathy was in love with her boss, Liam Warren. Her infatuation certainly explained the lack of home visits.

I hadn’t even questioned her on the matter.

I simply ate more ice cream instead.

Kathy opened up more regarding her relationship with Liam. Against my will, she’d park her arse on my bed in the morning and tell me how he’d fuck her into oblivion with his monster cock—apparently, I needed to know that—and those vulgar declarations nauseated me.

Why would I be interested in my sister’s sex life?

Knowing Kathy was in an excellent position to ask for Liam’s help, I proceeded to push her on our initial reasoning (to locate our captor, remember?), yet she was still unable to request her boss’ assistance. I found it hard to believe, considering she was having sex with the guy. But, hey. What do I know, right?

For months, I listened to my sister sing about her fantastic, compassionate and attentive lover, who escorted her on dates, wined and dined and treated her as if she were a queen. Feeling somewhat jealous that she had met someone and overcome her past, I would digest every pointless detail.

As Kathy spent most of her spare time with Liam, I was grateful that my friend, Chloe, started staying over to keep me company, especially at night when darkness descended the walls. Even though I had become accustomed to living by myself, there was no denying I was lonely and talking to my reflection in the bathroom mirror had me doubting my sanity.

And then, the shift happened. My sister went to work one morning and never came home, which wasn’t unusual, but two days turned into four, and four days turned into a week, and I knew something was wrong. Yes, Kathy had been romancing the stone, but an entire week with no text messages or phone calls had uneasiness rioting in the pit of my stomach.

To this day, I will never understand why I worried about Kathy. It’s not as though her uncommunicative behaviour was uncharacteristic. But call it a woman’s intuition, her absence troubled me. I called the police department. I visited the police department. I all but begged the police department to help me find her. But Kathy’s not a minor. She is an adult. Her disappearance was unsuspicious and unquestionable.

Thanks for the assistance and reassurance, assholes.

I left the City of London Police more distressed than when I had arrived.

I called her phone.

I texted her phone.

Her phone stopped ringing.

Messages no longer delivered.

My sister vanished without a trace.

In the initial months following my sister’s disappearance, I stayed in bed, crying, eating, crying, eating. I feared our monster found her. I feared never seeing her again.

My martyrdom came to an end when Chloe, my best friend and roommate, compelled me to leave the bed to show me a game plan she had orchestrated. We sat together, ingesting coffee while brainstorming, and finalised our conversation by agreeing to find Kathy ourselves.

I had one lead.

Liam Warren.

My sister’s former lover.

Now that you’re up to speed, I can tell you that I have observed him from this very booth every Friday for the last five months. And no, I am not a stalker. Every Friday, I swore it would be the day I approached him, but I always lost my courageous balls and watched him leave instead. It was not the right time to speak to him—snort, that’s a complete lie. I never cornered him because our pending introduction quite literally terrified me.

All I had to do was walk over and ask him for a job at Club 11. But, as you’d expect, leading up to this moment, I had done my homework. Absorbed the stories and speculations. This man is cold-hearted, unprincipled, merciless, corrupt and dangerous. He is an unwelcoming, unfriendly murderer, who I should keep at a distance.

Is it any wonder that I avoided him like the plague?

I collected such beneficial knowledge from random people I had met while doing what I like to call “The Warren Exploration.”

Spending many nights rushing through the streets of London, I lurked for innocent prospects. Many refused to enlighten me. I have lost count of how many times I asked a simple question, and they’d return with a horrified gasp or a grim warning to never speak of the man. However, infrequently, I managed to obtain helpful information from drunks. Imbibing alcohol and drugs gave them the courage to educate me.

Liam Warren was allegedly ten feet tall and could kill a man with his bare hands. He had numerous marriages, a bigamist with children scattered all around the East Ends.

One friendly yet concerning male told me Liam’s into cannibalism.

I was discombobulated.

The streets fabricated stories for dramatic effect. People lied. Liam was tall, but not on a drastic scale. So, he’s a deranged murderer with a taste for blood, not that crazy, right? That doesn’t mean he’s into vampirism. And his hands were pretty big, but seriously? He’s only human. I mean, his hands looked normal from this angle…I think.

Taking their outlandish gossiping with a pinch of salt, I formulated assumptions and possibilities without ridiculous fabrications. Liam was not married because there is no wedding band on his finger. Plus, Kathy never mentioned a wife. Then again, if he is the womaniser people claimed, he might hide the ring to evade complications during his conquests.

I am confident that he doesn’t have children, but I still question it sometimes. Maybe he is a father but never spends any time with his offspring. He is intimidating. His men feared him, so perhaps the rumours are genuine.

Liam is a psychotic killer who I had to handle with caution.

All this alarming information had me querying why Kathy turned their platonic relationship into a sexual one to begin with. In her eyes, Liam was, in some way, a friendly giant.

If her evaluation was correct, why do the people of London speak of him as if he were the devil himself?

How is it possible for this man to be two different people? Or had my sister kept that spine-tingling information to herself as she didn’t want to frighten me?

Liam is not your average person, so I knew my plan would be a lot harder than anticipated. Initially, I was going to ask him outright about my sister’s role at his club, or if he knew her whereabouts. But, following what I have discovered about that man, questioning him is no longer an alternative.According to my drunk source, if I interrogate a man as dangerous as Liam Warren, I will more than likely end up in a ditch. He is not the sort of person I could demand answers from and trust without reservations.

No. To gain Liam Warren’s trust, you had to earn it. And that’s what I intend to do. Get him to trust me—possibly even like me. Then ask my new devoted friend to help me find my sister.

Inner self—wish me luck.

I peered over the rim of my laptop and observed. Liam’s back is to the counter, the baristas brewing beverages in the background, and his phone, the one permanently in his hands, occupied his thumbs.

The flustered redhead made Liam’s order and offered various pastries. Her coquettish behaviour is purportedly going unnoticed this morning.

I rolled my eyes.

Could she be any more obvious?

As soon as she handed Liam the beverage, I was out of my seat. I shoved the laptop into my backpack, paced towards the entrance and approached the doors in time to “accidentally” bump into the man himself, spilling coffee all over the two of us.

“Fuck. You need to watch where you’re going.” He seized a napkin from the counter to wipe the brown mess from his crisp white shirt.

Pretending the hot liquid on my chest hadn’t burnt any skin, I fussed with a napkin to dab my soiled jumper. “I’m sorry. I was in a rush and…” I met his stare face-on for the first time and held my breath. His ice-blue eyes were penetrating. Inky black hair fell onto his arched brow and his chiselled jaw, shadowed in stubble, steeled as he glared back at me. “I was just…” He is insanely gorgeous. Not that I wasn’t already aware. I have gawked long enough to discern his handsomeness but standing close to him intensified his powerful image. He’s fascinating yet intimidating. He embodied perfect and unfaltering masculinity, and as he leaned over me, our chests virtually touching, he discarded the dirty napkin, and the scent of spiced cologne drifted between us.

Holy shit.

We locked eyes. I am intoxicated by the intenseness of his proximity. Even with his hardened expression and uncongenial tone of voice, I found the man breath-taking. It’s no wonder Kathy was so besotted. He’s magnificent.

His eyebrow curved.

I placed two hands on his chest to try and remove the mess. “I did not mean to do that.”

Liam recoiled at the sudden contact. “What are you doing?”

I withdrew my hands.

“Do I know you?” His brows met in a dark scowl as he stepped closer. I was feeble and small as I gazed up at his towering presence. “I feel like I have seen you before.”

My heart palpitated. Kathy and I are different in many ways, but we share similar facial features. Of course, he’d assume we have met before. I resembled my sister.

“No. And I’m sorry about that.” I pointed to his stained shirt. “I know your clothes are expensive.”

“Are they?” he challenged, his guarded glare becoming darker. “You would know that how?”

Well, the designer labels are a prominent giveaway. “It’s an Armani three-piece, and you often wear…” I refuse to finish that sentence if I want to hold onto my dignity. I bet he’s wondering how I am knowledgeable about his quotidian designer preference. I have only been standing here for a few lousy seconds, yet I reeled off his choice of attire without a beat of hesitation.

Talk about foot-in-mouth, Alexa.

“Can you get him another coffee, please?” I asked the redhead, diverting this painful conversation. “I’m paying.”

Liam’s eyes never left my face. “A replacement is unnecessary.”

The waitress, shooting me an accusatory glance, handed over the goods. “Here.” I proffered the coffee with a smile. “Peace offering.”

Liam stared at the cardboard cup for a long, torturous moment before accepting the offering. His finger grazed mine with an intentional brush, and I almost dropped the coffee when an unfamiliar spark travelled between our touch. “You didn’t need to do that,” he said in a rough voice, masking himself while searching my eyes overtly.

I, however, continued to stare at him, having lost my voice.

Liam side-eyed the blond Suit, who also watched me closely, and then asked, “Are you alright in the head?”

His insulting question was the slap in the face that I needed.

A dreadful flush attacked my cheeks and neck.

He scratched his jaw, his hand exhibiting expensive gold rings and heavy, yellow gold curb bracelets.

I glanced away to regroup, and, without another word, he tossed the cup into the bin, shouldered past me, and exited the coffee shop.

Oh, hell no. I have waited far too long for this prime opportunity and cannot leave our weird encounter unsolved. I rushed behind him, pushing the blond Suit aside in the process. I had far too many eyes on me as I exited the building, but Liam is the only focus. “Sir—” Before getting close to Liam, someone gripped me around the waist with unnecessary force and hauled my stiff body to their chest. It all happened too fast. “What the hell?” I panicked, squirming in his firm hold. “Let go of me!”

Liam heard the commotion. He glimpsed over one shoulder and came to an abrupt stop upon seeing one of his men manhandling me.

Unable to escape the man’s clutches, I brought an arm back and clawed razor-sharp fingernails down my handler’s face.

“You bitch,” the guy bellowed.

I quickly recovered my footing and primed to gauge his eyes out…the blood left my body. It’s the bald guy. Of all the Suits to grab me, it had to be him. Not wanting to further the altercation, I stepped back, forgetting why I came here and built an imaginative wall between us.

Bald Suit snagged the front of my hoodie.

“Please stop,” I whimpered, curling my hands around his wrist to free myself. “I’m sorry.” My heart thrashed against my breastbone. Tears danced along my lashes. “Please.” I cannot afford to lose my sanity in front of these men. Yet, I feel the familiar tightness in my throat and chest, and the vomit-inducing hyperventilation turned me into boneless mush.

Snarling his ugly, clouded teeth, Bald Suit fanned his warm breath to my cheek. “You put your hand on my face, little girl.”

I used the crayon to draw circles. Red. Yellow. Pink. Blue. One flower. Two flowers. Three Flowers. Four. A daisy. A poppy. Two leaves and green grass.

“Such a sweet little girl you are, Lexi,” he whispered, stepping out of the darkness. “Did you make that all by yourself?”

The crayon snapped in my fingers.

How long was he standing there?

Did he watch me draw the entire time?

Imaginary ants crawled over my skin.

I itched and scratched them away.

“I like this one.” His shoe landed on the drawing of my mother. “Did you have any help?”

My mouth pressed together. I can’t tell him about Kathy coming to visit. If he finds out, I will never get to talk to her. And I like it when she comes to see me. She sits on the other side of the basement door, telling stories, singing songs.

“I got you a book, Lexi.” He showed me a frayed paperback. “Shall I read it for you?”

I nodded.

“You can colour,” he instructed, and a blue crayon rolled across the concrete. “No more mamma pictures, Lexi. Make something else.”

My fingers curled around the crayon. “What should I draw?”

“Draw yourself.” He kneeled on the floor beside me. “I can hang it in the kitchen.”

I listened.

“I went to the shop,” he read the book, and then, pausing to look at me, he asked, “What would you buy at the shop?”

I don’t know.

“Lexi?” His knuckle grazed my cheek, and I recoiled. “Answer the question.”

“I want to make pots,” I said sullenly. “Like the girl in the books.”

“Well, I bought you a different gift at the shop.”

A colouring book and new felt tips fell in front of me.

I’m too old for such a pointless gift, but being down here, day in and day out, means simplicity gives me much joy and satisfaction.

“Now, if you want these, I will need you to do as instructed, Lexi.”

I wiped tears from my cheeks. “Okay.”

“That’s a good little girl.” He smiled, showing me his white teeth. “What picture will you colour first?”

Accepting the pad, I flicked through the pages until finding the one: two little girls playing on the beach. I can colour the sand yellow and the ocean blue and add bright colours to the shells and starfish.

“Why that one?” he inquired, taking the image out of my hands.

“It reminds me of Kathy,” I admitted, bringing my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs protectively.

“Hm.” His jaw flexed. “Do you miss Kathy?”

“Very much,” I half-lied, having spoken to her through the door merely a few days ago.

His head cocked. “Would you like to visit your sister?”

I could tell he was angry. “Yes,” I whispered, though I can already sense by his tone of voice it’s not going to happen.

He tore the paper in half. “You should’ve been good for me.”

I don’t flinch, nor do I speak a word as he destroys the only birthday present, I had received in years. I have learnt to ignore him when he behaves like this, as everything with my monster comes at a price.

He shredded the papers until there’s nothing but specks of confetti, then he moved onto the pens, snapping and lunging them across the room.

“Hey, kid. You need to calm down.” An agitated yet concerned voice dragged me back from hell. “I think you might be having a fucking panic attack.”

Inhaling a stuttered breath, I bring myself back to consciousness.

Liam squats in front of me, his hands on either side of my arms. “What happened?”

I am sitting on the cold pavement. I scrambled to my feet and glued myself to the brick wall.

Liam stood to his full, imperial height and took a cautious step away, raising his palms to let me know he meant no harm.

I can’t believe this happened. I haven’t had a panic attack in months. If my legs were working correctly, I’d kick the bald Suit in the nuts.

Awkward and humiliating is not how I anticipated my first encounter with Liam Warren. I had to impress him, not show him I am a mental case or someone who required psychiatric assistance.

“I’m not a fucking child.” I hadn’t meant to sound harsh or use profanity, but I need Liam to look at me like I am a woman, not a sheepish youth with a sweet mouth incapable of working beside his erotic dancers.

Giving me one of his signature winks, Blond Suit licked a toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure about that?” His head dipped. “Your jumper says otherwise.”

Your jumper says otherwise, I mentally repeated. Confused by that statement, as it’s merely a black hoodie, I glanced down and, if I wasn’t embarrassed before, mortification engulfed me now: two green turtles hugging with “Let’s cuddle” plastered all over the material.

What has my depressing life come to?

How did I not notice the ostentatiousness of this ridiculous piece of clothing while leaving the flat this morning?

Seriously, I need to start checking what I pinch from Chloe’s wardrobe.

Eliminating the hoodie with frantic hands, I buried it at the bottom of my bag. “It’s not mine.” Well, that sounded convincing. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Don’t worry about what’s on her jumper, lads. Her tits tell a different story.” The Suit to my left decided to throw that comment out there as I wasn’t shamefaced enough.

Plus, my tits tell a different story—next joke. I am not the proud owner of voluptuous breasts. I positively lack in that department.

I braved to look at Liam. Judging by his condemnatory countenance, I have royally messed up. There is no way I will land a job at his club after this disgraceful stunt.

My simple plan of gaining his attention failed. I ruined his shirt, had a panic attack, gauged one of his pig-headed Suits, wore a disgraceful jumper and flaunted my non-existent boobs becayse I foolishly left the flat this morning sans bra.

I am a walking tragedy.

“That’s enough,” Liam admonished his men into eerie silence. Interesting. “We’re leaving.”

Liam stayed behind while the Suits piled into the cars. He scrutinised me, his eyes determined as he moved in and dominated my breathing space.

What is he looking for?

“I feel like an idiot,” I muttered, wishing I’d learn to shut my untamed trap.

“You banged your head when you fell,” he said roughly, and when his hand cupped my jaw while he examined my cheek, I held my breath. “You might want to get that checked.”

I felt no pain. “Is it serious?”

Holding my jaw was entirely unnecessary, yet his hand lingered. “I’m sure you’ll survive.” His thumb swept over my cheek. His eyes homed in on my features, and then, as if realising our inappropriate nearness, he dropped back, his eyebrows tugging inward. “M

I wanted Liam to hang around for me to secure the job, but when he turned his back and climbed into the Bentley, I knew I’d lost the opportunity.

I’m sorry, Kathy.

CHAPTER TWO

Alexa

I entered the flat and slumped against the closed door, the backpack landing on the floor. Incense sticks burnt in tray-shaped holders on the spalted maple dresser, which effused a random mixture of lavender, rosemary and lemongrass. I sniffed the air. Is that sage? I don’t even care.

Kicking off the trainers on my feet, I wandered down the door-lined hallway and beelined the patterned yet comfortable sofa in the poky living room. Face first, I might add. I buried my face on the floral cushion and grumbled the worthlessness of life.

Blindly, I reached for my phone, extracted it from my pocket and signed into online banking. I had plentiful compensation money left over, but recently, I had dipped into funds. When Kathy lived here, I paid for nothing. Her wages covered the bills and put food in our stomachs. Her only requirement was that I go to college.

I did well in high school. I had to work extra hard to catch up academically, not that I was uneducated. The man who held me captive for all those years made sure I read books. He taught fundamental English and mathematics proficiencies, so I guess I learnt the basics before full-time education commenced. I came away with enough GCSEs for a promising future. I had it all figured out before Kathy disappeared. Now, I had bigger concerns. If I don’t land a position at Club 11 soon, I have to job hunt, or the compensation money will be gone quicker than I can blink.

“Hey, Hon.” My roommate, Chloe, plonked onto the upholstered armchair. “How did it go?”

I spilled the beans in less than five minutes. From the ruined trainers to the embarrassing encounter with Liam Warren to fainting on the spot for an incognizant time period.

Chloe’s green eyes widened with each passing second. “So, let me get this straight. You made the man drop his coffee, drew blood from his bald colleague and broke into a loony bin frenzy.” Her big-busted chest deliberately bounced as she followed me to the bathroom. “And you showed all the perverts your knockers.”

Noteworthy, Chloe is a characteristically melodramatic individual. She also has the attention span of a fish, so be unsurprised when she strays from important topics. “First of all, they are not perverts, nor did I show them my boobs. You have taken the story way out of context.” I plugged the tub and ran hot and cold water. “Must you make me feel worse? You are supposed to comfort me, not mock me. You know, being my friend and all that other bullshit.”

“Sorry.” Chloe spritzed the bathwater with Radox salt. “I know I can be insensitive. Sometimes, I forget how much this means to you, Alexa.”

I sat on the closed toilet while waiting for the tub to fill. “Chloe, I messed up,” I whispered dejectedly. “Months and months of hard work for nothing. I ruined everything within minutes. The coffee did the trick. Liam stopped. We even had a bizarre conversation. Well, he as good as asked if I had mental issues and then I passed out, which basically suggested I had mental fucking issues.”

Chloe stifled laughter.

I smiled at the stupidity.

“Liam called me a kid.” My shoulders sagged. “Even if I never humiliated myself, I don’t think he would hire me. I am not Kathy. I mean, who am I kidding? I could never strip in front of a room full of men like she did. I don’t even have boobs.”

“Hon.” Chloe’s voice softened. “You can do anything if you put your mind to it. I have so much faith in you.” When she discerned the uncertainty in my eyes, she sighed. “Do you want me to try? I know I work full-time already, but I could drop weekends for the club.”

“No. You love your job. Ignore me, Chloe. I had a bad day, that is all.” It’s not her fault I am a moody, stroppy asshole. I won’t let her sign up for erotic dancing on my behalf. “How am I supposed to get the job if Liam doesn’t see me as a mature woman?”

Chloe turned the taps off and turned around for me to undress. “Okay, so today did not go as planned. At least it was memorable, though. I bet Liam will remember the encounter when scrubbing his Armani shirt tonight.”

I scoffed, lowering myself into the hot bathwater. “He probably binned the shirt.”

“True,” she agreed, and then, skirt rested mid-thigh, she parked onto the bath edge, dipping her legs into the water. “You have to go back next Friday and try again. Screw hiding behind the laptop. Stand by the doorway and make him listen.”

I inwardly laughed. If only ensnaring Liam Warren was that achievable. “I feel like slamming my head against a brick wall.” I scrubbed my scalp with shampoo, rinsed the suds and combed rich conditioner through the ends of my hair. “Of course, I will go back. What choice do I have? I need to find out what happened to my sister.”

Beneath the water’s surface, Chloe studied her pink-polished toenails.

Is it normal that we’re this close? She may as well jump into the bath with me.

“Maybe, Liam won’t even remember you the next time you approach him,” she said to uplift my crestfallen spirit.

Highly unlikely. No sane person can forget the stunt I dramatised this morning.

“What if you don’t get the answers, you are looking for, Alexa?” she asked, and I frowned. “I know the secret investigator absurdity was my idea, but what if Kathy left willingly?”

“What?” Convinced I heard incorrectly, I scowled at the off-white wall tiles. “No, Kathy was happy here, Chloe, especially while dating Liam. There is no way she left off her own accord.” I feel it in my gut. “Something bad happened. And I am going to get answers.”

Her back rested on the wall. “Will you continue to look for the guy responsible for your abduction?”

Still covered in soapy suds, I dropped the loofah in the water, snagged a towel and stepped onto the plush bathmat. “I am not interested in that vile man,” I said, sharp and bitter. “As far as I am concerned, that part of my life is over. I am moving on.” Wrapping the towel around my body, I reached into the bath and unplugged the water. “Besides, it was Kathy’s stupid revenge that got her in this mess, to begin with.”

“I’m sorry, Hun.” She rubbed two hands down her face. “I keep saying the wrong shit. I am a bad friend tonight.”

My shoulders relaxed.

I immediately felt guilty. Chloe is not a bad friend. She is my best friend. When Kathy initially sent me to high school, I struggled to adjust. Everybody knew I was one of the missing Haines sisters. Teenagers looked at me like I was a running, sexually transmitted disease.

Daily, I discovered notes in my locker.

I bet you miss daddy.

Did you secretly love it?

Do you still think about him?

I don’t think you should be here.

Daily, I heard unspeakable rumours.

I heard she wanted to be there.

Rumour has it that she looked like a feral animal when they found her. They said she was skin and bone and hissed when addressed. Can you believe that? So disgusting.

She can’t even read.

Do you think she is still a virgin?

Making friends was impossible. I pleaded with Kathy to hire me a tutor to avoid high school, which she declined. I had to lead a normal life, and I was not allowed to run from my problems. Fight back, my sister often told me. Stand up for yourself, Alexa. Who are these girls to you? Why do you care what they think? Their bullshit opinions are not getting you into college.

I went to the cafeteria one lunch break, ordered French fries and orange juice. Like any other day, I sat alone at the table, which unperturbed me. I was accustomed to lonesomeness. Hell, I spent the majority of my childhood with only my thoughts to contend with. A scrunched-up ball of paper hit my head while I sipped juice. It rolled on the table in front of me. I left it there. I would not give bullies the satisfaction of reading their twisted words.

Jessica, the popular girl who had everything going for her, the mile-long legs, the shiny blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes, sat on the chair next to me. She wanted to know what I was eating, even though the evident fries laid on a plate between us. And then, while her friends snickered in the background and fellow students piped down to listen and watch the show, she implied that I was fat for eating unhealthy food.

Rather than suppress tears, I should have laughed. I am not overweight, not by any stretch. If anything, I am too slim. But I was teary-eyed. And at that moment, I wondered if I was overweight.

Of course, I stood abruptly, collected my belongings and, to the sound of ridicule and uncontrollable laughter, I rushed across the canteen. With every hurried step, I swore to myself, irrelevant to Kathy’s lecture, I would never attend high school again.

That was the day I met Chloe.

I am unsure of how much she heard or how much she had witnessed, but she came from nowhere, a force to be reckoned with, her beautiful, waist-length blond hair slicked back in a tight ponytail. Her mini skirt rolled over at the waist. Navy knee high socks and a skewed tie.

She made that argument her business.

My high school bully was left speechless by the onslaught of Chloe’s vitriolic objurgation. And the harsh slap to the face, well, I think she cried enough for the two of us.

Chloe chased me into the school hall when I fled the scene. She asked if we could be friends. I nodded, having been too bewildered to use my voice.

I had gained a new friend. Her name was Chloe. No longer did I dread education. From that moment in the cafeteria, I enjoyed getting up in the mornings and attending high school. We met at our halfway spot and talked for the entire journey. We even participated in some lessons together. Even when separated between classes, it wouldn’t be long before we reunited again for lunch or strolled home together.

Life transformed for me. I never sat alone in class; I never ate alone at lunch. Chloe became a permanent part of my life.

Over the years, our friendship strengthened. Chloe had a rocky relationship with her father and an even worse relationship with her stepmother. Alas, her birth mother passed away from cancer which meant she lived in a place where she felt unloved.

Chloe admitted one night that she envied me. Kathy allowed me to come and go as I pleased, and I had no rules to abide by, whereas her father was a strict disciplinarian. He confiscated her phone when unhappy with her performance. He made her stay in for most nights and even unscrewed her bedroom door from the hinges to keep an eye on her when she was grounded, which was more often than not.

I felt sorry for Chloe. My friend was miserable. She had a broken relationship with her father. She believed her stepmother only tolerated her for marriage purposes.

In secret, I craved what she loathed.

How ironic?

I struggled to understand why she hated living there so much, but I never treated her tears with flippant ignorance. When deprived of a loving family, you will take them in any way, shape, or form. I’d have sold my soul to the devil to have a father, even if he was tyrannical and overbearing.

Nonetheless, with Kathy’s industrious routine, I liked having a friend to keep me company. Chloe’s father protested. He demanded to speak to my parents, or, in my case, guardian, and he was further disappointed that his daughter was procrastinating with another teenager. Imagine his displeasure upon learning Kathy worked fifty-hour week shifts, leaving us unattended at home.

Chloe turned the required age limit to move out. He could no longer control his daughter, so, on her sixteenth birthday, she appeared on my doorstep with only a black sack filled with few belongings, asking to live with me.

We have been inseparable ever since. Chloe and I are more than friends. We’re sisters. Lately, though, our relationship is touch and go, and I am taking full accountability. When demoralised or backed into a corner, I wrongfully upset her with my frustration. I am an awful human. Today hasn’t gone the way I had mapped out inside my head, but it did not give me the right to chastise her for helping. “You are like a sister to me. You know that, right?”

“Look at you, being all soft,” Chloe half-joked, pulling me in for a tight squeeze. “Hon, I got your back.” Her pinkie lifted between us. My little finger curled around it. “So, I have another idea.”

Okay, I do not like the sound of that. “What?”

“I think,” she hedged as I followed her down the hallway, “I can work some magic.”

Chloe overlooked her bedroom, which is directly opposite my room, and used her shoulder to jerk the door open. “Cover your arse, or don’t blame me for ogling.”

Fixing the towel, I roamed into my bedroom and looked for somewhere to sit. It’s laundry day, so piles of folded washing strewed the bed, vanity table, and random cuddle chair Chloe purchased from the charity shop. My backside balanced on the ottoman we used for bed linen. “So, what is my mischievous friend scheming?”

“Coffee flunked,” she said the obvious. “Liam will remember the girl at the coffee shop because, well, look at you.” Her hand gestured to my face. “You are hard to forget, Alexa. I have always said it. You are blessed with natural beauty.”

My cheeks flared red. “I am really not.”

“Are you mental?” Her hands hunted through my wardrobe. “Hon, I would quite literally prostitute my arse for legs like yours.” She selected a simple black dress. It belonged to Kathy. “Your eyes are your best feature,” she said quietly. “Use them to your advantage.”

I caught the dress she flung in my direction. “What does that even mean?”

“It means men are susceptible,” she purred with a cheeky lip pout. “Including Liam Warren.”

Christ, I wish I had her confidence. “What do you want me to do?”

She doffed the mini skirt and blouse, changing into a hot pink dress, which also belonged to my sister. “You should let your eyes do the talking.”

I pressed my back to the wall in defeat. “Care to explain the glad rags yet?”

“We are hitting the town.”

“No, I am in no mood for clubbing, Chloe. I want to change into pyjamas, order Chinese takeout, drink cheap, corner store beer and binge watch a television series.”

“Nope.” Her glamorous dress sheathed her like a second skin. “We deserve some fun. And I know just the spot.” Emptying my cosmetics bag on the shaggy rug, she selected necessities and reapplied her makeup using a small compact mirror. “Let’s say Club 11?”

“What?” My fingers tightened on the bunched-up dress. “No, I am not going there uninvited. And you had the nerve to question my sanity. Plus, it’s over twenty-one. We are not getting inside without identification cards.”

“Yes, I know, but the age limit isn’t enough to prevent our arrival,” she insisted, and I started to feel claustrophobic. “Did you not say, Liam looked at you like a kid? Let’s see if his opinion changes after tonight.” She pointed a mascara tube at the dress. “Put it on, Hon. I will do your makeup while you style your hair. I promise you. We will have a fun night.”

“That flimsy thing you dared to call a dress will not even cover my ass.”

“Sexy and revealing is kinda the point.” She plugged in the straighteners. “I think we should straighten your curls. Now, come on. Allow me to work my magic.”

“I don’t want you to work your magic, Chloe.” I need to stuff my face with Chinese noodles. “Look, I appreciate that you are only trying to help, but I am in a horrendous, crabby mood.”

“You don’t have a choice,” she reprimanded. “Hon, get your butt over here, so I can beautify you. We are about to go into stage two of our master plan.”

I am confused. “There is a stage two?”

She grinned like a Cheshire cat. “There is now.”

***

I regret everything from allowing Chloe to persuade me into a night on the town to borrowing Kathy’s glamorous clothes and the six-inch heels on my feet. I looked and felt ridiculous. And a tad bit desperate. Well, I guess I am desperate to land a job at Club 11 but going there uninvitedly surpassed all prior stalker activities. Bumping into Liam Warren at the coffee shop is one thing. Turning up his establishment is something else entirely. I will be surprised If he doesn’t threaten to file a restraining order against me tonight.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into wearing this dress.” It’s far too short. One move in the wrong direction, and everyone will see my most intimate areas. “It’s not even a dress.” I tugged on the hem, but the moment I let go, the material springs straight back up, failing to cover my arse. “Well, at least I fit the profile of a stripper now.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Listen, I know revealing clothes isn’t you, and you like to wear your boy pants.”

“What boy pants?” I stared narrowly. “They’re called leggings.”

She clicked her fingers. “Back to the point, Alexa. For this to work, you must act the part. Starting with the sexy black dress.” She blew an air kiss, trotting ahead in her heels. “Let’s see if Warren still looks at you as a child when he sees you in that.”

The drunken mare could not have screamed that any louder. Envisioning all the ways I’d love to strangle my friend for entertaining the line of curious people waiting to enter Club 11, I slid bystanders a grim smile and traipsed in her footsteps.

Chloe bypassed the mile-long queue and went to the club’s main doors. Five burly bouncers in black suits huddled together. According to my friend, the impassive guy on the right is a friend of her fathers. To get into an over-twenty-one at nineteen meant knowing somebody with connections. Let’s hope the man delivers.

“Gavin?” She made it seem as though we were headed somewhere else but stopped mid-step to shoot the man a double take. “Oh, God. Is that you?”

“Chloe?” He muted his earpiece. “Damn, girl. Is that really you?”

She squealed in faux excitement. “I haven’t seen you in forever.” Falling into his arms for a tight squeeze, they shared a quick hug and disconnected to confabulate with each other. “How’s it going? How’s Mai? Do you still play golf with daddy on Sundays?”

Her unrecognisable voice had my brows elevating.

“Ah, divorced,” Gavin said. “Mai went and climbed into another man’s bed while I was at work every night.” He dismissed the topic. “I saw your dad a few weeks back. He said you ain’t been around much lately.”

Chloe nibbled her bottom lip. “I have been busy with work.”

“Right,” he said tightly. “So, who’s your friend?”

I waved like an idiot. “Alexa.”

“What’s it like here?” Chloe peered over his shoulder to scope the foyer. “We were looking for somewhere to party. Do you recommend it?”

Gavin briefly locked eyes with one of the doormen. “It’s decent,” he clipped. “Might be above budget, though.” His teeth ground on chewing gum. “Go in and check it out.” Tipping his head to the side, he used his eyes to order a quick slip through the double doors. “Best behaviour. Enjoy, ladies.”

The second he’s out of earshot, I whisper-shout, “I can’t believe it worked, Chloe.” Gripping her hand, I dragged her down the dark hall toward the chrome double doors. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Hon, this club is above our pay grade. If Gavin weren’t at the door, we’d have to sneak in around the back, and I don’t fancy running in these heels.”

Reaching the end of the hallway, I pushed through the door and paused mid-step. From the outside, the bricked building and soundproof walls conceal the glorious enormity and vivacious appeal—a long-stretched bar dominated the left side of the room with approximately fifteen people labouring with tireless vigour, the spacious dance floor occupied with feverish dancers. The DJ booth, elevated on a glass platform, complete with fog and strobe lights, fulfilled the nightclub experience. Tables and booths tucked to the sides and corners, neither barren.

To my surprise, there are countless women, too, which I hadn’t considered. Then again, I don’t know what I had expected. Tonight, is my first-time clubbing, but I presumed there would be a predominance of males with it being a strip club.

I walked past the glass platforms, the exotic dancers, swinging on metal poles like weightless contortionists, some inside cages, wearing lace lingerie and glass stiletto heels. I stand there and ogle their flawless breasts and floor-dropping movements in awe.

“Shall we get a drink?” Chloe led me to the bar, sneaking between customers for quick service. “May as well enjoy ourselves while we’re here, right?”

Placing my bag onto the countertop, I tugged my dress down again, hating how out of place I feel.

“Hey, hot stuff!” Chloe hollered over the music, gaining the barman’s attention. “Can we get some service?”

He’s cute. Dark chocolate brown tousled hair and eyes the colour of distilled whisky. “What can I get you, ladies?”

Chloe gathered up loose change in her purse. “Can I get two bottled beers and four Sambucas?”

He wandered off to prepare our drinks, and Chloe handed me a tube of red lipstick. “Paint your lips, Hon.”

I seldom wear full-faced makeup, though. Once happy with my touched-up appearance, I re-capped the lipstick and went to hand it back to her. “Keep it,” she said. “I know it’s your favourite.”

Without argument, I put it away.

The barman returned with our drinks. “Enjoy!” he shouted over his shoulder, proceeding to serve customers.

“Oh, come to mamma.” Chloe slid a shot glass in my direction. “Bottoms up, Hon.”

I downed one, the heat rolling down my throat. It’s the courage needed to perform tonight.

“Oh, shit.” Chloe rubbed her chest. “It burns.”

I nodded, reaching for another.

“It’s insane,” she said, awe-inspired by the interior’s grandeur. “I wonder if we can find a table.”

People overcrowded Club 11. You cannot see through the sea of bodies on the dance floor. “We can try.”

Chloe grimaced. “I am scared to walk away in case we lose our spot.”

I laughed. “We could always order extra drinks and take them with us.”

Her eyes toured the frosted ceiling, which resembled elevated catwalks. “There are more strippers up there,” she said with a point of the finger. “Imagine missing a step and falling straight into the crowd.”

No, the glass barrier prevented any accidents. “You Want Me” by Tom Zanetti blared, the silver strobes sweeping throughout sporadically. Chloe began to dance, her hips in sync with the beat. Before I could knock back another shot, she snagged my forearm and hauled my arse to the dance floor.

Although tonight is about gaining Liam’s attention, a good time will not damage the process.

Cavorting throngs obscured me from audiences. I never claimed to be an expert at dancing, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it less than professionals. My body flowed to the beat. Chloe stood in front of me, her head flowing from side to side as she sang the lyrics. It started well until a guy attached himself to her backside, leaving me unaccompanied.

Okay, lone ranger. I overlook the fact I am dancing by myself. Lifting my untamed curls, I let the air to the nape of my neck. I’m exhilarated, beyond content and buzzed up for a good time. I felt carefree, unbothered and unburdened. I sounded awful. Kathy’s missing, and I am in a club. Guilt forced its way to the forefront of my mind, and merriment soon became regret.

Chloe’s nameless dance partner had a friend. And he’s prowling to my right. Knowing I am uncomfortable by his nearness, Chloe re-joined the circle, and two became four.

Music segued. Green strobes stuttered. I hesitated to watch full-breasted women strut down the foot-walk. Perhaps more alcohol was in order. If I don’t kick start the buzz, regret will heighten. I rubbed the sudden chill from my arms, located the private balconies and frowned. I hadn’t noticed them earlier; besuited men and gorgeous women, drinking champagne and smoking cigars.

How the other half lives, I thought.

Imagine their lifestyle, not worrying about bills or food or living on the rough side of town in a shoddy council flat.

What would I do If I were lucky enough to be wealthy? I guess changing properties is a dead cert. I would upgrade the unflattering wardrobe and purchase new shoes.

Would I waste money on expensive attire or drink exquisite wine and champagne? That’s an easy question to answer. Yes.

I made a mental note to ask Chloe if she wanted to rob a bank tomorrow.

I was still gazing at the balcony when a familiar appeared. The air in the room shifted. Dressed from head to toe in designer, Liam joined their socialising. With a drink in hand, he alternately spoke to his employees, and then, while overseeing the liveliness of his successful establishment, his elbows rested on the glass balustrade.

Green-eyed Suit is there now. He mouthed something in his boss’ ear, and a half-smile appeared on Liam’s lips.

I sighed like a strange person, watching his mouth move as he responded, wishing I could hear their conversation.

“Wanna dance?” a random guy asked, his hand settling on my lower back.

My body stiffened from the sudden contact. He’s decent on the eye. Polite. Accepting distraction doesn’t hurt. I nodded, and he immediately wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling my back to his chest, encouraging me to sway with him.

My coiled-up muscles relaxed. He is not taking from you, Alexa. He asked.

Our bodies synchronised to the music, his wandering hands touring my thighs.

Shutting my eyes, I dropped my head to his chest, losing myself in his innocuous contact, but when his mouth teased my ear, nibbled my lobe, I did not like it. His touch, although innocent, repulsed me.

Telling myself to stay calm, I opened my eyes and released a choppy breath. For some unbeknownst reason, I looked to the balcony again. Liam is still here, listening to green-eyed Suit, but I perceived his lack of attention. It’s his narrowed eyes and straightened posture, the squared shoulders as if primed to fight.

My eyes sliced back at him.

Why does it feel like he’s watching me?

I glanced around, assuming someone else captured his interest, but when Liam’s head slowly shook, confirming unspoken reservations, I all but died on the spot. “I’m sorry.” I tapped the guy’s arm, needing him to release me. “I have to leave.”

He lowered his hands with reluctance. “Want me to come?”

“No, it’s fine,” I blundered in haste. “I’m with a friend.”

He’s disappointed but shrugged off my dismissiveness and prowled the floor for the next chick he’s banking on escorting home tonight.

Liam disappeared from the balcony.

“Shit,” I whispered, searching the crowd for Chloe. When I came unstuck, I headed towards the restroom, hoping she went for a toilet break.

In the dimmed corridor, I squeezed through intoxicated hordes of women, pushed the bathroom door open and poked my head inside. “Chloe?”

The few ladies sitting on the sinks glanced at me and then continued with their drunken gossiping.

I stood by the basin, turned on the tap and used my hands to gather cold water to cool down my flushed skin. Mentally asking myself why I came here, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. For Kathy, I thought. I had to uncover the truth behind my sister’s disappearance. But am I confident enough to handle attention from a man like Liam Warren? What if Chloe was right? Maybe Kathy left willingly. Perhaps she doesn’t wish to be found.

I am playing a dangerous game. Breathing in the same propinquity of that man is like a game of Russian roulette. Yet here I am, pretending to love myself, hoping Liam will notice me. And for what? Answers. Even if I asked him, he’s not going to admit to knowing anything. Let’s say I get the job, and I find evidence, then what? I interrogate him.

I laughed at such nonsense.

Liam will not divulge either way.

I towel dried my hands before exiting the bathroom. I will tell Chloe that I’m done with this charade and hope to God my sister returns and—A strong arm suddenly snaked around my waist. “What the hell?” I shrieked, thrashing in mental derangement. “Get off me!”

It happened so fast. One second, I am on the hunt for Chloe, and then, I am locked inside a dark room, the malodorous air, a combination of astringent chemicals. My mouth snapped open, ready to scream for help, when I perceived a recognisable pair of blue eyes, I swallowed fright.

I had Liam Warren’s undivided attention.

CHAPTER THREE

Liam

Popping an unlit blunt between my lips, I watched the Junoesque blonde rise from her knees before me. Her cheeks glowed scarlet, and her hard-set blue eyes dazzled in triumph. With a brush of her fingertips, she wiped the taste of my arousal from her pouty lips and attired herself. All black and, if you are well proportioned, revealing is the club’s uniform for barmaids: tight shorts, fitted vest and six-inch stilettos alongside a decent enough face to entice male spendthrifts.

Natalie Dalton is the club’s head barmaid and a royal pain in my arse. I know better than to get too comfortable or complacent with women, especially a woman prone to attachment akin to her, but I am susceptible to her lascivious charm. After all, she made it too easy for me to stick around when promising a no-strings-attached arrangement.

Flinging straightened hair over one shoulder, she tucked her ample breasts into pink lace, clipping the lycra halterneck in place.

Matching a flame, I lit the end of the blunt, inhaling haze. “Macallan.”

She went to the minibar to pour neat whiskey. “Cherry was looking for you earlier.”

Cherry runs a tight shift with the dancers. “Right.”

“I think she encountered an issue with clients in the sapphire suite.” Setting two glasses onto the mahogany desk, she popped open a compact mirror and swept nude gloss over her lips. “Should I send her up?”

Tucking my flaccid cock away, I zipped my trousers and relaxed in the leather wing chair. “No.”

Unclasping beauty products, she re-applied something strikingly pink across her cheeks. “Well, should I tell her to swing by later?”

“No,” I spoke monosyllabically, having lost the patience to converse.

“I am unsatisfied,” she teased, gazing into my inexpressive eyes. “I can still taste you in my mouth. When will you return the favour?”

I was mildly irritated by her line of questioning.

“Sex will suffice.” Uprooting the small plastic bag from her bra, she emptied cocaine onto the desk. “I will even do all the work.” Separating lines with a debit card, she rolled a twenty-pound note, snorted blow into both nostrils and, unable to resist irritation, itched her nose. “Do you want some?”

I raised a hand, declining drugs and sex. “You should get back to work.”

“I have ten more minutes.” She tossed whiskey down her throat. “So, I have a date this weekend.”

Respiring smoke halos, I kicked my feet onto the desk. “Yeah?”

“He is a fireman.” Misinterpreting silence as intrigue, she prolonged our one-way conversation by elucidating further. “He is also a club regular. You might know him.” Even if I did know the man, I had no interest in Natalie’s sexual affairs. She can fuck him six ways from Sunday for all I care.

“I can cancel.” Her hopeful gaze rounded a fraction. “If it makes you uncomfortable. I am not overly fond of him, anyway.”

I suppressed annoyance. “Why would I want you to cancel?”

Premature rejection stained her cheeks red. “Are you okay with another man touching me? That is how a date ends, right? I get a ride home, offer him inside for coffee, make small talk and then fuck his brains out.”

I stood, picked up the discarded silk shirt and slipped my arms into the sleeves. “Is he a decent guy?”

It was not the question she had hoped for. “Yes.”

“Then date him.” Fixing the shirt, I left the top two buttons open. “You are upset.”

“No.” The lie quivered her voice. “I am still horny, though.” Crawling across the desk, she smoothed her hands along my chest. “You are starting to disappoint me, Mr Warren. What must I do to convince you?”

You see, this is the part of our arrangement that I disfavour. It’s all well and good when chasing a release until her neediness takes shape.

“What do you require?”

“One kiss.” Her lips teased the corner of my mouth. “Maybe your head between my legs. I often wonder how that tongue of yours feels—down there.”

My head turned before our lips touched. “I am sure your date will deliver.”

“Yes.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Well, he promised as much.”

Hearing Brad’s cheerfulness in the hallway, I downed another whiskey shot and relit the smouldering blunt. Of course, the disobedient man entered the office without knocking. It would be far too uncharacteristic for him to obey orders like the others. Over his shoulder, the middle-aged man flayed like an oxygen-deprived fish.

“Stop squirming.” Brad smacked the man’s arse, hurling him onto the sofa. “Fuck.” His fingers examined the fresh bite mark on his neck. “He sank his bastard teeth into me.”

Nameless moaned indistinctly. Well, it’s not as though he can string a sentence together with a leather gag in his mouth.

Brad had manacled the man’s wrists and ankles and knotted a silk tie around his eyes. He wore a grey tracksuit, stark white trainers and snapback cap. Judging by the wet patch, he also pissed his pants at some point this evening.

Disgruntled by Natalie’s bedraggled presence, Brad’s upper lip curled up. “You look fucking happy.”

A harsh exhale fumed from her flared nostrils. “Brad.”

“You might want to sort the hair out,” he clipped, and she swiftly ran her fingers through matted tresses. “And what is all that shit on your face? Tone it down, harlot.”

Fuming, she retorted, “Fuck you.”

“I did that already,” he said arrogantly, helping himself to Jameson at the minibar. “Not that it’s anything to brag about.”

“Oh, please.” She scoffed. “You were hardly memorable.”

“I am unforgettable.” He glared at her over the rim of the whiskey glass. “Why are you still here? Get back to work.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“I am second-in-command.”

“Only when the boss is not available.”

“Natalie,” I warned, and she huffed in exasperation. “Leave.”

“Fine.” Her ass swayed to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Brad waited until her heels echoed down the call. “Ditch the bitch already.” Tying his blonde hair into a topknot, he popped open the button of his suit jacket and, lacing his fingers, perched onto the desk edge. “She is a fucking nutcase.”

“Natalie is convenient.” Passing over the half-smoked blunt, I uncapped the Macallan and splashed amber liquid into a crystal glass. “About the bombardment of text messages.” He beamed with pride. “One is enough.”

“You never answer the phone.” A toothpick wedged between his front teeth. “Ignoring a brother to entertain Natalie.” He slapped a hand on his chest. “Wounded.”

I scrutinised the elephant in the room. “Where is Nate?”

“Prestige suite.” Haze expelled through his nose. “Can we discuss hounding now? Only, I still need an order from you.”

“What’s the problem?”

He pointed to the obvious. “Just the wanker sitting on the sofa.”

The guy’s body writhed against the leather.

“He is one of your errand bitches.” My right-hand man ripped the guy’s eye coverage off, and he squinted, adjusting to the bright lights. “He packed materials but hasn’t paid a dime for two months.”

I stumble upon these issues from time to time. “What’s his plea?”

“Robbery.” He snorted. “Apparently, he was jumped. The attacker pocketed goods and left him dry. Meanwhile, he has been looking into other sources of income to settle the debt.”

I hummed in reverie. “How much?”

“About twelve grand?” He pondered. “Give or take.”

“Twelve grand.” Squatting in front of the guy until eye-level with him, I laced my ring-laden fingers together. “Is that right?”

Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks.

“Remove the muzzle,” I instructed.

Brad unlocked the gag, granting the man’s freedom to speak.

“I will pay back every penny,” he whimpered, his throat thick from parchedness. “I swear, Warren. Shit, I’ll sell some gold if I have to.”

“I am uninterested in gold plated jewellery.” I had enough ice to last a lifetime. “So, the attacker stole drugs or money?”

“Both.” His brazen lie was a pitiful attempt to pull the wool over my eyes. “He beat me good, too. Left me for dead.”

“Left you for dead,” I said with a whispered air of feigned sympathy. “You must think I was born yesterday.”

His bloodshot eyes dilated. “Warren…”

I stood taller. “He dares to face me head-on and lie. He was neither beaten nor robbed. He sold the goods and spent my cut on tawdry footwear.” The front of my leather shoe nudged the man’s trainer. “I am not feeling very forgiving right now.” Muting his pathetic cries, I regarded Brad. “Do not get any blood on the leather.”

“No!” His alarmed shrieks fell on death ears. “Warren, I beg that you reconsider!”

I exited the office, and security, which lined the long-stretched hallway, straightened to their full heights. Not a word of utterance passed their lips. They are not paid to engage with me or each other. It is their job to stand guard at all times to guarantee my safety.

A gunshot ricocheted down the hall.

My hands smoothed across my head to neaten possible loose strands.

Besuited men, toking Cuban cigars, and half-dressed, oiled-up dancers, working the floor to ceiling poles, crowded the prestige suite. People occupied the fully stocked bar. I clicked down the barman for a drink.

Whipping a tea towel over his shoulder, he unscrewed the Macallan bottle, poured liquor into a glass and slid it across the counter.

Distilled whiskey quenched thirst. With a slight lift of the eyebrows, I addressed the men, bypassed the centre stage and stepped onto the glass balcony in search of Nate. As he sat on the chair, entertaining Cora, the fresh-faced, recently promoted dancer, I went to the balustrade to oversee the club’s liveliness below. I will never get tired of the scene. Club 11 is my favourite establishment, and it is acclaimed widely throughout London. People travel far and wide to come here and pay extortionate prices to bask in entertainment. The men, in particular, frequently visited to escape reality. For one night, they can leave life’s quandaries outside and lose themselves to temptation. Of course, married men of power used the side entrance to avoid risk exposure or front-page news headlines. Imagine that: The Mayor of London Paid for Sex. His wife would suffer an aneurysm, no doubt. Reporters would knock on my door, demanding interviews in exchange for bastard pennies, not that I would heed their intrusiveness. Everything in Club 11 is under lock and key. Client confidentiality is something we pride ourselves on.

Swirling whiskey at the bottom of the glass, I tasted in doses. “What is the deal with you and Cora?”

Nate adjusted his nose ring. “Not much.”

“Not much,” I mocked, and his straight teeth exhibited. “Do you often fawn over certain employees?”

His back rested against the balustrade. “I may or may not have a soft spot for the minx.”

I smirked at that. “I suppose she is off-limits.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I am in no position to challenge you, Sir.”

“Indeed.” However, I had no plan to ruffle his feathers. “You might want to have a little chat with Brad, though. You know how he is.”

“No,” he drawled, folding his arms. “If I tell him to lay off, he’ll go there to piss me off.”

If his love interest cared about him, she wouldn’t entertain Brad’s advances. “Let’s hope Cora is committed then.”

My eyes roamed around the sea of heads as they cavorted to loud clubland music and sporadic lights. Nate was talking in my ear, but I stopped listening when a recognisable face appeared in the crowd.

It’s the girl from the coffee shop.

She is the last person I expected to see tonight. I felt her discomfort from across the room. The guy pawing her thighs and whispering in her ear made her uncomfortable. Yet, she continued to dance, albeit stiff, and she even smiled on occasion. It was a nice smile, soft and unassuming. Her somewhat deranged behaviour at the coffee shop soon became an afterthought. I was lost in silent wonderment. Numerous questions drifted through my mind: if she is not attracted to her admirer, why does she allow him to touch her? If dancing affected her ability to have a good time, why did she pretend to enjoy it?

As if sensing the eyes of another, she lifted her gaze from the floor and glanced to the balcony.

Taking a sip of whiskey, I watched her while she watched me, wondering if this morning’s encounter sprung to mind. Only, she wasn’t too shocked to see me. If anything, she glared knowingly.

Entering the club was not a sheer happenstance for the girl.

No, she wanted my attention.

Let’s hope she can handle me.

Rejecting the guy, she spun on her heel and disappeared through the crowd.

Handing the glass to Nate, I left the suite and headed downstairs, hoping to catch her before she hid in the female restroom.

It would be five minutes before she exited the bathroom. Oblivious to her surroundings, she strolled right past me.

Stepping out of the dark alcove, I wrapped an arm around her waist, lifted her off her feet and dragged her thrashing body into the storage cupboard. It’s not the best place for proper introductions, but it’s the closest room for privacy.

“Let go of me!” Her panicked scream pierced my eardrums. “Don’t come any closer.” Staggering into the metal shelving unit, she knocked bottles of bleach onto the floor and, in a state of sheer hysteria, returned them to their rightful shelves. “I have pepper spray,” she lied, fusing her back to the wall. “And I bite, so stay right where you are.”

My back was to her when I locked the door. “Breathe,” I rasped, hearing the overwhelming verge of her hyperventilation. “I am relatively harmless.”

Recognising my voice, she drew in a sharp breath. “What do you want?”

In less than four steps, I was in front of her. “What’s the fascination?”

Her eyebrows drew in. “What?”

“Is our encounter a mere coincidence?” I marvelled at her dark, waist-length hair. “You straightened your hair,” I whispered, pinching a strand between my fingers. “I prefer the curls.”

“Well, it’s a good job that I did not style for you.” Her chest rose as she wrestled for oxygen. “Can I leave?”

My appreciative gaze roved over her body. Her skin-tight dress accentuated her slender figure. She is not what I usually look for in women. I preferred thick-thighed, big-breasted females. I assessed her long, silken-looking legs until our eyes collided. There was something about her coyness that put the immediate brakes on deliberation. “No,” I answered her previous question. “You will stay and explain the nature of your visit.”

Her breath hitched when I inched closer. “I am out with friends.”

My palms toured her waistline. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Who?” Her fingers curled around my wrists, stopping my hands from hiking further. “You mean the guy on the dance floor?

I know he is nobody to her, but I still pushed for information. “Yes.”

“No.” Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t do ‘boyfriends’.”

My mouth moved dangerously close to her ear. “What do you do?”

“Nothing that would appeal to you,” she responded in a flirtatious undertone, which she corrected. “I mean, I am not all that interesting.”

“How would you know what appeals to me? You don’t know me.” I caressed her thigh, and goosebumps scattered across her skin. “Remember?”

Her chest heaved at an irregular rhythm. “I need to leave.”

“Why?” My fingers skimmed the curve of her arse cheek. “You came here tonight seeking something. Perhaps, I can help you find it.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “I am not like that.”

Bracing a forearm to the wall above her head, I cupped the back of her knee, pulling her leg around my waist. “Like what?”

She swept her gaze over the chemicals in our confinement. “I am not the type of girl who fucks random men in cleaning cupboards.”

I gave her a short, caustic laugh. “You are very presumptuous.” However, she is not entirely off the grid. If she were willing, I would be more than inclined to fuck her against the wall. My cock twitched just thinking about it. Granted, she is not like the women I usually bedded, but in a dress so sinful, with lips so delectable, how could I resist? “You presume I want to sleep with you.”

Her palms flattened on my chest, and every muscle in my body pulled tight. “Your wandering hands suggest as much.”

Touché. “In less than twenty-four hours, you have stumbled into me twice. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me.” My heavy-lidded gaze dipped to her full lips. “So, it is not a good fucking that you require?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She scoffed. “I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s.”

“Someone else’s,” I repeated in bewilderment, my thumb smearing lipstick across her lips. “Elaborate.”

“Someone else,” she gestured to the tempting area between her thighs, “you know?”

An odd metaphor, I thought. “This mouth could get you in trouble. Are you always this feisty?”

“Trust me. I am not feisty—feeble, rather.” Laughing nervously, she reached for my hands once more to prevent intimate touches. And then, her fingers threaded through mine, which I found most unfathomable, mainly because I didn’t quite mind. “Please stop.”

I stared into her eyes, which looked greener than earlier. I could have sworn they were brown. “Testing the waters.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrow arched. “And you had the nerve to call me presumptuous.”

My lip twitched. “Guilty.”

Her finger pointed at me. “You forgot ‘arrogantly impudent’.”

“I am not one to push.” Withdrawing my hands, I stuffed them in my trouser pockets. “And I can handle rejection. So, let’s cut to the chase. What do you really want?”

“I already told you. I am out with friends. It’s what girls do, right? They drink alcohol and party with their girlfriends while looking for…” Her body shivered. “Guys and stuff.”

I called bullshit. “Guys and stuff.”

“Do you always repeat what people say?”

“When I try to find logic amid nonsensicalness?” My eyes catalogued every detail of her heart-shaped face. “Yes.” She withered under my spotlight glare. “Interesting.”

Gulping, she whispered, “What?”

“Your feistiness is an act,” I said, detecting the sweetness of her perfume as I breathed a kiss on her throat. “I see innate diffidence in your eyes.” When I seized her jaw, she drew in a sharp breath. “How old are you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters.”

“Nineteen,” she admitted, and disappointment began to fester. “You thought I was older.”

I knew she was younger, but nineteen was fucking unfledged.

“Club 11 is an over-twenty-one.” Reluctantly stepping back, I gave her free reign to fix herself. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I mean, you can drink alcohol if eighteen or over in most circumstances—”

“I know the legal requirements,” I interrupted, and her lips pressed tight. “I opted for an over-twenty-one to keep juveniles at bay.”

When she pushed away from the wall, tugging the hiked dress down, I caught a glimpse of red lace, which scarcely covered her most intimate area. Respiring a shuddered breath, I scrubbed a hand down my face, blocking out inappropriate thoughts.

“You and your friends need to leave.” My jaw hardened. “Expeditiously.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Alexa

I have a love-hate relationship with window shopping. Immersing oneself in the plethora of high-end clothing lines thrills the fashionista in me, but unaffordability leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Designer shoes are my kryptonite. Peep-toe stilettos and lace-up high heels are close favourites. Batignolles triumph, though. Whenever I hit retail stores, I touch them with covetous fingertips. I even tried a pair on once, the iconic, red-bottomed shoes that can be admired but never bought, and promised myself that if I win the lottery, I will purchase such fine-crafted footwear.

Purpled, red or blue, I pondered, flicking through the rails of sale-priced formalwear. I have fluctuated between the puff sleeve mini dress and satin wrap dress for ten minutes now. Thanks to insignificant funds, I can only buy one, not two, and the shoes are a definite no unless I break into savings, which is a terrible idea. I should spend the awarded compensation money wisely.

I am unemployed and expected to spend thriftily, so the red satin dress, which looked expensive yet had the discounted price of ten quid, went into the basket.

“What about this?” Chloe held the black high-rise skirt to her waist as she marvelled at her reflection in the standing mirror. “It’s only eight pounds.” Before I could compliment the look, she tossed it in the basket alongside lingerie and strapless bras. “I need to eat. Happy hour?”

Paid purchases in hand, we strolled through the shopping centre in search of a restaurant. Tapas Revolution happened. Fritura Mixta, Patatas Bravas, Bruschetta de Pollo, Paella Valenciana and sparkling sangria served in a glass flute.

Chloe chewed cooked chicken. “So, the coffee shop encounter flunked.”

I dipped bread in sherry balsamic. “Going to Club 11 also flunked.”

“What’s phase three?” she asked, and I jerked one shoulder. “Oh, come on, Hon. You can’t give up that easily.”

“Chloe, I have quite literally stalked this man for months, and it’s gotten me nowhere. I executed the coffee trick. I caught his eye in the club. Each time, he sent me packing. He’s not interested. If I continue to pester, he will file a restraining order against me.”

“Well, what did he say to you inside the cleaning cupboard?”

“Not much,” I half-lied, reliving the moment his hands toured my thighs, and his lips teased the side of my neck. “He berated me for sneaking into the club and told me to leave.”

She refilled our glasses with sparkling sangria. “It’s Thursday.”

I am aware.

“Which means it is Friday tomorrow.”

Yes, I am aware.

“Which means Liam will be at the coffee shop in the morning.”

“Chloe,” I said, and she smiled impishly. “Get to the point.”

“You can’t chuck the towel in.” She forked green beans and red peppers around the plate. “If you cannot convince Liam to hire you, how do you plan to uncover the truth behind Kathy’s disappearance? I know. You can stay in bed all day and wait for the phone to ring, or you can sit by the front door in the hope she comes home. Maybe you can go back to the police station and inveigle the detectives to launch a missing person case.”

I sat mutely.

“Or you can get your arse to the coffee shop tomorrow and land the job. I don’t think there are other options. Liam’s the last person to have seen your sister. He knows something.”

I sipped sangria. “What if he’s clueless to her whereabouts, though?”

“Highly doubtful. But, for argument’s sake, let’s say he is unaware of her disappearance. How many people work for that man?”

I shrugged.

“Hundreds. And Club 11 is their port of call. Someone knows something, whether it be security, cleaners or the bar staff. If not them, then the people she worked alongside day and night.”

I had never given thought to the dancers. “Kathy never mentioned friends.” That’s not to say there weren’t any. “Okay, what’s the new game plan?”

Chloe unfolded a napkin to wipe her hands. “Go to the coffee shop tomorrow. And for the love of God, do not come home without the job.”

“I love your optimism.” I sucked spicy sauce off my thumb. “What If he kicks me to the curb again?”

Her defined eyebrows furrowed. “Then, I am out of options.”

***

I fell into the coffee shop ten minutes before Liam’s due to arrive, ordered myself a tall latte and settled in my favourite booth at the back of the room. I placed the broken laptop on the table, the notepad and pens, and pretended to look busy. When he entered the building, I will hide unease and feign shock. I mean, what are the chances of stumbling into each other again?

What a small world?

Liam was not born yesterday, Alexa.

Tone it down a little.

Hello, Mr Warren.

Fancy seeing you here.

May I buy you a coffee? Croissant? Fruit?

I put the brakes on mental maunder and slumped against the booth’s cold leather. Lionising is ineffectual. Liam’s cutthroat and straight from the shoulder. No more equivocation. He will respect me more if I go in with a direct approach. Whatever happens, I am not going down without a fight.

I glanced at the window. It’s miserable today, the damp air, grey skies and ominous clouds threatening a hellacious downpour. People rushed to their destinations, whether for work or leisure, to avoid impending bad weather, and vehicles passed on by in a blur.

It’s twenty fast past eleven. Liam is late. He is never late. Every Friday, eleven a.m., without fail, yet he’s not here.

What does that mean?

I finished the coffee and ordered another.

My eyes alternated from the window to the wall-mounted clock in anxiousness, the hand ticking away alongside the minutes.

Where the hell is this man?

Maybe Liam did not want coffee today, Alexa.

Ever wondered if the man had a life?

Perhaps he found a new coffee shop to avoid the crazy stalker woman.

That would be me.

Jesus Christ.

Blowing out a defeated sigh, I lowered my head to the table and closed my eyes. I am tired, mentally and emotionally. I felt overemotional, exhausted. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare now. Harassing a crime lord will result in unspeakable consequences. And it’s overwhelmingly taxing.

I unlocked my phone and, for the umpteenth time, read Kathy’s text messages.

Kathy: Did you steal my socks?

Kathy: There is leftover carbonara in the fridge

Kathy: Okay, I might run away with the new postman. He’s insanely hot.

Kathy: Fancy a movie night? I can buy popcorn on the way home.

Kathy: Are you awake? I can’t sleep.

Kathy: Thank you for last night. I don’t know what came over me. I have been so emotional lately.

Kathy: Hey, Sis. I have to cancel dinner. I’m sorry, but I can’t get out of work. It’s super busy tonight. Hell, we need the cash anyway, right?

Kathy: Tell Chloe to stop leaving her makeup all around the living room. If I stand on another hairbrush, I will beat her with it.

Kathy: Don’t stay up too late.

Kathy: I love you, Sis.

I sent her a text.

Me: I love you more, Kathy.

Message delivered.

Hope combusted inside my chest. I dialled her number and placed the phone to my ear. “Yeah,” the guy answered, his cantankerousness leaving me in a state of nausea. “Who is this? Why are you always texting me?”

My chest ached. “Why do you have my sister’s phone?”

“Your sister?” he questioned. “I don’t know what you are talking about, young lady. I bought it at the pawnshop. And I got a receipt, so quit pestering me or else I will call the police.”

“I’m sorry—” He killed the call, and the phone fell through my rigid fingers. Tears outlined my lashes in beads. Willing myself not to cry, I briefly shut my eyes and drew in a well-needed breath.

Clicking the top of a pen to reveal the fine nib, I scribbled down information (phone sold; number in use) and then quickly googled pawn shops within the vicinity. Three stores, I located. Three pawnbrokers and one of them accepted Kathy’s property as collateral.

I texted the addresses to Chloe and gave her a quick rundown.

Chloe: I can visit the cash converter. It’s literally two streets over from the office. I am unfamiliar with the other two, though.

Me: Thank you, Chloe.

A shadow fell over me.

I peered up from the phone, possibly with one eye open, and felt the blood evaporate from my body. Liam Warren, the handsome, debonair man, popped open the button of his suit jacket and took a seat directly opposite me. His eyes resembled crystal blue waters on a summer’s day, but the dark intensity of his stare deceived his poised movements. He’s angry. His expression masked yet cinched, the rigidity of his white knuckles as his fist rapt on the table, telling me to stay quiet. “Are you expecting someone?” he asked, and I slipped the phone in my bag unobtrusively. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

I licked the roof of my mouth. “No.”

“No?” He radiated smugness. “You watched the door with determined purposefulness. Naturally, I assumed you awaited company.”

“Well…” I unclogged my throat, breaking what seemed to be a stare competition. “I was waiting for a friend, but she cancelled at the last minute.”

“Really?” He wore a conceited smirk. “So, our serendipitous encounter is uncoincidental?”

I’d rather he kept his apparent empath abilities to himself. “No.”

“Evasiveness makes a fool out of you and me.” Haughtiness chiselled his strong jaw. “Why don’t we start again. My name is Liam Warren, which, judging by your recent behaviour, you knew that already.”

My lips pursed. “Yes.”

The kittenish redhead appeared to place fresh coffees on the table. Liam never so much as thanked her for providing refills, nor did he spare her an appreciative glance. No, his steadfast glare speared into me.

I blindly entered a business meeting.

Liam’s forearms rested on the table as his fingers threaded. “What’s your name?”

“Alexa,” I answered warily.

“Alexa,” he whispered, the name rolling on his tongue. “Surname?”

My heart began to pitter-patter. I gave him my mother’s maiden name. “Rutherford.”

His head cocked. “You are lying.”

Oh, shit. Get out of my head. “No, I am not.”

“See, I am trying to be patient with you, Alexa.” A look of vexation crossed his face. “But I do not take kindly to people who stare me in the eye and lie.”

My shoulders sagged in despondency. “Haines,” I said, knowing he’ll recognise the surname. “Alexa Haines.”

He blinked once. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I was tongue-tied.

Why hadn’t he questioned the connection? This man had a sexual relationship with my sister yet misremembered basic details. How is such forgetfulness possible? I have given Liam way too much credit. He’s not as judicious as I thought.

Liam’s stare held mine. “Are you a cop?”

“What?” I snorted out loud. “No. I wish I flaunted a dutiful badge, though.”

His eyes foraged again. “Well, if you’re not a police officer, why is your bony arse following me?”

Ouch. I am not the curviest of women, but I am not emaciated either. “I’m not following you.” Puzzlement plastered all over my face. “I am drinking coffee.”

“You intentionally bumped into me the first time we met. Merely a day later, we reacquaint at my club.”

How did he know my successful coffee-bump was deliberate?

“Then I walk in here today to find you longing for my presence.” His lip turned up in disgust. “If you are not fucking bent, then what are you? Obsessed? Stalking? Do share.”

My chin hit the floor. “I am simply none of those things,” I emphasised defensively. “Besides, if you know the details of my weekly activities, doesn’t that make you the stalker?”

I am totally flipping deceitful roles here. I would be lying if I said I was not attracted to Liam. He’s beautiful. But I am not obsessed, nor do I possess typical stalker tendencies. I am certainly starting to honour that degrading title, though. I mean, how many times can one bump into someone before it becomes questionable?

“Touché.” His finger absently rotated his thumb ring. “How old are you?”

I nibbled the corner of my lip. “Nineteen.”

“Nineteen.” He glared in stunned stupefaction. “I am almost ten years your senior.” Coughing into a curled-up fist, he cleared his throat and went for the jugular. “Your little crush on me is somewhat cute, but I will save you the hassle. I am disinterested. You see, I am a man with multitudinous predilections. A young, impressionable teenager, however, is not one of them.”

“With all due respect, I am not a child, Mr Warren. Besides, I don’t recall any complaints from our last encounter. You’d have fucked me in that cupboard if I so foolishly allowed it.”

“I am unaccountable for someone else’s delinquencies,” he whisper-shouts, his agitation soaring to perilous heights. “Club 11 is an over-twenty-one for a reason. Juvenile behaviour is unwelcome.”

What a moot argument?

I am after a job, not a one-way ticket inside his trousers.

“Can we rewind for a second?” My fingers motioned a backward pedal. “You were right. I have followed you. And no. It’s not sexual attraction, Mr Warren. I wanted a job.”

An unpleasant, cricket chirping moment lingered. With deadpan humour, Liam wiped the amusement from his pinched lips. “A job?”

“I am broke,” I said, which was partly true. “Someone told me that Club 11 provided remunerative employment.”

“That’s why you came to the club?” He appeared to be taken aback by the affirmation. “You wanted a job.”

An impossible shade heated my cheeks. “Yes.”

Liam paid the entrance a sharp glance. “You had an opportunity to request an interview…” His brows tugged in confusion. “I am inclined to question your sanity, Miss Haines.”

“I know,” I said with a slight huff. “I made a huge song and dance when I could have just asked the first time…” His intolerant expression had me by the tongue. “Look, I’m sorry. Yes, I had plentiful opportunities to ask, but you are an intimidating man.I was nervous.”

He pondered in silence. “Stand,” he instructed, and I stared unblinkingly. “Miss Haines, I don’t like repeating myself.”

I staggered to my feet and stood by the side of the table.

Liam’s arms stretched across the booth’s rear as he scrutinised me from head to toe. “You are an indefinite prerequisite for satisfying clientele.”

What requirements are needed to be a stripper?

“Well,” I gestured to my chest, “I have boobs—”

“Did you just refer to your tits as boobs?” He crushed me with one arrogant look. “It’s not fucking happening, kid.” Without a second’s consideration, he slipped out of the booth and walked away.

“Hey, wait!” Ignoring stares from inquisitive coffee drinkers, I quickly gathered my belongings and chased him outside. “Wait!” By the parked Bentley, Bald Suit reared his shiny head. “Keep those hands to yourself, buddy, or I will take my nails to your dick.” Not waiting for his reaction, I spin around and collide straight into a wall of muscle—Liam’s chest, to be exact. Patting him awkwardly, I stepped back and composed myself. “Please, can we start again?”

Liam remained mute, but he’s still here.

“My name is Alexa Haines. I’m sorry I referred to my tits as boobs. I am innately polite, so manners are second nature and, well, some people frown upon crudeness. I’ll call my vagina a fanny if that’s what makes you happy.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Leave,” he ordered, and his men, all watching our exchange, passed each other curious glances before disappearing into the Bentley vehicles.

With his men out of ear-shot, he came closer, so close our noses touched. “Pussy,” he murmured to my lips, and I peered up from beneath my eyelashes. “Say it.”

“Pussy,” I whispered, red-faced and mortified.

“Good. Let’s try another,” he added, and I dreaded the test. “Cunt.”

Oh, damn. I hate vulgarity.

“You cannot say it,” he mused, entertained by the evident uncomfortableness I emitted. “Did you do your research, Miss Haines? Do you know what a gentleman’s club entails? You partied for one night and figured it out, huh? Club 11 is more than nightlife. It’s a doorway to clandestineness. If you find lewdness and risqué behaviour contemptuously unendurable, how, pray tell, do you plan to handle a paying man’s insatiableness?”

I had many questions. “Erotic dancers just collect the money from the floor, right?”

“Your naiveness humours me, Miss Haines.” Liam laughed twice. “What do you do?”

My features tightened. “I don’t understand the question.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re only nineteen. Are you in college? Where do you live? I assume you reside with your parents. If you need part-time work, settle for a restaurant. Flip some burgers.”

“I don’t attend college.” I settled my hands to my hips. “I share a flat with my best friend. And my parents are dead.” My heart squeezed. “I might be young, but I live in the real world. Bills need paying. Life goes the fuck on. Flipping burgers for minimum wage will not keep a roof over my head.”

His jaw locked. “No-can-do, kid.”

Oh, for crying out loud. “Why not?”

“I fucking said so, that’s why.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “You might live in the real world, but you do not live in mine.” Our eyes aligned. “And trust me, you don’t want to.”

Liam shouldered past me.

I was losing the will to live. “Mr Warren, I will do anything. Please reconsider.”

“For fuck’s sake.” With long, determined strides, he came back, snagged my forearms, his ring-laden fingers tight to my skin, and wrenched me closer. “Alexa, go home,” he ordered, the warning in his intolerable tone cording every muscle in my body. “Don’t settle for what the streets have to offer. Get to college. Make something of yourself. You can do better.”

What is that supposed to mean?

I stared stonily at him. “Why do you care which road I take?”

“Mistaking advice for earnestness is foolish.” He released me with an uncaring shove. “Take the fucking hint.”

My eyes welled up. “If you would—”

“I’d never hire a girl like you.” His face was crimson with fury. “Go home, Miss Haines. Quit fucking hounding me.”

My back pressed to the coffee shop’s brick wall. Liam left and never looked back. I heard the Bentley vehicles come to life before the drivers sped down the street, though, the exhaust pipes permeating the air with thick smog-like fumes.

I stood in numbed mutism, inspecting my image, the oversized jumper, ripped jeans and unruly hair.

Of course, Liam will not take me seriously. He worked alongside beautiful women: tall, flawless, glamorised, confident women.

I am no Aphrodite, but I never thought I was dog ugly, either. Kathy, who resembled her younger sister, obtained a position at Club 11 within seconds of meeting Liam.

What did she have that I didn’t?

Moreover, what did she do that I couldn’t?

I had one final plan.

Let’s pray I execute.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alexa

I waited in Club 11’s queue for over two hours. I knew Liam Warren’s nightclub was a busy attraction, but the inefficient customer admission process had a soporiferous effect, which almost put me to sleep. Two people stand before me now. They brandished identification cards, and in a state of scheming fortitude, I skulked in their shadows to enter the building without the awareness of security.

“I need to see identification.” One of the bouncers’ meaty hands landed on my shoulder to prevent me from going further. “Then you can pay at the door.”

I adopted Chloe’s flirtatiousness and fluttered my eyelashes. “Um…” I beguiled ineffectively. He stared at me like I had grown two heads. “Oh, shit. I left identification at home.”

“No, I.D.” His arms crossed. “No entry.”

“Oh, come on.” My lips puckered. “I arranged a meeting with Liam, so you have to let me inside.”

“No. And if the Boss wanted to see you,” he jabbed a chubby finger on my nose, “he’d have given me the heads up. So, either prove you are legal or take your juvenile arse away from my step.”

Knowing I had lost another battle, I succumbed to defeatism. “Asshole.” Hands tucked into my coat pockets, I strolled past the long line of people, all laughing and having a good time like mindless idiots. I mean, they are not even inside yet. How can they be so exultant in a ridiculous queue?

Retrieve the claws, Alexa. You are only jealous.

I was seconds away from crossing the road when male laughter brought me to a sudden stop. Looking down the misty, unilluminated alleyway belonging to Club 11, I eyed the amassed men, smoking cigarettes and marijuana. Behind them, the fire exit’s wide-open door summoned me. I balanced on the soles of my shoes and, dashing behind the overflowing dumpsters, ducked out of eyesight surreptitiously.

“The girl sucked my dick like a fucking hoover,” one man said.

“Where did you take her?”

“Prestige suite,” he said. “Boss will have a fucking seizure if he finds out.”

“Yeah,” another chimed. “No touching the merchandise,” he imitated with a mocking snort. “Dick.”

My ears perked up to listen.

“She is game,” the other male drawled. “I know, for a fact, she allowed Nate and Brad to spit roast last week. We should put our offer forward.”

“Nah, Cherry only entertains the ranks.”

Someone chortled. “Slut.”

My face twisted in disgust. Men.

“She might slurp like a hoover, but her fanny is like a fucking bucket. Not even worth the dip,” another man said as the rest of them laughed uproariously. “Barbell has my load jacking in seconds.”

There is a discarded beer bottle on the floor that I wanted to lunge at them. “Pigs.”

“Yo, did you hear something?”

Raising my brows, I ease behind the bin.

What possessed me to talk to myself when attempting to break into a building surrounded by hell hounds?

“Nah, man. Let’s get back inside, or we’ll have Brad on our arses.”

The sound of retrieving feet shuffling confirmed their departure. Slowly creeping from behind the bin, I waited until the last man entered, then ran like a madwoman to catch the door before it closed.

Assured those pigs disappeared, I grasped the ajar door and peered down the dark, musty smelling hall. Club music travelled into the distance. I meandered through strewn delivery boxes on the floor, following the increasing sound to the main room. Many-hued lights danced under the door. Holding onto the handle, I counted to ten, swung it open and, relieved to see a beautiful blonde woman occupying the strapping bouncer, slipped straight into the raucous crowd.

I reached the bar unharmed.

Whipping a chequered tea towel over one shoulder, the barman put two hands on the bar top and, shouting over the loud music, leaned closer to talk directly into my ear. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka. Neat. And two shots…” Unzipping my purse, I scraped some change together. “Yeah, vodka.”

While he’s busy with my order, I worked out how much money I had. I doubt thirty quid will last me the night. If Liam insists on an employment refusal tonight, I will have no choice but to job hunt tomorrow.

The barman set the vodka in front of me. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” I said, but the industrious man was already serving the next customer.

Needing all the alcohol-infused courage I can stomach, I ploughed through vodka like it was water.

White and blue strobe lights illuminated partygoers on the packed dance floor. Half-naked women crawled across the glass podiums above. Those oiled up goddesses made erotic dancing look so easy. It’s not easy. Trust me. I have tried. I took one swing around the lamppost outside the flat and fell straight on my arse.

I swing the empty glass above my head. “Can I order another, please?”

To make it through the night, I needed liquid doughtiness.

***

Two hours later, I am surrounded by empty vodka glasses. And I am pretty drunk, which was the plan. Hell, I even got side-tracked and danced alone earlier. It’s hard not to party in Club 11.

Everything lured you to the dark side.

My head is a little fuzzy.

Go back to the bar, Alexa.

Right, I should listen to the sensible voice.

Who is the pretty brunette?

She is bum dancing behind me. Her hands toured my hips. Her lips licked the sweat from the nape of my neck.

Oh, God. I am a lesbian.

“Bathroom?” she purred in my ear.

“Yeah—no.” I escaped her clutches. “You should take a break, though. Drink some water with lots of ice.”

I have overindulged. But hey, who cares, right? I am allowed to unwind. It’s fun. I am supposed to have fun. No, you are on a mission. Right. Mission impossible.

“Can I order another vodka?” I shake the change at the bottom of my purse. Well, pennies. Great, what can I buy for two quid? “Actually, cancel the order. I am broke.”

“May I buy you a drink?” Mr Silver fox offered.

Where did he come from?

“A glass of wine?” His groomed eyebrow curved. “Maybe the entire bottle.”

No, I am not a wine aficionado. “I probably should stop drinking now.”

He flashed me a kind smile. He’s an attractive dude. For an older man, I mean. “Are you sure?”

My brows met. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He draped an arm over my shoulders, and his unwanted touch had the muscles in my upper body hardening. “Come on. Live a little.”

“One,” I wiggled a finger, “vodka shot.”

“Atta’ girl.” He clicked down the barman. “Six Tequilas.”

“Six,” I squeaked. “I agreed to one shot.”

The barman arranged small glasses onto the counter and ran a stream of tequila across them.

“One. Six.” Mr Silver fox paid the bill. “All the same.”

I reluctantly accepted the glass. “It really isn’t.”

He grabbed the saltshaker and sliced lemons. “Where do you want it?”

“What’s the question?”

“I know.” He poured salt onto his overturned arm. “Do your shit. Lick me.”

My cheeks reddened. “You want me to lick you.”

He outstretched his arm, prompting me into action.

Tucking hair behind my ears, I quickly swiped my tongue across his wrist, and bitter-tasting salt invaded my mouth. Relaying methods was unnecessary. I acted on instinct. I snatched the shot glass and knocked it back. Tequila threatened to regurgitate. “Oh, God.” I shuddered as he wedged a lemon slice between my teeth. “That’s disgusting. I am an awful shot buddy.”

“You are fine.” Passing over the saltshaker, he waved a dismissive hand. “How about the shoulder?”

I wore a coat. “Where?”

Mr Silver fox’s finger stroked the side of my neck. Suddenly, the air in the room thickened. His aroused eyes drifted over my shoulder, and something similar to fear paled his complexion. “Warren,” he croaked, and every muscle in my body tensed. “Is everything alright?”

“You were leaving,” Liam said in a deceivingly calm voice. “Don’t forget your coat.”

“Right.” Sliding the saltshaker across the counter, the guy snagged his coat from the stool and stuffed his arms into the sleeves. “Maybe another time.”

Liam’s powerful presence blocked Mr Silver fox before I could respond. His dark, humourless expression formed a knot in my throat. He looked incredible. Bespoke fabrics fashioned him. He wore so much gold and ice, and I simply could not look away. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and I held my tongue. “Or rather, how did you get in here?”

My shoulders drooped. “You already know the answer, don’t you?”

His iced-laden finger pointed to the surveillance cameras. “I might have seen an intruder enter the building.”

Yet, he waited until now to encroach. “Right.”

Liam popped open the button of his suit jacket and became seated on the barstool. “Sit with me,” he ordered, and I dropped onto the spare stool. “How much have you had to drink?”

I sobered the second he arrived. “Tipsy-ish.”

He stroked his jaw aloofly. “What can I do for you, Miss Haines?”

“You already know the answer to that question, Mr Warren,” I parodied patronisingly, and his jaw steeled. “I guess we both did our homework.”

His eyes lazily roamed the length of my body. “Is there a reason you wear a trench coat in a nightclub?”

My lips grimaced. “I was cold.”

He called bullshit but let the white lie slide. “My answer is still no.”

“Fine.” I am losing the fight, anyway. “Good riddance.”

Liam must enjoy tormenting me. He waited for me to slide off the stool before his hand fell to my stomach, preventing me from leaving. “I thought you had more fight,” he breathed in my ear, and my heart collapsed to the pit of my stomach. “Will you disappoint me?”

“Is that what you want?” I tossed him a sidelong glance. “For me to go on my hands and knees and beg.”

The specious man cracked a wolfish smirk. He released me with yet another shove—what is it with these cavemen manhandling women? “Follow me.”

Liam vanished into the crowd. Without a moment’s hesitation, I clutched the purse to my chest and chased him. In uncommunicative silence, I followed him through the private door into the long-stretched hall I had skulked previously.

Expressionless members of security lined the upstairs hallway. Liam punched the code of a locked door and entered his office. A mahogany desk sat before the window that oversees the main dance room. I placed my bag onto the black leather sofa, which looked very comfortable and inviting, and catalogued the interior: hard-wood floors, countless vinyl cases showcased on glass units, wall-mounted television screens, laptops, monitors and en-suite bathroom.

The walls were dark and depressing, but I found the picturesque paintings beautiful. Admiring the London skyline canvas, I smoothed my fingers across the thick paint grooves. Encompassed by polychromatic still waters, a painted man stood beneath the London Tower Bridge on the miry bank. He wore a long, unbuttoned leather coat. He strummed his guitar while gazing at the night sky,

I wanted to know why he looked unhappy.

Liam’s shoulder grazed mine. “What do you see?”

I see devastation and pain. “It makes me sad.”

“Why?” His eyes never left the morbid painting. “Do you not appreciate fine art? It is a spectacular piece. The best in London.”

“It’s magnificent.” I accepted a glass of whiskey from him. “But I get the feeling it’s more about him than special effect cars and the Tower Bridge.”

“Why do you feel sorry for him?” He sat on the leather chair behind his desk. “Take a seat.”

“He is lonely.” Perching onto the edge of a chair, I sat elegantly before him. “Homeless perhaps. I want to step into the painting to accompany him.”

Liam stared right through me. “Why do you assume he is lonely?”

I felt under interrogation. “He’s alone out there.”

Liam continued to scrutinise me but terminated the conversation regarding his painting. “You took stalking to a dangerous level.” He swallowed whiskey in one mouthful and set the empty glass on the desk. “I assumed you heard my message the last time we spoke.”

Needing a gallant shot, I downed alcohol and masked distaste. “I was hoping to persuade you.”

He balanced a cigarette between his lips, sparked a match and lit the end. “I am not easily swayed, Miss Haines.” Smoke crawled from his mouth. “However, I am willing to entertain the idea.”

Liam’s agreeableness was unexpected. “If I can convince you that I meet requirements…” Through the window, I can see women dancing erotically on frosted podiums for paying clientele who watched from private balconies. “Will you hire me?”

He glanced over one shoulder. “Do you think you have what it takes?” Patronising reservation laced his voice. “Are you capable, Miss Haines?”

“Yes,” I said as a dancer slid into a split position. My thighs slammed together in a vicarious reaction. “I can do that.”

Liam snubbed the cigarette in a ceramic ashtray. “Do you have a music preference?” He grabbed his phone and waited for me to choose a song. When I came unstuck, he selected “High for This” by The Weekend. “Go ahead.” Turning in his seat, he motioned to the small space by his desk. “I am a busy man, Miss Haines. You have five minutes to convince me.”

I stared at the dancer, caressing her oily breasts. “Must I impersonate her?”

“You mean, must you reveal your tits before an audience.”

“Yes.” I’m not sure how I feel about exposing my breasts to this man, or any male, for that matter. Yet, I want to be an exotic dancer. Perhaps I came unprepared for the interview. “I’d rather not.”

He gave me a tight, close-lipped smile. “That won’t be necessary.” He relaxed in the chair. “Your underwear is fine.”

I swallowed to moisturise the parchedness in my throat. Rising to my feet, I relocated to the space behind his desk and started to unbutton my coat. I looked at the window once more. “Can they see me?”

He slowly shook his head.

Fingers shaking, I popped open each button, slowly undid the belt at my waist and, breathing heavily, disrobed for him. The material slipped over my shoulders and pooled at my feet, leaving me completely vulnerable.

After Liam left me standing outside the coffee shop, I ran across the road to the adult store and purchased new lingerie.

I better nail the unscheduled interview, or I’ll regret spending so much money on designer lace.

With feigned confidence, I stood tall, posture appealing, not sloppy or tawdry, in black lace and suspenders, peep-toe heels and red-varnished toenails that complimented my red-painted lips.

Infuriatingly unreadable, Liam scanned every inch of my body. “Turn around.”

I faced the wall so that he could inspect my “bony” derriere, and then, releasing a calm breath, our gazes reacquainted.

His eyes settled on my flat stomach. “Closer.” He watched me walk toward him until the tip of my heels touched his leather shoes. “Size?”

“Size?” My breath caught when his hand met my thigh. “Why?”

“Six?” His eyes darkened when he perceived the breakout of goosebumps over my flesh. “Four?”

“Eight,” I quipped. “I am a size eight.”

If my curtness bothered him, he did not show it. His hands toured my legs to the apex of my thighs, his thumbs circling me there. I should question his interviewing process as it seems unorthodox and unprofessional, but I quite enjoy his touch, so I remained mute.

His arms folded. “Proceed.”

My tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Dance.” There was a challenge in his voice. He thought I was incapable. “Miss Haines?”

My ears caught up to the music. He’s right to presume the worst. I am too unconfident to dance in front of this man.

“You are nervous.” His head cocked to the side. “Would you prefer I direct you?”

I nodded.

“Kneel,” he ordered, and I nearly lowered to the ground. “No, Miss Haines. Stand between my legs and kneel.” I did as he instructed. “Slowly. Eyes on the client.” Our eyes locked as I went to my knees. “Good. You want him to be lost in you. You are in control.” His fingers weaved through mine. He coaxed me to crawl across his relaxed body. “Men are susceptible to confident women.” My spine dipped as I reached for the back of his chair. “Good girl.”

I gripped the chair for support, straddled his thighs and rotated my hips to the sound of Abel’s lyric tenor voice. Liam’s calloused fingers splayed across my thighs, and goosebumps sprouted. He unclasped my fingers from the chair’s rear, directing my palm to my lace-breast. Head tilting to the side, I squeezed my breast and, turning in his arms, sloped down his body. My feet barely touched the floor when his fingers curled around my neck. I stared at the wall, feeling his bulge digging into my spine.

His teeth nipped the column of my neck, and an unfamiliar emotion strained my chest. “Why did you stop?”

Tapering down nervousness, I faced him, the smouldering heat in his eyes turning my knees into jelly. “Are clients supposed to touch the dancers?”

He slowly shook his head. “Not unless they purchase the platinum package.”

I swallowed hard. “What’s the platinum package?”

“No holds barred,” he rasped, tugging me onto his lap. “You pay for everything and anything.” I was no longer dancing for persuasion. I barely moved, yet our nearness intoxicated him. “Proceed.”

My hips rolled forward to the music.

Liam practised great restraint, his fingers gripping the armrests. His elongated clad arousal rested on the sheer lace between my thighs, the sensation of grinding against him too much to endure. I stopped moving. I physically struggled to proceed. Surely, it’s not supposed to be so aphrodisiacal.

“You feel it,” he whispered as his knuckles grazed my hip bone. Before I could register his slight movement, I felt his lips on the corner of my mouth. “I am a man who knows what he wants.” His throat was thick and raw. “And right now, I want you.”

I recoiled just as his lips sought mine.

Liam frowned at my sudden timidity. “Do you not enjoy a man touching you?”

“No, I mean…” I rushed to my feet to generate space between us. God, I desperately wanted the job, and I am beyond attracted to him, but gaining a position based on sex and lies is not me. I remonstrate with being anyone other than myself. “I am nervous.”

He soared to his full height. “Are you a virgin?”

My head jerked back. “How is that any of your business?”

“I don’t understand you.” He ignored my annoyance. “One minute, you come across like a woman who knows what she wants. But in the next breath, you are coy and diffident. You wish to work alongside those women,” he motioned to the window, “yet someone appreciating you is repulsive. You do realise touching is part of the job description.”

“I understand the requirements,” I responded defensively. “I am okay with someone touching me. I hate people taking from me.”

“Is that what you thought? I was taking something from you?” He snatched my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You turned me on, Miss Haines. I merely wanted a taste.”

“It’s you,” I admitted, and his forehead creased. “You intimidate me, Mr Warren. That is all.”

His eyes blackened. “Alexa, are you a virgin?”

“No,” I answered honestly. “No, I’m not.”

“Okay.” He nodded. I wish I knew what went through his mind. “So, you’re amateurish, but you understand how it works around here. If I bring one of my men into the room, you will do what’s required. As long as it’s not for me.”

Frankly, I don’t want to dance for anybody. I’m only here to find Kathy. If I can avoid lap dances altogether, it is a bonus.

Liam sighed at my unresponsiveness. “You came here in your underwear and coat.”

I nodded.

He seemed displeased. “Do you often roam around half-naked?”

“No,” I whispered, fumbling with my hands. “Tonight, would be the first.”

“Transportation?” He grabbed the empty glass on the desk. “How did you travel?”

My arms crossed to cover my chest. “I used the tube.”

“The Underground,” he said in exasperation. “You got the job. Be here for eight tomorrow.”

I needed additional confirmation. “You will hire me.”

Was he not in this room during the shocking performance?

I am unworthy of this position, and he knows it.

“Yes.” His back was to me while he poured a drink at the minibar. “Miss Haines, wait by the bar for one of my men to escort you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I picked up my coat and pulled it on. “I’ll be fine.”

“You are half-naked under there.” His back rested to the minibar. “What type of man would I be if I let you travel alone looking like that?” He eyed me over the rim of his glass. “You’re asking for trouble.”

He has a point, but I have used the station for years and never encountered any problems.

“I’m not asking, Miss Haines. It’s an order.” His commanding voice weakened my knees. “You will accept my generosity.”

“Thank you,” I said, holding back joyous tears. “I promise not to let you down.”

CHAPTER SIX

Alexa

I necessitated revitalisation for my first shift at Club 11, but nervousness kept me awake for most of the night. I tossed and turned in bed until the sun veiled through the bedroom window and the chirping birds outside, somewhat tormenting unrested sleep with their irritating onomatopoeias.

Eventually, I climbed out of bed amid weariness, drank three coffees, and scrubbed the flat to keep myself occupied. If nothing else, it put worries at bay until it was time to put the glad rags on.

I have wanted to get my foot in the door with Club 11 for so long, but now the opportunity has arisen, I am a nervous wreck. It’s not only the fact Liam and I will see each other often that had my stomach twisted in knots. It’s the job requirement itself. I must dance half-naked in front of libidinous men.

After learning Liam Warren has numerous unreadable physiognomies, I know he’s not going to share any details regarding Kathy with me, not that I’m brave enough to interrogate him, but, surely, a dancer, barmaid, cleaner or bouncer will remember something—anything that will help me uncover the truth behind my sister’s disappearance.

I am not docile enough to probe Liam’s loyal subjects straight away. It’s going to take some time to befriend them. Earn their trust. I hope someone will mention Kathy without querying or investigating. Well, that’s the best-case scenario.

I arrived at Club 11 earlier than expected. I’m not overly eager about strutting around in my underwear, but I wanted to make a good impression. Although Liam reconsidered his uncertainties about hiring me, I know the most challenging part is over. I have an impermanent job role in showing self-worth. Realistically speaking, Liam knows I am incapable of exotic dancing. I mean, my performance in his office was not only embarrassing but downright painful. I lack self-confidence, and I am unglamorous compared to the other women.

I’m still unsure how I managed to pull this off, but I’m going to assume that my arse in his hands clouded his judgement. He’s a warm-blooded male. I presented myself in lace underwear. In that heated moment, he overlooked previous reservations.

It wasn’t a typical interview—I don’t think. He was more concerned with touching me. Not to sound conceited, but his advances would have gone further had I been willing or acted on the gravitational pull that enthralled the sexual air between us.

Tonight, on arrival, it was a surreal moment for me. I omitted the club’s queue, as the bouncers were expecting me. I had to sign a few forms before they gave me an employee identification card. One bouncer was kind enough to show me around before shift. It wasn’t much of a tour. He half-heartedly pointed out the locker room for designated employees and showed me the bar and toilet facilities and reminded me that the suites upstairs were off-limits without prior permission from the boss.

I had fifteen minutes before my first shift started, so I surveyed the dancers in the main room, who flawlessly and acrobatically worked those poles to gain male attention and paying clientele. I studied YouTube videos this afternoon to perfect pole dancing, but no amount of studiousness prepared me for such venereal finesse.

Inhaling deeply, I returned to the narrow staff room, dropped my handbag on the wooden bench and did a few breathing exercises. Rather than utilise the locker with my name on it, I stripped into underwear and stuffed belongings behind it instead as I don’t trust people to not go through my bag.

I eyed the door, listening for any advancing footsteps. When assured nobody was near or due to enter, I stood on the bench and searched atop the lockers, tossing old clothes and dusty cosmetics aside. I go through old, discarded garments to find recognisable fabrics, but before I can check inside the unlocked cranes, I overheard footfalls and collapsed on a chair when a male barman strolled inside and entered the small bathroom cubicle. I blinked at his closed door, belatedly discerning our unisex surroundings. Oh, great.

In front of the floor to ceiling mirror, I re-checked my appearance. I opted for red lingerie with black lace trim and a pair of peep-toe heels that belonged to Kathy. I cupped my breasts, tested the weight in my hands, wishing they were bigger. If it weren’t mandatory to remove the bra, I’d be stuffing the cups with tissues for developed cleavage. Shaking away negative thoughts, I rolled my shoulders back to release tension. “You can do it.”

I exited the staff room and headed down the narrow hallway, only to be stopped by one of the dancers and, of course, she is gorgeous, choppy, vibrant red hair, dazzling blue eyes, and designer shoes that I want to pilfer right from her feet. Her animal print corset adhered to her curvy figure like a glove. I inwardly scolded myself for not buying something so fiercely sexy.

She tucked her phone into her cleavage. “Come with me.”

Her radiant confidence had my nerves skyrocketing. Suddenly aware of my unprepossessing image, I pinched my cheeks to add colour and smoothed a hand across my stomach to keep biliousness aside.

“I’m Cherry,” she said over one shoulder. “And you are?”

Cherry’s the name the men inside the alleyway mentioned last night. “Alexa,” I said as she stopped next to a private door. “Where are we going?”

“It appears you already have a fan.” She pushed the door open, motioning for me to enter. “He’s paid for thirty minutes. A hefty payment, I might add, so don’t mess this up, or you’ll have me to contend with.”

I glanced into the room warily. An older man rested on the leather sofa, one arm curled behind his head, a drink in his other hand, beer belly resting on his thighs. “What must I do?”

“Dance, staddle, shake your arse.”

Straddling a man was not part of my job description. I am supposed to be stripping to music out front, not back here with a client. “Mr Warren said I’d be working the cages tonight.” Her wicked smirk confirmed my doubts. She is unfriendly. “I wasn’t made aware that I’d be giving private dances on the first shift.”

She gave me a flippant hand wave. “Get over it, Alanna.”

“Alexa.” My arms crossed. “My name’s Alexa.”

“Whatever.” Her hand curled around my elbow as she forced me into the room. “Do not mess up. The boss is already looking for an excuse to fire your useless arse.” Her harshness boiled my blood. “I give you a week,” were her last words before the door slammed in my face.

For a moment, I just stood there, looking at the door’s glossed framework.

How the hell did I manage to irritate someone on my first shift?

“About time, Missy,” the client growled behind me. “Come over here and give me that dance.”

I’m not sure if I could stomach this.

I turned to face the guy, disgust rooting me on the spot. I watched in dread as he unbuttoned his shirt, displaying his wild, grey chest hair and faded ink.

“Well,” he said, irked by my procrastination, “what are you waiting for?” He tapped his thigh as if encouraging a dog to mount him. “Get on.”

Curling hair strands behind my ears, I lowered my eyes to the floor and moved towards him. His large hand came to my thigh, and I held my breath, counting inside my head. It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt me. It’s all part of the job.

He helped me straddle him, positioning his folded arms behind his head. His heavy-lidded eyes disrobed the sheer lace on my body. He used cheap cologne to conceal his sweaty odour, but the rancid stench watered my eyes. I raised my chin, studied the wall behind him and rigidly rolled my hips.

His eyes fixated on my non-existent breasts, and a strained growl rattled in the back of his throat. His manhood hardened underneath me and, although I should imagine it’s against the rules, he bucked his hips, his manhood prodding my inner thigh. “Stop teasing and get me off.”

Oh, the disgusting human. Orgasms and sleazy touching are beneath my paygrade. His hands clasped onto my arse. Jaw locked in place, I shoved his shoulder and tried to climb off his lap. “I am not—”

To my relief, the door opened, and Blond Suit from the coffee shop appeared.

“Get out,” the client yelled, his chubby cheeks flaring crimson. “I paid for a private session.”

Blond Suit assessed the situation before saying, “Alexa, you have been summoned to Warren’s office.” He diverted his attention to the guy. “Two hundred extra for touching our merchandise. You know the rules, Hank. Additional trimmings come with the higher paid women, not our newbies.”

Higher paid women?

Additional trimmings?

Did Cherry shove me in here to give this man sexual favours for money? I paled at the dire thought. I have heard many rumours that a prostitution ring is one of many illegitimacies at Club 11.

Hank’s face turned beet red. “I barely touched her!”

Blond Suit flashed his perfect white teeth. “Pay the piper motherfucker.”

I staggered off the guy’s lap, my legs almost buckling from converting into jelly. I’m glad Blond Suit intervened. I didn’t want to be in this room, let alone dance for that man.

The Suit extended his hand to the guy. “Give me your wallet.”

“No.” Hank’s jowls jiggled as he shook his head. “I already paid.”

My eyes dash between both men.

Blond Suit snatched the wallet from inside the man’s suit jacket and extracted wads of twenty-pound notes.

I had expected an altercation, but the guy sits there, watching the Suit help himself to cash.

“For you,” the blond said, placing a stack of notes in my hand.

“This is a joke,” the guy muttered under his breath.

“Thank you.” I stuffed the money into my bra.

Blond Suit’s hand went to my lower back as he led me into the hallway. “Nice rack.”

I covered my breasts.

“Why are you hiding them from me?” He stood over me, hiking a brow, a toothpick balanced on his lower lip. “You do realise the bra must come off tonight in a room full of people, so why are you nervous about me seeing them in lace?”

Blond Suit made a valid point. I lowered my arms. “Does Mr Warren need to see me right this very moment?”

“Yes.” He gestured for me to follow. “By the way, the name is Bradley Jones, but nobody calls me that. Brad works, or handsome, or gorgeous…” His full lips pursed. “I can live with sexy.”

I smiled. “Good to know.”

“It’s refreshing, having someone new work here.” His tongue swept the toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “Bossman hasn’t hired anyone for months.” He put a shoulder against Liam’s door. Even with a lowered posture, his intimidating and towering presence had me squirming. “I’m still trying to work out why he hired you.”

I jerked an unsure shoulder.

“He was adamant after your little meltdown at the coffee shop that he wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot barge-pole.” His gaze swept over me. “What changed?”

Was it necessary to remind me of my shameful episode? “I guess he changed his mind.” Lifting my pride-filled eyes, I placed my hand on my hips. “I can be quite persuasive.”

“Yeah?” His bottom lip rolled between his teeth. “I can only imagine.”

His suggestiveness burnt my cheeks. “Can you stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he challenged, closing the breathing space between us. I put a hand on his chest, preventing him from moving closer, and his muscles tightened under my touch. He did not budge, though. “Are you talking about all the naughties going through my head and all that malarkey?”

I burst out laughing. “Naughties?”

His knuckles nudged my chin before he opened the office door and headed straight for the minibar. “I found her giving a private dance, working those hips and all that.” Pouring himself a drink, he winked at me. “She’s a timid little thing, isn’t she?”

Brad and I both know I wasn’t working shit. I’m probably the worst employee Liam’s hired to date. “You wanted to see me.”

“What private dance?” Liam ignored me, awaiting Brad’s response.

“Cherry chucked Alexa into a private room with Hank.”

Liam glanced between us. “I never hired Alexa for exclusive clientele.” He knocked back a shot of whisky. “Get Cherry in my office.”

Oh, shit. Liam’s pissed. If Cherry weren’t such a bitch to me, I’d feel bad for her, but why should I? She lied to me. I work for one person, and that’s the man standing in front of me. I’ll remember that the next time someone else orders me to do something.

“Alexa.” Liam eyed my lace-clad body. “I had time to rethink. You don’t fit the criteria. No cages.”

“What?” Job dismissal cannot be happening. “That’s not fair. I made three hundred pounds shaking my arse. I fit the standards on some level.” Okay, so that’s a bit of an overstatement. If Brad hadn’t entered the room, I wouldn’t have made a penny. “Right?”

Brad chuckled into his glass.

“I didn’t say life was fair. Besides, you shouldn’t have been in that fucking room, to begin with.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I’m apologising. His employee instructed me to go into that room. “Mr Warren, please?”

“No.” Liam stood his ground. “As I said, you do not fit the criteria.”

This man is doing a terrible number on my confidence. I have never once claimed to be beautiful, but I didn’t think I was ugly, either.

What do those other women have that I don’t?

I’d made a massive effort with my look last night, and I purchased new lingerie for this evening. Nothing pleases this man.

“What doesn’t fit?” Brad frowned. “Alexa is gorgeous. She has a banging body. I reckon she’ll adapt.” He nodded his approval. “The men are going to love the whole young-and-innocent look.”

Thank you, Brad. I am glad someone sees potential in me.

Liam glared at him, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “Her lack of expertise means she’s unprofitable. How can she make me money if she cannot entice customers?”

Even with big hair, a face full of makeup, pretty lace and killer heels, Liam still believes I lack sexual appeal. I rest my hands on my hips, shaking my head. What a fucking asshole. Why beat around the bush? He obviously thinks I am unattractive, so just say the word, Warren. “Mr Warren.” I’m back to begging. “I need this job.”

Both men looked at me, but Liam is the man to respond, “You’re not doing the fucking cages. End of.”

There is no more I can do to persuade this man. I did everything in my power to convince him that I am capable, yet he still sees me as a naïve kid who is too incompetent to tempt the male species.

Liam’s stare settled on my face. “I assigned you to the main bar instead.”

“What?” I asked in perplexity. “The bar? As in pouring alcohol and serving customers?”

He gave me a curt nod.

I remained expressionless, speechless, but I am secretly thrilled. I assumed he was letting me go. If anything, working behind the bar is better for me. It means I still have my foot in the door without the obligations of stripteases or dancing for older men. “So, I have the job?”

Liam’s eyes visited the ceiling. “You have the job.”

Alexa, why not request a bar position to begin with?

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. “Great!” I said a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you.”

“Great!” he repeated sarcastically. “Natalie is expecting you.” He pointed to the door. “Leave.”

Well, that’s my cue to fuck off.

I hesitated by the threshold, held his eyes for a moment and whispered, “Thank you.”

Closing the door in my departure, I swept bangs from my face just as Cherry ambled around the hallway corner. “Hey, Alanna.” Her smile was bogus. “In the boss’ office, already? That’s not good.” Her gleeful smile stretched. “So, I won’t be seeing you again, huh?”

Is that why Cherry put me in the room with Hank? She wanted Liam to fire me. “Why did you lie to me?”

Cherry took her time to respond. “Alanna, you don’t belong here. You’re out of your depth. It’ll be like flogging a head horse trying to motivate you. I don’t have time to cater to your needs.”

“Well, you’re out of luck.” I faced her head-on. “Mr Warren happens to see potential in me. Now, I didn’t want to start working here under a cloud as I had no intentions of making enemies. However, I’m not here to make friends, either. So, if you don’t like me, that’s fine. Let’s stay out of each other’s way.”

Her upper lip curled. “You won’t last five minutes.”

I didn’t respond, nor did I watch her enter Liam’s office. I did, however, overhear him shouting, and even though it’s childish, I couldn’t help but smile. I don’t want to fall out with co-workers. I can’t afford to deal with scornful women. But I’m not here to put up with people’s shit either.

The second I stepped behind the bar, a blond, Junoesque woman approached me. “You must be the new girl. I’m Natalie. Wear black shorts and a white vest on shift. Your heels will do fine.” She scrutinised my shoes. “For now. Do not style your hair in braids or ponytails. You must wear your hair down. Be sure to wash your hair daily, too. We don’t want you looking all greased-up while serving customers.” Flinging long, blonde hair over her shoulder, she hurled the club’s uniform at me. “You need to be on your best behaviour.”

I held the new clothing to my chest. “Okay.”

“And prove loyalty,” she added. “We’ve had girls like you, working here before,” she said in disdain, “dipping into tills for rent money.”

I am not a thief. “Excuse me?” Where the hell is this conversation going? And what is with the bitchiness in this place? Is everyone who works here so judgmental and hostile? “I would never steal.”

“There are cameras everywhere.” She pointed to the rotating camcorder in the corner, directly in line with the bar. “Mr Warren can see everything from his office.”

“Oh,” is all I mustered.

“Well, get changed,” she ordered, returning to the long line of customers awaiting service.

Inside the staff room, I slipped into the new uniform, checked my hair in the mirror and reapplied makeup before heading back to the bar.

I have never poured a pint in my life, but I used the key fob to log onto the cash register, glanced at the never-ending customers, and yelled, “Next.”

Over the next few hours, I proved to be the worst barmaid in history. I take far too long to make drinks. I spilt more draught beer than I supplied. And I have already smashed about seven glasses.

I tried not to notice the camera recording us, though I couldn’t help but wonder if Liam was sitting in his office, watching my every move. The concept made me even more uncomfortable, and it certainly didn’t help with progression tonight.

“Move over!”

“You’re not serving quick enough!”

“Seriously! You will not last two minutes in this place if you don’t move your lazy arse!”

“I’ve no idea why he would hire someone like you. It’s pathetic. He feels sorry for you.”

The last statement had my eyes rolling.

What is Natalie’s problem? She spent the entire night biting off my head like a rabid dog. Did I expect to walk in and make friends instantly? No. However, I did not think making friends would be this difficult. These scornful women have not given me a chance. They prejudged me the second I walked into the building and decided I’m not worth getting to know. And I swear they’re determined to force Liam’s hand, hoping he’ll see sense and fire me.

“Two beers,” a customer ordered.

I grabbed two-pint glasses and lost one straight to the floor. I inhaled a deep breath to calm myself down before retrieving another glass.

“Anything else?” I finished pouring the beer and grimaced upon seeing more foam in those glasses than alcohol.

I’m shockingly shit at this.

Hesitating with his wallet, the guy stared at the overfilled pint glasses in dissatisfaction.

“I’ll cover those,” I was quick to assure him. He shouldn’t have to pay for such unworthy drinks.

“No. Don’t be soft. I can see you’re new.” Handing me a twenty-pound note, he gave me a warm smile. “Keep the change.”

Why can’t my co-workers be as friendly as the customers?

“Liam said you can leave now,” Natalie informed me as she strolled past with a wine crate.

“Seriously?” My eyes instinctively looked at the camera. “I have another three hours left. Are you sure?”

“Yes, new girl.” Opening the chiller, she stockpiled unopened bottles. “Why else would I say it? Fuck off.”

“Peace out, bitch,” I muttered, leaving the bar.

I changed back into my clothes in the staff room, collected my bag, and headed out front, grateful for the fresh air. I walked to the London Underground to grab a tube. I was exhausted throughout the journey but managed to keep my eyes open until it was my stop.

As I leave the train and take my short walk home, I mulled over tonight’s antics. It was too busy to even converse with any employees. I hope it’s not going to be like that every shift. I don’t mind the hustle and bustle, but how am I supposed to find out about Kathy if holding a conversation in that place is almost impossible?

Did I even take a break?

Will those women ever like me?

Quit moaning, Alexa. You wanted the job, well, now you have it.

I reached the flat, unlocked my front door and slammed it behind me.

Working for Liam Warren is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Liam

I exited the office to attend a meeting with the men downstairs. Natalie paced toward me before I locked the door, her long, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. Her kittenish smile had the opposite effect. I was in no mood to fuck tonight. I had time for a blowjob, though. Yet, when her hand smoothed down my arm, I had a strong urge to reprimand.

“Not tonight,” I declined her offer, and her fingernails pinched my elbow. “Natalie.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Her freshly glossed lips pouted. “You are never disinclined to receive good head.”

Security paid no attention to us.

I put my back to the closed door. “Maybe later.”

“Right.” Upset glimmered in her eyes, but she quickly tapered down rejection. “What time shall I come back?”

Her blue eyes glittered in desperation. I suppose she was desperate. I slept with another woman twenty-four hours after she and I fucked in the office, yet she came back, knowing I went elsewhere, fell at my feet, begged for attention and, as if I deserved reverence, swallowed my release.

Natalie thinks she is in love with me, not that she’s admitted enamoured feelings aloud, but the word doormat imprinted on her forehead suggested as much.

I entertain it because I am unchivalrous and selfish, but lately, I am bored. And honestly, Natalie’s theatrical pornographic moans did nothing for me. Her face staring up at me while I released tension had my cock protesting.

Her fingers played the piano up my chest. “I can do all the work,” she purred, tugging the collar of my shirt. “Your men can watch. I don’t care.”

Josh and Alexa chose that moment to vacate the staff room at the end of the hall. He’s in the process of pulling a black T-shirt over his head, and Alexa, laughing at something I was not privy to, jabbed him in the stomach. Discerning the sculpted outline of his abdominal muscles, she complimented him. He beamed in cockiness, which had her eyes rolling, and then, those eyes, the colour still incomprehensible, as they seemed to change, landed on me. It was a hurried look, yet the fact I noticed perturbed her.

“Mr Warren.” Natalie’s voice began to grate on me. “Your new girl left early last night.”

I shot her a sharp look. “What?”

“Yeah.” Her finger twirled a strand of hair. “Like two hours before our shift ended.”

When my stare revisited the chortling duo, they were gone.

“I thought you had the right to know,” Natalie continued, her voice bitter. “I—”

“Enough.” Her overt mischief simpered down. “Your shift started ten minutes ago.”

Natalie’s jaw flexed. “Right.”

I joined the men in Club 11’s underground conference room. Low-ranked soldiers, tailored and armed, lined the room’s perimeter, while my most-trusted, Brad and Nate, sat at the long-stretched mahogany table, awaiting our closed-door conclave. Cherry preoccupied herself behind the corner bar. Her dishevelled image, the result of tonight’s rapacious clients. She poured everyone’s preferred alcohol, handed over a percentage of her earnings, wads of cash bound by metal clips, and then, politely excusing herself from the room, returned upstairs to assist in the main function room.

“Well?” I sparked a cigarette and took a long drag. “Proceed.”

“Someone broke into the restaurant.” Nate opened a leather-bound folder and splayed paper across the table. “I checked the surveillance. Two masked men entered the building at three a.m. this morning. Trashed the office and ransacked the wine cellar.”

My blood fired hot. I took ownership of The Grape and Vine on my twenty-first birthday. At the time, I craved a new investment, somewhere to launder funds to legalise them, to hide bulk-cash smuggling from law enforcement.

Brad had a quandary. His ex-girlfriend’s father, Gerald Sr, approached him outside the club. He threw accusations and threatened the law if his ex-son-in-law never provided answers.

You see, Brad Jones dated once upon a time.

Tiffany Fisher.

They dated for five years before Brad killed her in a brutal act of vengeance (not my story to tell), and even though I had only just met the man, I assisted by setting the house alight.

Gerald Sr became a problem, a thorn in my side, an irritating parasite who did not know when to quit. His daughter vanished, and he demanded an explanation, which I was unprepared to tolerate, so I paid him a friendly visit.

It’s a humorous memory. Brad and Nate attended. I visited The Grape and Vine’s previous owner, Gerald Sr, who, to our dismay, was sitting behind a hardwood desk in his office, his employee, William, kneeling between his parted thighs, overindulging on his cock.

Brad was dumbfounded. “You are married to a fucking woman.” And then, he pinned bashful William with a disgusted look. “Seriously? Grey fucking balls?” He glimpsed at the lad’s flaccid cock. “You were whacking one off to an old man’s wrinkly balls.”

I introduced myself to Gerald Sr and then got down to business. Face-to-face. Man-to-man. He cried. He pleaded with Brad to admit his crimes. He asked for his daughter’s body so that his wife could lay her to rest.

Nate forced Gerald Sr to sign over The Grape and Vine before I whipped out the Eagle and put a bullet between his eyes. His secret lover, William, vomited at the sight of blood, and then, fearing his life, he implored for mercy. Well, to manage a restaurant, I needed someone to run a tight ship in my absence. I gave the lad a promotion, and he’s worked for me ever since. He’s a diligent young man. Management refined his industriousness.

“How much did they take?” I asked, skimming through printed images.

“The one guy helped himself to a bottle of Margaux, so approximately six thousand in damages. That guy,” he pointed to the larger of two men in the image, “emptied the safe inside your office. You are looking at forty thousand in damages and a possible data breach. They left with client information.”

My teeth ground together. “Twice,” I clipped, respiring a veil of smoke. “In the space of one year, safecrackers have successfully stolen from me. It’s high time we invest in an upgrade. I want two biometric safes delivered by next week.”

“Sir,” Nate drawled, sending another folder down the table.

I caught it under my hand. “What’s this?”

“Alexa Haines’ background check.”

My fingers traced the delicate spine. “I want to know who dared to enter the restaurant. Find those opportunists and kill them.” I stood, and the men followed suit, rising to their feet. “Get back to work.”

I returned to the office, snagged a bottle of Macallan from the minibar and sat behind the desk. Pouring a decent shot, I tossed Rizla paper down, built a deck and rolled a blunt.

Alexa’s file beckoned interest.

Taking a long hit, I let smoke roll to the back of my throat, flipped open the folder and began to read. Three minutes into the assessment and I knew something was wrong. Her file was virtually empty or most uninteresting. I had yet to decide.

I sent a text message.

Me: Send Miss Haines to my office.

Three circles bounced on the screen.

Brad: Why? Can we share?

Me: Brad…

Brad: It’s not like we haven’t done it before.

Me: I am not interested in fucking the new girl.

Brad: Great. I am.

I counted to five and then replied.

Me: I won’t ask again.

Brad: Alright, Bossman. Calm down. I will send her up.

I placed the phone on my desk, closed the girl’s folder and tucked it inside the drawer. Turning on the monitor, I signed into surveillance and searched for the girl in question. I located Alexa on the ground floor, her rushed, panicked movements apparent to the eye. Blunt balanced on my bottom lip, I eased back in the chair, haze starting to take effect, and watched until she stood outside of my door. Her nervousness caused procrastination. My men remained professional, not responding to her blethering.

A knock on the door.

“Come in,” I authorised, and, meek yet smiling, her face appeared around the door frame. “Inside, Miss Haines.”

“Yes, of course.” Into the room, she came. Her back flush to the sealed door. “Brad said that you wanted to see me.”

I pointed to the chair in front of my desk.

When Alexa walked, I struggled to look away. Her legs extended for miles. Her heels had seen better days, though. Pulling the chair back slightly, she sat down and crossed those taunting legs before her joint hands clasped to the knee.

I took preventive action and averted my eyes to the whiskey-filled glass. “What is your excuse for unpunctuality?”

“Unpunctuality,” she repeated, her lips twitching in befuddlement. “I’m sorry, Mr Warren. I don’t understand the question.”

“You left early last night, without my permission. Idleness is intolerable, Miss Haines. I should fire you.”

Her mouth opened in shock. “Am I allowed to argue my case?”

“No.” Yet, I sensed she would challenge my authority regardless. “I am not curious enough to care.”

“Well, that’s unfair treatment, Mr Warren. I am not here to be victimised by peers. I am here to earn money.”

“Victimisation is a strong accusation, Miss Haines,” I said calmly, and she raked hair aside, which exposed the graceful curve of her collar bone. “Are you raising a grievance?”

“No,” she said after a quiet pause. “No, I can handle it.” In the juxtaposition of alcohol and drugs, I proffered the Macallan bottle and, grateful for the distraction, she poured herself a drink. “May I ask you a question?”

I blew out a long trail of smoke. “Go ahead.”

Alexa stared into the whiskey glass when she asked, “Are you dating Natalie?”

Although her inquiry was unexpected, I remained expressionless. “How is my sex life any of your business?”

“It’s not,” she countered. “But I think her reason for hating me has something to do with you. Rephrase, it definitely has something to do with you.”

I relit the blunt. “I don’t date. If Natalie is an issue, I will put her under micromanagement until she learns to behave herself.”

Her bated breath came out airily. “I am really trying to avoid any more confrontation. As I said, I am only here to earn money. Snitches get stitches, right?” When I grimaced, she face-palmed. “Please erase everything remotely humiliating from your memory. I tend to babble when nervous.”

I did nothing to kindle her anxiousness but took her newness into consideration. “Before you go back to work,” I approached a new topic, “I wish to discuss something. Due to my extracurricular activities,” I said equivocally, “I run background checks on all my employees.” Her face paled. “Your pallor is not very reassuring, Miss Haines.”

Her throat worked on a swallow. “I do not appreciate you invading my personal information, Mr Warren.”

“I will not apologise for looking after my interest. However, rest assured, I uncovered insignificance.” Leaning across the desk, I refilled our glasses. “So, either you lead a boring life, or you are hiding something from me. Which is it?”

Alexa’s red-polished fingernails tapped the whiskey glass. “Both, I guess,” she said, and I sat back to listen. “I have an unspeakable past. It’s public knowledge, but it’s not something I openly discuss. Nowadays, though, I travel between home and work. That’s it. Boring.”

“Public knowledge, yet it says parents are unknown on your file.”

“What?” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s impossible.”

My nostrils flared. “Name them.”

“Adaline Rutherford and Patrick Haines.”

“And they are dead?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“Are you on social media?”

A guarded wall stacked around her. “No.”

“Why?”

Her eyes bugged out. “Are you on social media?”

No, I hate social media. “You are not authorised to ask me questions.”

“I feel attacked,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Mr Warren, I am just a nobody.”

I picked up my phone. “If I googled your name, what will I find?”

Alexa’s bewilderment morphed into stark dread. “Humiliation.”

My thumb paused on the search bar. “Humiliation?”

Tears saturated her eyes. “I would rather you didn’t.”

“Alexa.” Her sudden upset piqued interest. “I need to know your history. It’s mandatory. I trust no one.”

“Then, I will leave,” she said, and my brows raised. “I am not a threat to you, Mr Warren. What you do behind closed doors is none of my business, but It’s unfair to expect full disclosure from me. I am entitled to privacy.”

“If your life story is available online, what’s the issue?”

Alexa considered the question. “It’s nice to be around people who take me at face value.”

Her mysteriousness stirred inquisitiveness. I had hoped the meeting would mollify apprehensions, but her indirect responses worsened reservations. Against her plea, I typed information into the google bar, and it asked if I spelt her name incorrectly. I amended the name to Rutherford—nothing.

“Do you mock me?” I asked, and she flinched at the harshness in my tone. “Yet again, I come unstuck. What are you not telling me, Miss Haines?”

Alexa’s face contortions. “I…” Our eyes collided. Hers looked greener than usual. “It should be there. I mean, it was there,” she stuttered, and then, her thirst unquenchable, she shook droplets from the empty glass onto her tongue. “I had a bad childhood. It’s nothing exciting, Mr Warren. I don’t understand why it’s not online or why someone’s given you the incorrect file.” She rubbed swear across her forehead. “Sorry, I am speechless.”

You and I both. “Breath, Miss Haines,” I said, perceiving her short, hitched breaths. “I’d rather you didn’t faint again.”

“Sorry,” she apologised, inhaling deep breaths and releasing them in intervals.

When Alexa’s breathlessness posed hyperventilation, I rounded the desk and, gripping the armrests of her chair, turned her seat to face me fully. “Alexa,” I said, short and sharp, and when her eyes, brown and glassy, looked up at me, I spat out a curse. “What is wrong with you? Just breathe.” Falling to one knee before her, I held her face, flummoxed by the switch in her eye colour, and forced her to maintain a mutual gaze. “It’s no big deal. Breathe. Nice and slow. In and out.”

Nodding vehemently, Alexa breathed in, held it, then released, and again, she drew in a long, deep breath and her lips, pursed to expel, blew soft against my cheek. I could almost hear the franticness of her thumping heartbeat.

The office door swung open. “Bossman…” Brad stalled, and Alexa, embarrassed yet compromised, turned her neck sharply, her forehead nearly on my shoulder. “Fuck. Is she okay?”

“Give us a minute,” I ordered, and he retreated to the hallway, leaving the door ajar.

Alexa’s last exhale stuttered. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and I felt a warm tear on my thumb. “I swear, I am not insane. I don’t know what’s come over me lately.”

“Go and clean yourself up,” I said as we stood in unison. “And Miss Haines?” Her footsteps toward the door faltered. “You better hope I don’t uncover anything disingenuous.”

Brad walked through as Alexa absconded. Toothpick wedged between his teeth, he collapsed onto the leather sofa, shook a small clear packet and emptied cocaine onto the high gloss coffee table. “Do you want a line?”

Conveying bottled whisky and two clean glasses to the seating area, I gave him a curt nod. “Alexa’s file is too clean.”

He used a debit card to separate lines. “Do we trust her?”

“Honestly, I am torn.” Taking a position opposite Brad, I sat on the edge of the leather sofa. “How harmful can a nineteen-year-old girl be?”

Brad rolled a fifty-pound note. “I think she’s kosher.”

“Yeah?” I probed, and he nodded. “She has an ‘unspeakable past.’”

He snorted. “Is that what she said?”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“Don’t we all?” He sniffed two lines, itched irritation from his nostril and sagged against the leather. “May I speak freely?” I blinked once. “You seem overly interested in our newly hired. Perhaps it’s messing with one’s mind.”

I ignored his sarcasm. “Safety measures.”

“Yes,” he said whispery. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, would we?”

Extracting a fifty-pound note from my wallet, I rolled it tightly. “Last time, I was unsuspecting. I want eyes on this one at all times. If she is hiding something, if the tears and panic attacks are ungenuine, I will execute.”

Brad’s arms crossed. “Do you want me to pop round there? I can do it while she’s at work. If there is anything to find, it’ll be in her private home.”

I tasted cocaine on my thumb. “No.” If anyone is to overturn Alexa’s place, it will be me. “Just keep an eye on her as instructed.”

“Meanwhile,” he said, deviousness dancing in his wide eyes. “Is Alexa up for debate?”

I paused with the Macallan bottle to my lips. “Meaning?”

“Am I allowed to pursue her?”

The son of a bitch is testing me. “Are you interested?”

“Christ, I am ravenous,” he half-joked. “I wouldn’t mind fucking her arse.”

Yes, her derrière is decent. I am guilty of looking from time to time.

“So, is she on the table then?” His stare dared me to forbid it. “Bossman?”

My mouth twitched at the corner. “I belong to no one.”

“Sorted.” His palms rubbed together. “I will let her adjust first. Then I’ll break her in.”

For an unfathomable reason, I did not like the thought of my men touching Alexa. Perhaps it’s because she’s quite young, naive and unassuming. Maybe it’s because if I can’t have her, no one else can. Whatever the reason, the men, specifically Brad, cannot know I developed a soft spot for her. “Alexa is off-limits.”

“Sorry, Boss.” Brad put a hand behind his ear. “What was that?”

My arms stretched across the back of the sofa as I put a foot to the knee. “You heard me.”

“Off-limits.” He licked the toothpick to the right side of his mouth. “Right.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Alexa

The comforting smell of drifting coffee roused me from dreamless slumber. Head buried in the pillow, I groaned groggily, one eye splintering open to see Chloe, perched on the edge of the bed, a steamy mug of coffee in hand, the early morning sun, seeping through the transparently curtained window, shone in her midst.

“Good morning,” I croaked, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes. “Please say that’s for me.”

“Clearly.” Her eyebrows danced. “Here you go.”

“Oh, God. I feel hungover without alcohol privilege consumption.” I sat up, my back to the headboard and accepted the coffee. Noticing the eagerness on her face, I stared narrowly. “Why are you in such a good mood? What did I miss?”

“I’m always in a good mood.” She pulled the fleece blanket across her legs. “Now, come on. Tell me everything that happened last night. All the juicy details.” Excitement gleamed in her eyes. “I’ve been dying to wake you up for, like, three hours.”

“Nu-uh.” My brow arched as I sipped coffee. “You can go first.”

“Fine.” She folded her arms, preparing for a speech. “So, I visited my dad last night.”

“What? And that’s the reason behind early morning jubilance.” I hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but Chloe loathed her father, so visiting him, whatever the purpose, was astounding. “Sorry, that was disrespectful.”

“No, I understand.” Her lips meshed together. “It’s not like I have the best relationship with my dad.”

I placed the coffee mug on the bedside table. “What happened?”

“Well, I still hate him.” Her faux derisiveness was expected. It must be emotionally exhausting and mentally conflicting, loving and hating the person who raised you. “And she-who-shall-not-be-named,” she meant his wife, “I am over it, Hon. We will never see eye to eye, but if she makes my dad happy, who am I to inconvenience them? It’s not like I am important or anything. I’m the reckless daughter, right? The unwanted step-child.” Saltiness, sourness and bitterness dripped from each syllable. “I look like her,” she whispered, the tightness in her throat scratched her sad voice. “I think he sees her when he looks at me. It’s hard for him, I guess. I know he remarried, but he really loved my mom.”

My heart squeezed. “Chloe…”

“I am fine.” Her hands fanned her face to eliminate tears. “It’s okay, Hon. I got it out.”

I sighed in vicarious distress. “So, what made you visit?”

Chloe needed an encouraging breath to continue. “Dad left me a voicemail yesterday morning about a fundraiser he organised and wanted me to show face. I don’t know what made me attend, but I was curious.” She was rather chagrined. “It sucked. I hate pompous socialites, and those are my dad’s favourite people. Imagine long, boring speeches, snobbish condescension and overambitious pretentiousness,” she joshed in a patronising British accent, and I laughed. “I’m glad I went, though.” Heat crept to her cheeks. “I met someone.”

My smile broadened. “Does he look like Chris Hemsworth?”

“I wish.” She snorted. “No, but he does remind me of a young Clark Kent.”

“Nice,” I said with an extended whistle. “What’s his name?”

“Harold Stone. He works for my father. Let’s just say that he made dinner service a bearable experience.” She gave me a dreamy eye roll. “He’s insanely gorgeous, has beautiful manners, and he’s exceptionally charming. I had a hard time concentrating because I was too busy gawking.”

Laughter bubbled out of me. “Will you see him again?”

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. “He wants to take me on a date.”

If anyone deserved happiness, it was her. “And?”

“And I told him I’d let him know.” Her little hand clap and high-pitched squeal exemplified excitement. “Okay, I am calm again. When should I text him? Today? Tomorrow? Next week?” Her babbling took me for a wild ride. “I want him to wonder about me I cannot show desperation, Alexa. He should make the first move, right?”

“Chloe.” I stifled merriment. “Waiting twenty-four hours to message a guy is not desperate.”

“Yeah.” Her hands palmed the phone. “Okay, what should I say?”

I am the worst person to give relationship advice. “Thanks for last night. I had a great time?”

“Was that a question? You sounded unsure.”

I lifted two shoulders.

Her thumbs tapped the screen. “Done. Ah.” Snatching a pillow, she covered her face, and then, re-emerging from behind sequined duck feathers, she peered over the threaded tassels. “I am freaking out, Hon. Talk to me. Tell me what happened at work last night.”

“Well, I earned a lot of tips.” Taking a swig of coffee, I opened the bedside drawer to grab the purse and emptied scrunched up notes and loose change onto the bed between us. “People are generous. I am quite possibly the worst barmaid on the planet, yet customers leave great tips. One guy handed over fifty quid because I listened to him complain about his wife for thirty seconds while pouring his pint.”

“There is a lot of money here.” Chloe’s investigatory fingers traced the Queen’s holographic image. “Shall we get some groceries in?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t hide elation. It’s not often we splash out on good food. Penny-pinching only stretches to the basics. “Decent beer. Russian vodka. Cornish ice cream.”

“Value ice cream is no longer good enough, huh?” She checked her phone frequently to see if Harold replied. “So, last night?”

“Well, I was on the bar with Josh—”

“Who is Josh?”

“He’s the lad who served us drinks the night we snuck into Club 11.”

Her body stretched across the bed. “Right.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I was on the bar with Josh, when Brad—”

“Who is Brad?”

Knowing I had mentioned Blond Suit before, I stared at her in mystification. “Brad is one of Liam’s men. His right-hand man, to be exact. He came to the bar and sent me to Liam’s office for an unscheduled meeting. Chloe, I bricked it. I thought he knew something.”

“How?” she asked, and I pulled an unsure face. “What did he say?”

“Initially, I had a lecture about tardiness because Natalie—”

“Who is Natalie?”

This girl will not stop interrupting. “Natalie works with me behind the bar. She is such a scornful bitch. I don’t know what I did to her in a previous life, but she hates me.”

My update irked Chloe. “What’s her deal?”

Natalie has a liking for our boss. If he so much as breathes in my direction, she thinks I am out to ruin whatever sexual agreement they have. “Anyhow, Natalie told me to leave early by order of the boss, which I found out last night was a complete lie. Liam did not authorise a short shift, so I faced admonishment.”

Chloe’s cheeks puffed. “Do you want me to rip her hair out?”

I laughed. “No,” I said, and her pearly whites flashed. “Liam did a background check.”

Her cheerfulness died down. “What?”

“I have a clean file,” I said, and bafflement cleaved her tongue. “Either one of the Suits didn’t do their job properly, or someone erased my information from the public record. Oh, and you cannot find me on Google.”

“What?” Dumbfounded by the conversation, she unlocked her phone and typed my name into Google. “Holy shit, Hon.” Her mouth formed a circle. “What is going on right now? Where are the old news articles?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, and we shared a look of unease. “Whatever the reason, I am glad because if Liam learns I am Kathy’s sister before I find out what happened to her, I may wind up in an unmarked grave.”

“Impossible,” she said in a low voice. “Alexa, who would remove you from The National Archives? And who is tech-savvy enough to do a search engine content removal? Listen, I am glad Liam came unstuck, but Alexa, I don’t like this. What if—”

“No,” I cut her off. “It has nothing to do with him. He’s gone, Chloe.”

“Is he, though? Kathy is missing, and old articles miraculously disappear.” Her expression grew melancholic. “Alexa, I don’t think we can ignore this stuff. It could mean something.”

I know she is right, but I refused to give the man a second’s thought. “I need the bathroom.”

While I did my morning business, Chloe went to the kitchen to prepare another round of coffee. Bladder relieved, teeth brushed, face splashed in cold water, I towel dried my hands and, arms stretching skyward to loosen the limbs, I walked to the living room and plonked on the sofa. I picked up the remote to switch through television channels, selected This Morning, and decreased the volume. I did not want to watch or listen, but I liked having something play in the background.

“Did you eat all the bread?” Chloe asked from the small box kitchen. “I wanted to make toast before I left for work.”

“I had two pieces before bed.” There was half a loaf left, though. “Check the cupboards.”

“I did.” Carrying two mugs into the room, she set them on the rustic coffee table and, hands on her hips, glanced toward the kitchen. “I only bought it yesterday.” Her frown remained. “It doesn’t matter. I will buy a toastie before I get to the office.”

“I am so tired,” I mumble-yawned. “I hate adulting.”

Chloe sat next to me on the sofa and pulled her knees to her chest. “When is your next night off?”

I had no idea.

***

I came to work thirty minutes early to hunt the staff room again. Previously, I fossicked the kitchenette, went through the cutlery drawers, the fridge and cupboards. Of course, I found nothing, much like now, but I had to keep looking just in case I missed something.

Ten minutes into exploration, and exasperation intensified. I went to the changing rooms empty-handed. Lockers lined the walls. Benches and chesterfield armchairs sprinkled across the floors. It’s useless. I regularly turn the room upside down and crumble by lack of finding.

En route to the main room to start work, I bypassed the cleaning cupboard, the same place where Liam threw me into mental distortion. I looked at the unlocked door. It’s an outlandish thought, but where do they store lost property?

I rechecked my surroundings, cracked open the door and peeked into the dark, chemically infused room. Unlocking my phone, I swiped through apps, selected the torch and, entering with watchful restlessness, shone faint light on the floor to ceiling garage-like units. Bleach stockpiled the shelves, and boxes of unopened, sterile gloves hoarded the counter. Everything appeared to be normal, except the cardboard boxes stuffed beneath the metal unit. With a glance to the door, I lowered my knees to the concrete floor and extended an arm under the bottom shelf. My fingers trembled. I gripped the first box, slid it onto the ground and flipped open the flimsy flaps to look inside—random junk amassed—miscellaneous items: cosmetics, jewellery, shoes, clothes.

I closed the box and picked another.

More oddments.

As I return the box, I faintly see something at the back of the shelf. Aiming the torch, I illuminated the handbag and quailed at the recognisable daisy brooch.

I stuffed the dust-covered bag under my vest, which produced an unbelievable pregnant belly, killed the torch and keeping my back to the hallway’s camera upon exit, dashed to the ground-floor restroom.

Inside the locked cubicle, I sat on the closed toilet seat and unzipped Kathy’s bag: purse, lipstick, earrings, condoms, perfume, keys, receipts. In the side pouch, an old photograph of our mother. Her beautiful face evoked nostalgia, but her feigned happiness and ingenuine smile kindled disturbingly vivid memories, gut-wrenching flashbacks, screaming, crying, pleading, begging.

I shut my eyes tight, forcing the voices to the back of my mind. Not today, Alexa. You don’t want to go there.

My eyes opened.

I returned the photograph to the side pouch and, curiosity getting the better of me, read through Kathy’s receipts: restaurants, retail stores, convenience stores and one hotel. In fact, most of Kathy’s receipts were from the same hotel. I read the address. It is around the corner from Club 11. Perhaps it was Kathy’s and Liam’s go-to place. Yet, he claimed never to date.

I re-zipped the handbag, stood on the toilet seat and shifted the movable ceiling panel aside to hide her belongings aloft. Panel back in place, I dusted off my hands and started my shift behind the bar.

***

Although Chloe offered to visit the pawnshop near her office building, I took the liberty of going there myself. I work nights, so I had plenty of free time in the day to run errands. Alas, all three pawnbrokers unidentified Kathy. I brandished photos to refresh their memories, gave thorough descriptions and even googled the phone model.

“When did she sell the phone?”

I am talking to an old, irascible man. He is far too unsociable to deal with customers and has the attention span of a goldfish. “I don’t know,” I said for the umpteenth time since arriving. “But I called her number, and someone else answered the call. He said he bought the phone from a pawnbroker.”

“It wasn’t me.” He had cataractous eyes. “I work six days a week and miss nothing. I’d remember if she pawned it here.”

I snatched the pamphlet on the counter and pointed to the obvious. “Open seven days a week.”

He stared down his nose at me. “And?”

“And who takes over for you to have a day off?”

“How is that relevant?”

“Maybe that person dealt with my sister.”

“Hm,” he mumbled, stroking his double chin. “You might be onto something, lady.”

Oh, for the love of God.

He hobbled to the back of the store to call someone.

Exhausted by our strange conversation, I splayed my fingers across the counter, lowered my head and made an effort to regroup. I can hear the guy on the phone. He’s discussing the issue with an employee. Based on his flippant attitude, I will be walking out of here disheartened.

I left before he returned, not wanting to witness the I-told-you-so look on his face. I went to the hotel, the final destination for the day. I had work in a few hours and needed a bite to eat beforehand.

I walked to the two-story hotel, an old, blue-painted building bedecked with hand-carved rustic wood window shutters, blooming hanging baskets and clambering wall vines.

Pushing through the main entrance, I paused in the spacious foyer to marvel at the Victorian floor tiles. A middle-aged man sat behind the curved walnut reception desk. He peered at me over black-framed glasses. “Have you booked a reservation, Ma’am?”

“Hey,” I said sheepishly. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. It’s about my sister. She stayed here quite often…” His stone-faced expression intensified twitchiness. “I can show you a photo.” Unlocking my phone, I dropped my handbag on the floor by my feet and flashed him a recent image of Kathy. “I found her receipts. I think she might have been a regular customer.”

“Ma’am.” He slid the reading glasses to the tip of his nose to rub the bridge between his eyes. “As much as I would love to help, I pride myself on customer confidentiality.”

“I appreciate your concerns. But it’s important. My sister disappeared. I need to know what happened to her.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Did you contact the police?”

“Yes, I left unsatisfied.” My eyes welled up. “I think something bad happened to her. Honestly, I am grappling straws. But I cannot sit around and do nothing. Please, I am begging you.” When he winced, I fumbled with my purse. “I can pay you.” I’ll use the compensation money. “How much?”

“Ma’am.” His hand landed atop mine. “I don’t want your money.” Rolling his shoulders back, he wheeled the chair closer to the desk. His fingers hovered above the keyboard. “What’s her name?”

Gratitude softened my features. “Kathy Haines.”

He tapped her details into the system. “I’m afraid I don’t have anyone by that name registered, Ma’am. Are you sure she stayed here?”

“Yes.” I felt a sudden spout of dizziness. “I saw her receipts.”

“Perhaps her companion made the reservations.”

I climbed the pillar of optimism. “Liam Warren.”

His fingers hesitated on the keyboard. “I am disinclined to invade Mr Warren’s personal life, Ma’am.”

“I won’t tell him,” I assured the man, but the fear in his eyes intensified. “It’s a quick sweep through the system. He’s none the wiser.”

“Shit.” Tousling his brown mane, he revisited the keyboard, tapped Liam’s details into the system, and relief flashed over her countenance. “No. Mr Warren’s not on the system, either.”

“Impossible.” I was rendered speechless. “I saw the receipts. My sister came here.”

“Are you sure Mr Warren accompanied your sister, Ma’am?” he asked, and I frowned, more confused than ever. “Is it possible she dated another man?”

I took umbrage at his innocuous question. “My sister is not a harlot.”

“I do not insinuate anything.” He fixed his skewed bowtie. “Food for thought, though.”

My eyes went to the security camera in the corner. “What about surveillance?”

He followed my line of vision. “I would need an accurate date.”

Why did I leave the receipts behind?

I lost the fight. Thanking the man, I slung the bag strap over one shoulder and beelined for the door. I almost touched the gilded handle. “Adaline Rutherford,” I said, and his eyebrows drew in tight. “Is her name on the system?”

“I can check.” The sound of tapping keys ensued. “How do you spell the surname?” I reeled off the letters. “It’s a match.” He smiled, and relieved laughter fell from my lips. “Adaline Rutherford.”

Kathy used our mother’s name. “When was the last time she visited?”

His head dipped as he read the information on the screen. “Last year.”

It’s the first burst of hope I had felt since Kathy disappeared. “And her companion?”

The guy winced. “Mr Rutherford.”

Kathy used a false never to conceal her lover’s details. “It’s Liam.”

CHAPTER NINE

Alexa

I survived an entire month working for Liam Warren. I deserved a medal. Club 11 is hard graft. Despite sleep deprivation, hostile co-workers and unspoken illicitness, I earned a decent wage. Everyone hated me. Well, that’s a slight exaggeration. It’s the women who loathe the sight of me. I am friendless, no female amity. I got along with the Suits, though, and Josh, the head barman, is pleasant to be around. He’s also funny, charismatic, cheeky, smart and, why am I mentally obsessing over Josh?

I spooned ice cream into my mouth.

In regard to my sister, I have reached a stalemate. If I hadn’t witnessed Kathy entering Club 11 with my own eyes, I’d start to doubt she even worked there.

Kathy practically lived inside the building, so there must be traces of her left behind, right? Wrong. I ransacked every room, nook and cranny, omitting the handbag, which is now tucked under the bed. I have discovered useless knowledge. If the bar is quiet and the dancers are standing around chin-wagging, I pretend to be busy and tune into their conversations, ignoring their vulgarism and theatrical giggles, hoping that one might discuss Kathy. My sister performed beside those people every day, yet nobody mentioned her name.

What am I missing here?

Since most Club 11 is off-limits to low-ranked employees, I cannot extend the investigation further. I am in no safe position to question anyone, especially those ill-natured, rancorous women. In particular, Natalie and Cherry. Those two are waiting for the prime opportunity for me to expose ulterior motives, so they can run to our boss and tattle.

Yes, I became a team member under false pretences, but I am not primed to engender those scornful women or beguile their beloved boss. What Liam does in life is none of my business. Hand on my heart, I wish him no harm. If he finds out I wanted a job for reasons other than cash, though, I might be screwed.

Liam Warren.

I groaned over a mouthful of ice cream.

To whom it may concern, I, Alexa Haines, have a huge crush.

God, why are you punishing me?

When that man makes an appearance, which is infrequent as he seldom leaves the office, I am impossibly drawn to him.

Liam is agonisingly handsome, and he quite literally steals my breath away whenever our eyes collide. I am not sure when or how, but somewhere along the way, I developed romantic feelings. He’s the first person I think about in the morning and the last person I think about before bed. I experience butterflies when he’s nearby. When I hear his voice, I become nervous.

It’s new to me, in-chest flutters, skipping heartbeats.

I am conflicted about newfound emotions. Liam is dangerous to females. You are safe if you enjoy meaningless sex and unromantic affairs because the man will not date, but if you see him as more than brisk amorousness, then he is poison to the heart. And I had to protect my heart. It has endured too much pain already.

“Are you going to eat all that?” Chloe asked, palming popcorn kernels into her mouth.

“Uh, it’s chocolate ice cream?” I scooped a spoonful, swallowing its heavenly deliciousness. “What do you think?”

“I feel sorry for your arse in the morning,” she muttered while using the remote to change over the television channel.

“That is disgusting.” I thrust the bowl in her hand. “Here. I can hardly finish eating after that statement.”

“How is the agent shit going?” Leaving a comedy on the box, she switched between scarfing sugary snacks and chugging cheap beer. “Have you befriended anybody yet?”

“It’s going nowhere. I haven’t found anything on Kathy, and I don’t think I will.” My head rested on her shoulder. “What if I am wasting my time, Chloe?”

“You can’t give up, Hon.” Chloe cracked open another beer, the airtight seal fizzling gas. “Have you thought about asking Liam?”

Yes, I have pondered whether or not it’s safe to speak to Liam about Kathy. He’s gotten to know me, so I am no longer questionable or deemed untrustworthy. However, the fact remains that he is a renowned criminal. Paint it how you want, but the man is an unconvinced murderer sprinkled in glorification. I will not gamble my life, not for love nor money, nor elucidation. “All the time. I’m scared to poke the bear, though. Liam and his men are terrifying. I haven’t seen anything too shady—that’s not to say everything is above board either—but the dancers are one hundred percent sleeping with clients for money. Then there are the drugs.”

“Drugs,” she deadpanned.

“Yes. Drugs.” I sat crossed-legged, twisting at the waist to face her head-on. “Twice a week, a juggernaut truck reverses down the club’s alleyway for the Suits to convey large, sealed cranes to the cellar, leaving a faint trail of white substance on the floor. I am no drug expert, but I’m convinced it is cocaine—oh! And they own guns,” I whisper-shout as if someone could hear us gossiping within the vicinity of our squalid flat. “Real guns.”

Chloe placed the ice cream bowl on the coffee table. “Guns?” she asked wryly. “Firearms are illegal, Alexa.”

Does she think I’m not aware of our gun laws?

“Yes, Chloe. Guns.” Irked by her facetiousness, I huffed bangs from my face. “I have seen them. Nate came behind the bar to empty the cash register, right? When he bent down, the handle poked out from the inside of his suit jacket.” True story. “I was so bloody shocked. I’m sure he noticed, too. He procrastinated, like, he wanted to get into a conversation, but I continued to serve customers, pretending to be blind. And dumb.”

Chewing sour strawberry laces, she sucked sugar from her fingers. “Who is Nate?”

My chest deflated. “Why do you always ask the least relevant questions?” I climbed to my feet and headed to the kitchen for a drink.

“Okay.” Her feet scuffed along the floorboards as she shadowed behind me. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” She took the bottled water from my hands and swigged. “Please, finish your story.”

“Two nights ago, the Suits’ dragged an unwilling man behind the bar and into the cellar. Twenty minutes later, Liam joined them.” At the disturbing memory, I felt a cold chill dance along my spine. “That man never resurfaced. I reckon Liam murders people down there, and then the Suits dismantle the body parts.”

She gave me a scathing laugh. “And what do you suppose Liam is doing with all these dismantled bodies?”

“How the hell should I know? It’s not the first time I have witnessed them haul someone underground. Those victims never come back. Once dragged away—that’s the end of the road for them. Gone.”

“Oh, come on, Alexa.” She drew in a sharp breath. “You are paranoid.”

“Paranoid? I’m serious. Club 11 is corrupt to shit, and so are the people working there. So, the answer to your original question is no.” My eyes blurred. “I will not ask Liam if he knows where Kathy is as I’m starting to wonder if he’s the reason behind her disappearance.”

“Hon, please don’t be upset. I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. I have heard the rumours about that man.” She dipped her head for me to meet eyes. “But Alexa, I don’t want you roped into his dark world. If you witness anything untoward, just turn a blind eye and look the other way. It’s none of your business.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“Where Kathy is concerned, if you genuinely believe asking Liam outright is impossible, keep doing what you’re doing and stay vigilant. If you don’t get the answers you’re looking for, walk away from that place and never look back.”

Chloe’s right. I’m there for one reason: My sister.

“Do you honestly think he might have…” Pallid, she visibly swallowed. “Do you believe Liam’s the reason Kathy hasn’t come home?”

There’s an unspoken question lingering between us.

Is my sister alive?

“I don’t know for sure,” I said grimly, chewing my thumbnail. “I’m beginning to consider other possibilities, though.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. Why would he want to hurt Kathy?” She lifted herself onto the counter and folded her arms. “Does Liam seem to be missing his estranged girlfriend?”

Disbelieving laughter vibrated in my chest. “Liam Warren looks like the type of man who’s never even dated, let alone committed himself to a significant other. He said as much, too. I mean, I’m not saying Kathy misled us. Maybe she honestly thought their relationship was serious, but I don’t think the feeling was mutual between them. He’s not a grieving man. If anything, he’s overcompensating with the dancers.”

“You think their love was a fabrication of the truth,” she said assuredly.

“Maybe? I don’t believe Liam misses her. He’s moved on pretty quickly. Those dancers are in and out of his office all damn day.”

Her eyes cast to the floor. “It must be tough to watch.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Your sister’s ex-whatever with other women. How do you tolerate it without dismantling his balls?”

“Well, I haven’t actually watched him do the deed.”

“Then, how do you know he’s moved on?”

I suppose she had a point. “Assumptions.”

***

I received an early morning phone call from Brad. Two people had called in sick, which left the bar understaffed until the night staff arrived. He asked if I’d work a double shift for extra pay. Josh and I were his first choice. Initially, I had been disinclined to help the club in their hour of need as I am overtaxed already, and I seldom had time off, but turning them down meant Josh laboured alone.

Even though I had been a moody, reluctant grump when I first walked through the main doors, I’m glad I agreed to extended hours. Club 11 had a more tolerable atmosphere in the day. “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke played overhead, but the music is a lot quieter than usual. There were no exotic dancers in cages or swinging breasts and twerking backsides, and the bar opened to serve food and alcohol from eleven a.m., which was news to me. I had no idea there was a kitchen or that the club metamorphosed into a restaurant by day. The menu looked mouth-wateringly delicious yet extortionately priced. I salivated to the nose twitching, heady smell of vibrant meals and infused meats. My eyes followed each passing plate that left the kitchen.

“I hate these blurred lines.” I lifted the crane of steamed glasses onto the bar. “I know you want it. But you’re a good girl…” I sensed someone watching me and peered up from beneath fluttered eyelashes to find Brad, modelling a royal blue suit, glaring back at me. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Are you a good girl, though?” His hands braced onto the glass bar top. “That’s what I need to know.”

“Yes…” He lifted his left brow, so I raised my right one. “No?”

“So, you admit this,” he gestured to my face, “purity about you is a façade.”

My head tilted to the side. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“Okay.” He leaned even closer and lowered his smooth, honeyed voice. “So, everybody needs to know if you are a virgin.”

“You mean,” I narrowed my eyes at him, “you need to know.”

Unabashed, he shrugged. “Same horse.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I am not.” I stacked the glasses beneath the counters. “Do I give off a vibe or something? That’s the second time someone’s asked me that question. Are there bold black letters plastered to my forehead?” Mordacity clipped my tone. “Alexa is dryer than a nun. It’s ridiculous.”

“Who else asked you?” he asked, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.

Our Boss. “Some random guy.”

He harrumphed. “Where’s Josh?”

“Is Josh the real reason you approached me?”

“Yeah.” He beamed, licking a toothpick across his lower lip. “I got distracted.”

“Any chance for some service?” the customer chirped, motioning to his table. “The same round?”

“Give me one second.” Remembering the gent’s previous order, I set two tumblers onto the bar, added ice and fresh fruits. “Uh, Josh was clearing tables down the back.” I tapped the guy’s order into the digital cash register. “Some young lads left it in a messy state…”

Not waiting for me to finish the sentence, Brad walked off to find Josh without a backwards glance. Honestly, what is it with this place? Everybody lacked social skills, for example, manners.

I carried the cocktail pitchers to the customer and, handing over the menu to him and his lunch date, returned to the bar.

“How do you like days at the club?”

Josh is the head barman that served Chloe and me alcohol the first time we came here. As I haven’t made any friends, I pretty much latched onto the poor sod. I don’t think he’s bothered, though. If anything, he enjoyed the company. “I’m impressed. Is Mr Warren here now? I might see if I can switch altogether.”

“No, Warren’s at the restaurant with Nate today.” He texted someone on his phone. “Besides, I wouldn’t ask. He doesn’t appreciate people messing with the rota. If he placed you on nights, then on nights, is where you stay.”

“Well, we work nights, yet here we are.” My chest puffed. “So, what’s the problem?”

“We’re working now because that’s what suited Warren. If he placed you on nights, then it’s because that also suited him. He wants you on the late shift for a reason.”

Floored by the ridiculousness, I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t like that philosophy.”

“Neither do I.” He lifted the menu to browse the price list. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving.” My stomach hasn’t stopped grumbling since the first plate fled the kitchen. “Do you think Brad will let us slip out while it’s quiet?”

“I already checked with Brad before coming over.” He tossed his keys to another employee before saying, “Come on, Alexa. Let’s forage.”

***

Josh and I found a small café down a side street near Club 11. With barely any customers, we had a variety of bistro tables to select. I liked the window spot, so I pulled out a white, wicker chair and became seated.

“What do you want?” Josh faffed with his brown hair for the tenth time since we walked in, which was precisely ten seconds ago. “I’m paying.”

“I’ll have a coffee.” Opening the menu, I read the list of available dishes. “Ham and cheese panini…” He’s gone before I can add the best corn salad bowl to the list. “Thanks.”

While Josh is busy with the bodacious waitress, I stared out of the window, listening to their strained conversation. “What?” he whisper-shouts. “That’s unfair, Pez.”

I peeked over.

Pez, Josh called her. Her waist-length blonde hair slicked down her back. Molten grey eyes stormed amid thick black eyelashes, and her plump lips raced while delivering what looked like a brutal lecture. Josh mumbled something I am not privy to under his breath, and her once, alluring eyes shot in my direction. “And her?” She hissed. “Who is she, Josh?”

Cheeks flushing three shades of pink, I lowered my wide eyes to the artificial plant on the table.

“Why are you so quick to pick a fight with me?” I heard him say, and my curiosity skyrocketed. “I am so tired of this fucking bullshit, Pez.”

I detected furious footsteps before Josh re-appeared at our table. He yanked the chair back with so much force, and the legs created a piercing shriek throughout the room.

My brows jumped to my hairline. “Are you okay?”

He managed a fake smile. “Food won’t be too long.”

The blonde waitress feigned to be unbothered by Josh’s presence. She served an older gentleman coffee now, laughing and joking, but her little argument with my co-worker must have struck a nerve. Her eyes, though bright and round, had a glassy sheen.

I toyed with an empty breadbasket. “Do you know her?”

Hurt flashed in his deep-set brown eyes. “Her name is Perri,” he murmured behind a closed fist. “We attended high school together, dated for a while, but nothing came of it.”

I’m genuinely intrigued. “Why not?”

“When we started going out, she’d be all over me, right?” His voice lowered to an almost inaudible whisper. “After a while, though, I noticed she only showed affection when we were alone. Never in front of others. She refused to get to know my friends, too. It took her months to even speak to me when passing through school halls.” He shook his head. “Truthfully, she’d make me look like a right tit.”

Judging by the heat between these two, I’d say there’s still something going on between them. “And?”

“Her coldness pissed me off, Alexa.” He tossed the menu aside. “I like her,” he admitted, his pale cheeks darkening. “I used to love her.”

I’d say he still loved her. “Is that why you chose this café? You were hoping to bump into her?”

The guilt in his sad eyes clarified the assumption. “Okay, so I’m going to share some truths with you. Perri and I still have a thing.”

I stared for a beat. “A thing?”

“Yeah, like, we text all the time and speak on the phone every night.” He glimpsed over one shoulder to check she was busy, not listening. “We still fuck. Well, when I’m lucky enough to get her alone.” His forehead creased into a frown. “Oh, and she’s married.”

“Josh,” I admonished him. “Why the hell are you pursuing a married woman?”

“It should’ve been me,” he spat angrily but reigned himself in just as quickly. “Not him, Alexa. It was meant to be us.”

There’s so much more to their tragic love story.

A different waitress came to our table and arranged the plates. “Anything else?”

We shook our heads in tandem.

Josh’s burger is humongous, with double-stacked meats, overflowing fries and heaps of onion rings.

Will he eat everything that’s on his plate?

Jealous, I glared at my half-baked bap and flicked a chip.

“Do you want to try some of mine,” he half-joked, pointing to his food. “Your eyes haven’t left my plate.”

“No, it’s yours. I’ll be ordering that next time, though.” I sipped coffee and then bit into the panini. It’s surprisingly good. “So, Josh. How long have you worked at the club?”

“Uh, about six years, I think?” He smothered the burger in ketchup before sinking his teeth into juicy goodness.

Yep. I’m still jealous.

Josh is not close to the Suits or Liam, which means he might provide information regarding Kathy if I ask the right questions. “Can I ask you something?”

Licking sauce from his lips, he looked up from the plate.

“Do you happen to remember a woman named Kathy? She worked at the club back last year, I believe?” Keep calm and unobvious, Alexa. “She was quite tall, dark hair and busty.”

“Why?” He throws about five chips in his mouth. “Are you related or something?”

My blood turned to ice. “No.”

“There was a girl named Kathy Pearl.” His questioning eyes had my stomach sinking. “What’s it to you, though?”

“I heard whispers one night.” Alexa, you need to breathe. “Did you guys hang out or anything?”

“No,” he scoffed, his face wrenching in contempt. “Kathy Pearl was a manipulative bitch. I don’t associate myself with trash like that.”

Trash like that, I mentally parodied.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from skull-dragging him across the table.

“Kathy was fucking Warren. Well, all the women do…” He ebbed, and I grasped the accusation in his wavering tone. “At some point…”

“I am not sleeping with him if that’s what you’re thinking.” I don’t know where the defensiveness came from. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see I’m swooning over my boss.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his dark stubble. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you were one of them.”

Josh had considered that I might be sleeping with Liam. He’s lucky I like him enough to drop the subject and continue with lunch. “I am not one of them.”

Quietness lengthened between us. “Anyway, why are you so interested in Kathy?” He ingested his milkshake. “Do you know her or something?”

“I don’t know her personally. I overheard Natalie tell one of the dancers that Kathy ran off or something, so I was curious.”

“I can’t speak for Warren, but the lower ranks, none of us understood why Kathy just up and left.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “She loved working at the club, so not coming back. Yeah, it was kinda odd.”

“Are you confident that she just up and left?” I probed, fumbling with the cutlery. “Nobody thinks something bad happened to her?”

“Honestly?” He wrestled my question. “I don’t think anyone cared enough, Alexa. As I said, she was a vindictive bitch. Nobody liked her. Let’s just say work has been peaceful ever since she fucked off.”

I am unimpressed by his spiteful word choice. How could anyone think that Kathy’s a vindictive bitch? Yes, my sister’s bold, brash and has a bit of a temper. Okay, that’s an understatement. Kathy tends to be a viper but only when merited. But she is also a loving, compassionate soul. I know her better than anyone, and there isn’t a harmless bone in her body.

I’m not in any position to challenge Josh’s opinion. It doesn’t mean I believe him, though. “Natalie said she was nice.” I shrugged my lie. “I think she misses her.”

Josh choked on the milkshake, coughing and spluttering. Beating his chest with a closed fist, he inhaled a deep breath to clear his clogged windpipe. “Are you fucking serious?” he gasped. “Those women despised each other. I mean, everyone disliked Kathy Pearl. She didn’t get on with anyone apart from the boss. Even Brad hated her—that should tell you something, considering Brad will fuck anything with a pair of tits. But Kathy rubbed people up the wrong way. She thought the world and its brother owed her something. Plus, she believed herself better than the other women when she was nothing but lowlife scum. I still cannot fathom why Warren even hired her.”

His words felt like a slap to the face.

Josh takes another bite of the burger. “I’m shocked that Natalie said she missed Kathy. Those two were vicious together. The number of scraps they had is no one’s business.”

“Perhaps I misheard,” I whispered, trying to conceptualise his unclear bluster. “So much gossip in that place. It’s hard to keep up.”

“You’re right about that.” He flashed me a warm smile. “Why do you think I’ve latched onto you? You’re the realist thing the boss has hired in years.”

I don’t particularly like that he referred to me as a “thing”, but I’m pleased to hear he approved. “So, nobody understood why Kathy left. She loved working there—”

“Yeah, she was raking in cash,” he emphasised each syllable. “I’m talking big sterling.”

“What do you mean ‘raking in cash’? Was she having sex for money?” Please tell me he never insinuated that. “Was she a night girl, too?”

“Hell yeah,” he exaggerated with a high pitch chime. “The dancers only cater to one punter a night. Kathy, though? She had no hard limits.”

I am baffled. Not once, during our early morning chats, did Kathy mention she did more than exotic dancing.

Of course, Kathy brought home a helluva lot of money. I never questioned her hard-earned cash, though. Why would I? Excuse the ignorance, but I don’t know how much money strippers require.

Never in a million years did I think Kathy sold her body to clients. It sickened me. After everything we had endured, how could she so willingly allow men to use her for cash? And for what purpose? Sure, we don’t have much, but we live accordingly. I thought we were happy, satisfied and content.

Wholly confused, I sagged in the seat.

As I watched Josh eating his lunch, acidic bile pushed up my throat. Kathy lied to me. “How much do clients pay for private encounters?”

Josh whistled. “Anything between three and six grand. More if he’s a regular with favourites.”

I huffed out a small breath in disbelief.

Yes, Kathy was on a good wage at Club 11, but I don’t recall her emptying thousands onto the table. If she entertained clients, where is all the hard-earned cash? Why had she kept this information from me?

“Between you and me,” Josh said cautiously, “I think Warren favoured Kathy.”

They were lovers, so it’s no surprise. “Right.”

“I mean, Kathy handed over so much cash at the end of the night,” he gossiped. “Is it any wonder? Warren couldn’t afford to let her go, even if everyone else hated the sight of her.”

I am too nauseous to hear anymore. “Do you think it’s possible Liam had something to do with Kathy’s disappearance?”

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.

“Disappearance?” All amusement diminished. His eyes, cold and deadly, stabbed me to the core. “Why do you assume that she disappeared? I thought Natalie claimed Kathy had runoff.”

My tongue licked the roof of my mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Alexa,” he whispered, and I held his concerned gaze. “Don’t ever ask questions like that, especially at the club, got it?”

I focused on him. “Can I ask why?”

“Questions like that one…” Josh’s Adam’s apple bopped up and down. “It’ll get us both killed.”

I bellied apprehension. “Got it.”

Unaffected by our spine-chilling conversation, Josh continued to demolish calories in silence.

I sensed someone scrutinising with honed interest and diverted my attention to Josh’s friend, Perri. She was busy cleaning tables when I peered across the room, but her eyes never left Josh.

I had a brainwave.

I rounded the table while my fingernails dragged across that tartan cloth.

Josh hadn’t twigged until I set a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He frowned, unmindful to the wickedness of my plan. “Alexa?”

You cannot back out now, Alexa.

Holding my breath, I lowered myself onto his lap and straddled his thighs. Tensing beneath me, he became a wall of solid muscle, rigid and shocked. ’Just roll with it,” I murmured in his ear, snaking my arms around his neck. “We have an audience.”

“Fucking hell, Alexa,” he husked out, his hands latching onto my hips. “You are unpredictable.”

Our lips brushed, soft and gentle, yet unsure.

Tickling the back of his neck with my fingernail, I peppered his full, swollen lips with mine. An innocent kiss, if you may, enough to ruffle some feathers.

Someone cleared their throat, and I hid my victorious smile in the groove of his neck.

Perri decided to join us. “Would you like me to clear your plates?” She asked, and I side-eyed her. “Another drink?” God, she’s on the brink of tears. “Well?”

“If you would,” I said rudely, not letting Josh entertain her crocodile tears. I returned my attention to him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Josh,” I breathed out, hearing the dishes chime behind us. “You smell so good.”

The stacking plates crescendoed into harsh clattering.

“I smell good?” He was all smiles, the tip of his nose nudging mine. “You don’t smell too bad yourself, Alexa.”

Perri made herself scarce.

Once out of the woods, Josh’s chest rattled with heavy laughter.

“What?” I asked, edging back to look at him.

“You smell so good,” he imitated, his eyebrows waggling. “Your dirty talk sucks.”

I smacked his chest playfully. “Ten out of ten for effort, Alexa.”

Rolling his eyes, he helped me stand. “I feel bad.”

“Maybe, seeing you with someone else was the kick up the backside she needed, Josh. She’s married and messing with your emotions.” I zipped up my coat and beelined the exit. “She had to make a decision eventually, right?”

“I guess.” Josh shadowed me outside. “So, if you want to do that again…”

“What?” We broke into a steady pace back to the club. “That act was to irritate your lady friend. I’m not interested in dating.” I daren’t tell him I have a mega crush on our boss, so the thought of another man doesn’t appeal to me. “No offence.”

“If your little stunt worked?” He threw an arm across my shoulders. “I am buying you dinner.”

“Asshole.” I scoffed. “You will buy me dinner for the effort.”

CHAPTER TEN

Alexa

I hadn’t heard a peep from Josh since our eventful lunch date this afternoon. He’s the head barman but rarely upholds his position behind the bar with us conquering ladies. The man had mastered looking busy at doing sod all. He patrolled the club floor to collect empty glasses or laid the chivalrousness on thick to achieve digits from women.

“I love redheads.” Josh waved a lipstick-stained napkin in my face. “They give the best head.”

Thanks for that knowledge, Josh. I wouldn’t have slept without it tonight.

It’s not as though I disliked working behind the bar. I quite enjoyed interacting with customers while they voluntarily spewed absurd, drunken tales. However, aside from Josh, the bar is predominantly Natalie’s territory. Keeping me in the same proximity as the apparent nemesis often formulated an unbearable workplace. If I have to listen to the witch call me a “lousy worker” or “new girl” one more time, there is a likelihood that her head will end up in the ice generator.

Natalie’s bitterness is exhausting. If she had valid reasons for hating me, I’d tolerate her catty behaviour. But her unexplainable degree of schadenfreude just for self-gratification goes beyond callousness. You cannot abominate, target, revile or make someone’s workplace unendurable based on irrational speculation or, in her case, dislike without reason.

I pondered discussing the matter with Liam. Natalie’s malevolence and name-calling is a form of bullying. Tattling to the big boss might be unwise, though. We are all adults around here, so I need to learn how to handle tricky quandaries.

Moreover, as much as it pains me to admit, Liam and Natalie are close. Not in the literal sense. But I am ninety-nine percent sure that she is one of Liam’s many conquests as she frequently joined him in the office. Every visit lasted approximately thirty minutes. If they weren’t fucking each other six ways from Sunday, then what’s the reason behind closed-door meetings? With this in mind, I highly doubt that Liam will take raised grievances seriously, not at the cost of upsetting his love interest.

“There is someone on the phone for you, new girl.” Natalie intentionally rammed her shoulder into me as she sauntered past. “So, get gone.”

Ignoring the acrimony in her voice, I went into the back of the bar, backside parked on the glasswasher, and put the multi-line phone to my ear. “Brad, if you send me on another wild goose chase, know that I’m going to defy you,” I warned, battling the need to laugh. “The last job you gave me was too far.” When Brad’s bored, I become his targeted pastime. “I am still traumatised by that bathroom job.” He’d ordered me to clean the accessible toilets knowing a frenzied couple occupied it with their loud moans and hammering hips. I still see their disturbing display every time I try to sleep. “Comprende?”

“Miss Haines,” Liam said sharply, and I all but fainted. “My office. Now.”

The phone line went flat in tandem with my heart rate.

Natalie appeared in the doorway. “What did he want?” Her face was red and freckled. If she could get away with murder, I’d be six feet under by now. “I asked you a question, new girl.”

Releasing a shaken breath, I placed the handheld down. “He summoned me to his office.”

“He never calls you to the office.” Natalie’s accusatory voice slithered over me. “What did he say on the phone?” Her anxiousness was hilarious. “Did he mention me?”

Why would Liam ask me questions about Natalie? I am pretty sure if he wanted to talk to the deranged woman, he’d contact her directly.

I opened the door, and roaring music fell into the room. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“If you touch him?” She snatched my elbow, an unmistakable threat gleaming in her wide-set eyes. “I will make your life hell.”

“Go ahead.” I slapped her hand away. “I’m tired of your shit, Natalie. I am not here to take orders from you.”

Furious, her nostrils fluttered. “Liam is mine.”

“This is insane,” I argued, and she scowled narrowly. “Natalie, I refuse to participate in this nonsense any longer. I have done nothing to you, so what’s with all the hate?”

Her bottle lip stuttered. “Are you sleeping with him?”

Why does everyone at Club 11 overstep boundaries?

Is it normal for people to demand personal information?

My arms crossed. “No.”

“You are lying to me,” she shrieked, and my eyes grew bigger. “If he is not using you, why is he rejecting me?”

Liam rejected Natalie. Well, that’s news to me. “I don’t know. Why not ask him these questions directly?”

“You know, I cannot do that.” Perspiration glittered her crinkled forehead. “I am not authorised to ask him anything, new girl. That’s why I am trying to get on a level with you.”

“I am the last person you wish to level with,” I said, a tad enraged by her scheming methods. “You have made your aversion quite clear since he hired me, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

Before our disagreement could escalate, I slid into the dance room, fought my way through energetic customers and headed for Liam’s office.

I take a moment to collect myself, procrastinating in the hallway, moving past unapproachable, positioned Suits. Liam rarely requested my attendance in his office. I mulled over the last few weeks to be sure I hadn’t done anything wrong nor questionable.

My lunch date with Josh came down on me like a tumultuous tsunami.

What if Josh informed Liam about my snooping?

“Oh, shit,” I whispered, massaging the sudden throb at my temples.

I shake my hands at my sides to generate blood flow and rapt my knuckles on Liam’s door. Eight Suits guard the boss’ floor and, although they’re reserved and poised, I feel their curious eyes drilling into me. “It’s cold, right?” I asked the tall one, rubbing the chill from my arms. “Is it always like this? My goose pimples got pimples.”

Stood ramrod and unblinking, he flung me a wordless side-eye, devoid of any emotion.

I smiled flatly. “Just me, then?”

“Come in,” Liam calls, his hoarse voice making me shudder.

Pulling in a deep breath, I opened the door and poked my head into his office. “You wanted to see me.”

With his eyes on the monitors that hoarded the desk, Liam tapped the keyboard, not bothering to look at me when he said, “Sit down.”

I don’t think I even felt the floor under my heels. Breathing more unsteady than I’d like, I became seated directly from Liam’s desk. My heart thumped violently inside my chest. He’s yet to look at me, but I watch him stride across the room to fix himself a drink and, to my surprise, he comes back with two glasses, holding them between ice-ringed fingers. “Sofa.”

Nodding vigorously, I clambered off the chair in a frenzy and relocated to the sofa as instructed. Liam handed over the whiskey glass, and I whispered gratitude. Keeping a safe distance between us, he joined me on the leather, his thighs parting to get comfortable.

It’s eerily quiet. I downed the bitter-tasting drink in one for a gallant kick to the system and, wishing he’d hurry up and cut to the chase, I placed the empty glass onto the high gloss coffee table and interlaced my fingers to prevent inconvenient shakes.

“Do you know why I called you here?” He knocked a shot of whiskey back, and a satisfied sigh fell from his lips. “Alexa?”

Masquerading trepidations, I hollow my cheeks. “No.”

His eyes on me, he stretched an arm across the sofa’s rear. “You went for lunch today.”

Oh, God. Josh totally sold me out.

How could he betray our trust? Especially after I helped him with that stupid waitress. I mean, I pried somewhat but snitching to the big boss is entirely unnecessary.

“I did,” I said unconfidently, blood rushing to my cheeks. “I ate lunch.”

“Miss Haines, I don’t care that you went for lunch. You are permitted to eat.” His calm voice failed to mollify me. “Our fraternisation policy outlines guidelines on employees forming personal relationships with each other, though. Now, I do not want the club to undergo restrictions regarding dating as I acknowledge that freedom of choosing one’s partner is an individual’s right. However, colleagues who date often result in messy breakups, leaving me to pick up the pieces.”

My jaw hit the floor.

I am too dumbfounded to respond.

“Your relationship with Josh needs to end, or I will be left with no choice but to dismiss one of you.” His cold blue eyes lifted to mine. “As Josh has worked for me the longest, it will be you.”

I am pleased Josh hadn’t rushed to Liam telling tales. Although he doesn’t know I was mentally scolding him, I’m inclined to leave the office and apologise.

On the other hand, I’m royally pissed at my boss.

How dare he chuck a non-existent dating policy in my face?

“I am not dating Josh. We’re friends—friends who were both hungry, so they ate lunch together.” Unable to curb the scorn, I popped a sarcastic eyebrow. “Besides, I wasn’t aware there were policies, given the fact that everybody seems to sleep with each other.” You are a walking contradiction, I inwardly muttered. “Yourself included.”

His intolerable eyes held my angered ones. “Who I choose to fuck, Miss Haines, quite frankly, is none of your business. Last I checked, this was my building. My staff. My club. I can do and say whatever the fuck I want.”

He made a significant point, so I decided not to grace him with a comeback.

“Listen, as long your relationship with Josh is strictly platonic, I have no further reservations.”

I breathed a little.

“Brad mentioned that you covered a double shift.” He respired a veil of cigarette smoke, and I nodded. “It’s quieting down now, so I’m happy for you to finish early.” Rising to his feet, he collected the empty glasses and went to the minibar for refills. “Would you care for another drink?”

My leg crossed over the opposite knee. “Yes.” His behaviour is both nerve-wracking and exciting. I never spend time with the boss. “Thank you.”

Liam passed me another amber-filled drink. His finger grazed mine, and a sharp shot of electricity rippled between us, though he seemingly felt nothing. He sat closer this time, his thigh pressing up to mine. His innocuous contact had my spine straightening. I often wonder if those innocent body brushes are intentional. It’s not the first time he’s made subtle touches. He received the same response from me on each occasion, flushed cheeks, awkward posture, and embarrassing breathlessness.

When I first met Liam, I found his handsomeness completely enigmatic, but never in a million years did I think I’d be this attracted to him.

I really liked him.

And that admittance petrified me.

I am forever seeking him out while I should be working, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Sometimes, I find him watching me, too, and those smouldering blues uncaged butterflies in my chest. But moments later, one of the dancers steals his attention, and the hellacious hailstorm dampened my spirit. It’s a painful reminder that Liam Warren’s not only a successful career criminal and business tycoon but a serial philanderer. The man loves women, so these intense, overbearing feelings I harbour for him is a predictable broken heart.

“How do you like working for me?” His arm revisited the back of the sofa, so suave and debonair. “Does the extra money exceed expectations? I imagine payday took you by surprise.”

Yes, I was too flabbergasted to withdraw funds from the cashpoint. I settled for twenty quid and bought a pint of milk only. “I love it here,” I admitted, omitting Natalie and Cherry because I hated them with a burning passion. “The guys are great. I have learnt the names of the regulars. Brad is starting to grow on me.”

When I first met Brad Jones, I thought he was an arrogant, cocky prick. He isn’t so bad, though. He’s the wrong kind of confident, egotistically beautiful. I don’t particularly like how he discarded women, but I intend to keep my nose out from where it doesn’t belong.

Liam turned his gaze to me. “And the money?”

I have barely touched this month’s wages as I am used to frugal spending. “It’s made life easier.”

His finger rotated the gold thumb ring, the encrusted diamonds scintillating. “What about me?”

I was unprepared for the question. “You?”

A slight smile curved his mouth. “Do you like working for me?”

“Yes.” My stare diverted to the floor. “I mean, I don’t see you often, but I like you.” Seriously, Alexa? You docile woman. “Shit. I like working with you.”

Why not proclaim your undying obsession while you’re on the subject?

Liam set the empty glass on the coffee table, and when his muscular arms folded at his chest, I could smell the masculine scent of his cologne. He gave me an amused yet pleased smirk, the gravitational chemistry with this man stealing my breath away. “You are unassuming,” he said so quietly I almost missed it. “How are you getting on with the ladies?”

Now would be an excellent opportunity to discuss my predicament with Natalie. “They seem nice,” I lied, deciding to power through for a little while longer. “I get on better with the men, though.”

“I bet.” His eyebrows pulled into a dark frown. “And you are happy with the job?”

Truthfully, although I’m still nervous about the unknown, I love working at Club 11. It all started because I was looking for my sister, but the longer I stayed here, the more comfortably I adapted to routine.

Before I nabbed a spot at Club 11, life was relatively mundane. Sure, I have a stable relationship with Chloe and Kathy, but life was boring, unambitious. I hadn’t gone to college. I barely had a good enough reason to roll out of bed in the morning. I overate ice cream—still do, for that matter—and watched too much brain-dampening television. I drank my weight in cheap beer and vodka and cleaned the flat to the point bleach fumes hindered my senses.

Basically, I relied on my sister. Her absence coerced me to leave the protective shell, to stop being a wallflower.

I haven’t worked here long, yet I have already adjusted and grown. If I had to leave, I would be devastated, possibly heartbroken. For the first time in my worthless life, I had a reason to open my eyes in the morning.

“Where did you go?” He asked in a rough voice, his head dipping to look at me. “Why do you do that?”

“I get lost in my thoughts.” I’m surprised he noticed. “To answer your original question: I love working you—for you.” Holy shit, Alexa. You illiterate muppet. “I like working with you.”

Scratching an itch above his arched eyebrow, he laughed throatily. “Alexa, relax. I am glad you like working for me.”

I think that’s the first time he’s acknowledged me as Alexa rather than Miss Haines. I smiled. I prefer friendly, relaxed Liam.

Liam’s laughter soon diminished. “You are a nice girl.” His unreadable expression resurfaced. “I’m glad I hired you.”

An awkward muteness filtered between us. Neither of us broke eye contact. I should look away—should probably leave. I don’t, though. I hold his penetrating glare, feeling the intensity to my core.

A part of me wondered if piqued interest was the reason Liam had called me to the office. He used his spare time with women.

No, Liam is not into me. He called you here to discuss Josh. Yet, there have been many occasions over the weeks where Liam stood close, his knuckles brushing my arms, or when he spoke, I felt his warm breath on my cheek. And, of course, there was the strange interview and the bizarre cleaning cupboard experience. Nothing escalated between us, irrelevant to how much I craved his touch or desired his lips.

I dared to look up, and my mouth parted.

Did I move closer, or did he?

His face was closer now, our noses almost touching.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, and my shoulders raised imperceptibly. “I give you permission to ask, Alexa.”

I struggled to breathe. “Ask what?”

He never held back. “The same question.”

Blood pounded in my ears. “I doubt I could handle your innermost thoughts and feelings, Mr Warren.”

Liam’s smirk was low and sexy. His heavy-lidded eyes captivated mine, and then, the pads of his cold fingers cautiously traced the protuberant line of my collarbone. His investigatory finger strokes paused, and a goading challenge fired in his cold eyes. At least, I think he is challenging me, but I cannot be too sure. My gaze went to his full lips as he pulled the bottom one between his teeth. Everything inside me screamed to be brazen, to place a hand on his chest and initiate something, to prompt him to come closer or tempt him to kiss me. Not a stolen kiss that made me want to vomit. A kiss that seized the air from my lungs like the ones in the movies. A breath-snatching moment.

You’re not special, Alexa, my subconscious mind taunted. He was with Natalie a few hours ago, remember?

When he discerned my unspoken doubts and insecurities, his arm withdrew, and his hand curled around the back of the sofa, the tightness of his grip whitening his knuckles.

“I should go,” I whispered, staggering to my feet.

I combed my fingers through my hair, looked down and found him shamelessly checking me out. His lazy gaze swept over me from the red-polished varnish on my toes, the glittering body shimmer on my legs, to my non-existent breasts before he reached my eyes all while he sipped whiskey, without a care in the world, as cool as a cucumber.

He curled an eyebrow, daring me to admonish him. As an alternative, I burst out laughing. My eyes watered with amused tears, easing the nerve-stricken turbulence in my stomach.

Liam stared at me in puzzlement. “Why are you laughing?”

“I actually have no idea,” I lied, too unconfident to tell him how I truly felt.