Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Giving my hair one last smoothing over, I grab my keys and purse and head out to the curb. Ready or not boys, here I come.
***
By the time I make it to Slainte, it’s just after 1:30 am. Enough time for me to grab a drink and catch me an Irishman. Here’s how I think it’s going to go. One of the soldiers will recognize me from the fights. He’ll come over and offer to buy me a drink. He’ll mention said fight, and I’ll remark how hard up I am for cash and how I really need a job. And, oh, by the way I’m an exotic dancer.
The lightbulb will click, and the next thing you know, he’s telling me he can help me out. I’ll flirt and be eternally grateful, and boom… I’m in.
This plan has a lot of variables, I know. But it’s all I’ve got left since Lachlan’s rejection last week. Ultimately, I need his approval to get a job here. That’s the part I’m not too confident on.
The bouncer stops me at the door and gives me the customary once over before deeming me socially acceptable to grace their fine establishment. Once I’m in, I feel a weight off my chest. I’ve never been inside of Slainte, but it isn’t quite what I imagined.
The entire front bar is decked out in opulent oaks and mahoganies. The walls are a rich crimson red, and the floors polished hardwood. The scent of beer and liquor permeates the air, teasing the patrons with the promise of everything one could want during a cool Boston Autumn. It’s warm and homey, inviting even. But then again, I suspect that’s probably how Niall wants it to look. While there isn’t exactly a sign on the door broadcasting Niall’s affiliation with the place, it’s a well-known fact he owns the joint. Which means the people who frequent this establishment are either one of two things. Business associates, or those too naïve to know any better. A quick glance around confirms my suspicion that it’s mostly the latter in here tonight.
With a sigh, I walk straight to the bar and take a seat. It’s not like I expected the whole crew to be sitting up here in the open, just waiting for someone like me to come along and eavesdrop. It still would have been nice though. I flag down the bartender and order up a Patron on the rocks with salt and lime.
It goes down smoothly and warms my belly, steeling me with the courage I’ll need to see me through tonight. I swivel around in my seat and scan my surroundings. The front of the building houses a very cozy and inoffensive looking little pub. This is where the unwitting civilians imbibe and take part in the Irish hospitality. Downstairs and in the back, however, is another story.
From all outward appearances, this place is legit. And while I’m sure it does well enough on its own, I have to wonder exactly what other kind of criminal activity they’re fronting here. It’s a well-known fact that the Irish deal in guns and run some underground gambling establishments. But it’s their association with the Russians, or more specifically, Talia’s Russian, that I’m worried about. I need to know if they traffic in women. How many of these young college girls are at risk of disappearing after they visit this place?
There’s only one way to find out, and that involves getting into the back of the building. The one that’s closed off by dark walls and a pair of velvet curtains with a burly bouncer standing guard. That’s where the exotic dancing takes place, and unlike other clubs, it’s VIP and invitation only. That was where Talia worked, but she wasn’t a dancer. She swore up and down she was just a cocktail waitress, but I had a bad feeling about it all along. When I told her my concerns, she brushed them off and said the guys she worked for were great.
One thing is for certain, they’re great at hiding what goes on here. When I filed her missing person’s report, they didn’t even have Talia on file as an employee. Supposedly there isn’t any sort of a camera security system either, which I thought was shady as hell and made a point to say so. But everything else appeared on the up and up, and the police quickly washed their hands of it.
I don’t know if Talia is still alive. A very large part of me fears she isn’t. It’s been a year already. A year of exhausting every other option. I knew coming into this that it might be a one-way ticket to hell. But I can’t let it go. Talia doesn’t deserve to be treated like another statistic and I won’t stop until I find out what happened to her. If nothing else, I will give her the final resting place she deserves and make those responsible pay. These assholes think they can take vulnerable women and nobody will give a shit. But I’m here to show them just how wrong they are.
The bartender brings me another glass of Patron, and I open my wallet to pay when he shakes his head.
“On the house.”
Shit. I’ve been made already. Just as I’m about to glance around to see who it is, I feel his body heat behind me. I don’t even have to look to know it’s him. His scent hangs in the air between us. Cedarwood, sweet limes, and the leather from his jacket. The same scent that lingered in the warehouse between us last week.
“Butterfly.” His breath skates over my ear in a threatening whisper. “Fancy seeing you here. Stalking me, are ye?”
Pfft. Get a load of this guy. Stalking him? He frigging wishes. I turn around on my stool and come face to face with the devil himself. He’s a lot closer than I realized, and my leg brushes his when I come to a stop. He’s looking at me like he can’t believe it’s really me, sitting in his club. That’s a good thing, I hope.