Chapter Eight

 

Brady did his best to blend into the wall as he waited for Cal Grimes to finish his phone call. The club was so loud he’d had to take it outside, leaving Brady alone as an out-of-place extra in a Rob Zombie movie.

From the outside, the nightclub looked like a nondescript furniture outlet off the highway. An ordinary building, with a few oddly dressed club kids smoking near the entrance. Brady had been imagining an old church on a desolate stretch of road or a private high rise with no escape, but this was a populated area. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. He’d started to relax until they’d pushed through the large metal doors and the atmosphere had shattered his illusions and punched him right between the eyes.

This is what he imagined Hell looked like. Or at least, one level of it. He was pretty sure it wasn’t his age talking. Even Jen would turn around and run home after hearing what they were pretending was music—horrifying screams set to a dance beat. The lights above the crowd were swinging and swirling and pulsing enough to make the strongest stomach queasy, and men and women—most wearing latex, black lipstick, and apathy—shuffled their boneless bodies around the dance floor as if they were undead and this club was where they’d all been confined for everyone else’s safety.

Why wasn’t he drinking again? A bottle or three of rum sounded like it would hit the spot right now. Brady sighed, taking it all in and knowing this wasn’t the worst of it. This was only the facade for the real horror story going on one level up. He doubted any of these Goth groupies even knew it existed. That there was a private club where people who were too rich to be famous gathered and played games with other people’s lives.

There was no reason they should know. According to Cal, the elevator was hidden and the only way up was with a special key card. For VIP members, the same elevator allowed access through a separate entrance in a secure garage.

Cal wasn’t a VIP yet, but he did possess a card.

Was Ken already up there? He’d left several hours earlier to pick up his play partner and get set up, giving Brady the kind of good luck kiss that made him want to drag his lover back to bed and never leave. Fucking tease.

Brady left the loft shortly afterward, still turned on but grateful to Ken for trying to keep him distracted. He’d spent the whole day describing the club he was a member of—the potlucks and Halloween parties, the laughter and lighthearted demonstrations. Whatever his friends had told him about this place made Ken nervous.

Ken didn’t get nervous, so Brady was a walking ball of stress. He used his short motorcycle ride to exorcise a few of those demons. He needed to bring his A game tonight. Needed to keep sharp and alert, and above all, to look like he was enjoying himself. This could all go to hell fast if he didn’t.

He met Cal in the parking lot of Finn’s Pub, a black dress jacket over his t-shirt and jeans. How Ken had managed to purchase something that fit him so well was a mystery, but one that met with Cal’s distracted approval.

Right away it was clear something was different. Cal was wired. Excitement and anticipation were making him restless as the car took them to their location. Underneath that there was something else. Fear? He didn’t proposition Brady once, which had to be a first, and he honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was strange, being with Grimes without Ken in his ear keeping him sane and telling him what to say. But it wasn’t possible tonight. Brady was, for the most part, on his own, and he couldn’t fuck it up because he’d made Ken a promise to help bring Terry home.

Almost there, he thought. Almost done.

Several of the nightclub’s patrons noticed him leaning against the wall and sent him curious looks. When Brady smiled tightly, two of them came closer, staring at his hair with wide eyes.

Brady’s smile widened with genuine amusement. Did the color red confuse them?

Cal appeared in front of them and took Brady’s hand, glaring until the strange creatures backed away. “Looks like I got back to rescue my prize just in time.”

Brady let himself be led, noticing the dampness of Cal’s palms. “It’s easy to forget they’re just kids.”

“They’re foul demon spawn who have no respect for authority. I’ve spoken to the other members about either finding an alternate location or closing this lower floor down for good. Let them hate the world in someone’s basement.”

Someone got teased the first few times he came here, Brady decided.

“That’s a little harsh,” he said. “They’re young. Having no respect for authority is a given when you’re young.”

“Says the cop-turned-Marine.”

Brady shrugged. “I’m a regular civilian now. But a Marine would say that good people fight and die for their right to wear those outfits and hate the world, so who are we to judge?” And now he felt guilty, because he’d definitely been judging.

Cal guided him to the back of the club, past the DJ booth and down a hall. He kept moving beyond the little Goth’s room—a unisex restroom with a bored-looking stick figure on a black door—until they came to what looked like a utility closet. Cal swung open the closet door and slipped inside the small room with Brady following close behind.

Cal moved around him, surreptitiously glancing back down the hall before shutting the door behind them.

Brady was bemused. “Are we in stealth mode?”

Cal rolled his eyes. “You can be pious all you like. I don’t want those bottom feeders getting too nosy.”

He motioned toward an open elevator that seemed out of place on the far wall of the dingy room. As they stepped into the sparkling clean cubicle, Cal took his key card out of his pocket and then stopped to stare at Brady for a long, tense moment. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m right about you.”

Shit. Brady tilted his head, trying to send Cal one of the sensual smiles Ken used that always worked on him. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to put on a show like the rest of them. You don’t have to pretend to be the perfect moral specimen, like your cousin.” Cal’s laugh was strained. “I mean, you’re not angling for sainthood, are you?”

Brady braced himself and walked purposefully toward Cal, towering over him until he’d backed up against the elevator wall, clutching his key card. “You know me better than that by now, don’t you, Cal?”

Cal’s lips parted and he started to pant. “I…I thought I did. But I don’t know why you didn’t tell me you were staying with that man.”

Fucking hell. “Tanaka?” He shook his head and laughed, scrambling for a smooth answer. “I’m staying on the floor in an office in his building. It’s embarrassing to admit to someone you want to impress.”

Cal frowned suspiciously. “He hasn’t tried anything? He’s a rope Dom with a lot of money to throw around and friends in high places. He never came on to you?”

Brady moved in closer and lowered his voice, knowing how important this was. “If he did, I haven’t noticed. He’s a friend of Tasha’s and she knew he had extra space. So she did me a favor, getting the guy to let me crash at his place when Owen not-so-subtly kicked me out. That’s all it is, Cal. You’re the only one I’m dating. The one I’m on the phone with every night.”

“I know,” Cal whispered.

“Either I’m a sinner or a saint, Cal. You decide. If you want me to play saint, I will,” he offered smoothly, hating himself. “But I’d rather not with you.”

Cal’s free hand reached between them, slipping under Brady’s shirt to touch his flat stomach. Brady flinched in surprise but Cal closed his eyes and moaned, the hand holding the key card shaking. “I don’t want a saint, Brady. I want you to be the big, hard Marine who came back wanting more. Wanting what I can give you. You’ve kept me waiting and teased me for days. You’re bad and I want a bad boy. A big, bad boy that I can take home and punish.”

Don’t throw up. Keep smiling when you back away. Almost done. “Then we’re on the same page.”

He moved back until he was leaning against the opposite wall and started his internal countdown to calm himself down. He didn’t want this to take more than an hour. Especially now that Cal had brought up Tanaka.

How had he found out?

Cal was more relaxed than he’d been since he picked Brady up. He smiled and inserted the key card, pushing a few buttons on a keypad before the doors closed and their short ascent began. Brady pretended he didn’t notice.

“I knew you’d come around, Brady. Knew you were different. When you told me you were interested in exploring your darker urges, it took a lot of restraint on my part not to bring you here right away. But you weren’t ready. You needed to know me. To feel safe with me. Even trust me. I think that’s happened, hasn’t it?”

No.

“Definitely,” he said instead.

“That’s why, when I found out your roommate was crashing the party, I made sure it was canceled. I don’t want anything distracting us, or anyone reporting back to the senator’s wife. After tonight, things will be different between us,” Cal promised, obviously unaware that he’d thrown Brady a surprise punch in the solar plexus. “It might shock you at first, what you see here. The senator’s wife thinks she knows what kink is, but she has no idea. Try to keep an open mind. If you can do that for me, I’ll make sure you won’t regret it. And when you meet my friends, you’ll finally understand what I can give to you. What being with me will do for everyone you care about. Your family.”

Brady’s shoulders tensed and he forced himself not to throw Cal against the wall for mentioning his family. “And here I thought it was just a party with some kinky toys.”

“It’s so much more than that, Brady. It changed my life.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened, but Cal stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Before you take another step, you need to know that you can never talk to anyone but me about what you see here. My friends are serious about their privacy. They’ll do anything to ensure it.”

Brady made himself smile and relaxed his posture, still feeling like a heel for leading him on. “Of course, Cal.”

“Stay close to me. Don’t wander off by yourself and don’t talk to anyone unless they speak directly to you first.”

Brady had no desire to talk to anyone but Vargas, so he let Cal’s strict instructions slide. He would behave until he could get close enough to shake his hand. That was all that needed to happen. Ken’s program would do the rest.

At least it was quieter up here. If you ignored the sound of floggers and the blood-curdling screams of pain. He followed Cal and took in the large space as he went, making note of all the possible exits out of habit. The place was surprisingly utilitarian—the walls were gray with black trim, the furniture was red and the lights were bright and unflattering. No one cared about aesthetics or ambiance, that was clear. The only decorations were living and begging for mercy.

He instinctively looked for Ken—his long black braid and wicked smile, his tattooed back and beautiful body. But each time his gaze collided with a scene that made him queasy, he was glad he wasn’t there. Brady had seen a lot of gruesome things in his years of combat, but some of this was just plain wrong.

The first was a naked man whose arms were spread wide on a cross and held in place by thick metal chain. His knees were bent, his feet resting on a small protrusion on the device, and his entire body was covered in bloody welts. Brady assumed those came from the man wielding a multi-tailed whip that was tipped with sharp metal edges. Brady flinched when he looked down and noticed the clothespins attached to his testicles.

Son of—God that looked painful. Truly. And the man genuinely looked miserable. As if he would stand and try to leave if there weren’t fucking mousetraps on the floor to keep him from lowering his feet.

Had he voluntarily asked for this? Why?

Open mind, Brady. Remember your training and tighten up. Stick to the mission.

He tried. He passed another man hanging from metal hooks inserted into his back. The Conan-wannabe behind him whipped his ass ferociously and ordered him not to move, which was impossible because the force of the blows made the hanging man rock forward. He was helpless and dangling with no way to obey. No way to get down.

Brady clenched his fists at his sides, then quickly opened them and hooked his thumbs in his pockets so no one would notice his tension. Open mind, my ass. He wanted to break that damn whip and cut that poor guy down. He’d reached his limit as soon as he got off the elevator. Only fifty-five minutes to go.

Did Ken like things like this? Did he do things like this? He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t merge these images with the man who was his lover.

He thought about the night Ken had bound Tasha. Brady knew it was just a demo, and it had all been for show, but it hadn’t looked anything like this. Ken had moved like he was dancing, and his hands had been commanding but soothing. Everything about him that night had been focused on his partner, on her pleasure. This? This was all about pain without mercy. This was everything he’d thought BDSM was when he first met Ken. Torture. Humiliation. Power.

Were any of these men Terry Wahl? If not, had they been tricked, trapped and traded into being sex slaves, as he had? Most of the men who weren’t being tortured were chained to the wall—waiting for their turn to be abused by the ones wielding the whips, chains and knives. Did they want to be here? Were they given an option?

He glanced over his shoulder and took a closer look at the wrestlers dressed as security guards stationed throughout the room. There were telltale bulges under their shirts. Armed wrestlers. Even better.

How was he going to do this without Ken?

Just do it, that’s how. Focus.

Cal squeezed his hand. “My friends are at that viewing table up there.” Brady noticed a few carpeted steps leading to a row of tables, one of them occupied. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of talking shop tonight, but I need to say hello. I want to show you off.”

Yes, finally. The reason he was here.

“I don’t mind,” Brady said, speaking through the knot of disgust in his throat. “I’d like to meet them. And if you want to talk for a while? We’re not in any hurry, right?”

Cal frowned. “You might not be, but I damn well am.”

As they slowly climbed the steps, Brady observed the four men he was going to meet. Their ages ranged from forties to sixty-something and their clothing was casual, but expensively so. He memorized their individual features, but it wasn’t easy since they all had a similar look about them. That look was money. So much money they didn’t need to count it or talk about it. So much that they didn’t understand what a budget was and never heard the word “no.”  Only one of them was looking down toward the main floor. The rest were having a quiet discussion, showing little to no interest in the painful scenes of torture they’d supposedly come to see. From their expressions, they could have been at their yacht club or playing golf instead of watching naked men bleed.

These were the kind of men Cal Grimes admired. This Slaver’s Club. These were the kind of men he wanted to emulate. But it was clear none of the men at the table were self-made. None of them had an air of ambition or drive. They had more in common with the apathy-filled club kids downstairs. The fact that they’d seen this sort of sexual brutality enough for it to bore them made Brady want to break something off in their asses. Something sharp and painful. But they’d probably get off on that, the lecherous fucks.

Brady didn’t want to know men like these. He didn’t want to shake their hands and pretend he enjoyed meeting them. He just needed one man for one minute.

Unfortunately, that man wasn’t at the table. Ken had shown him the only picture he’d found of the financier so Brady would recognize him. He was heavyset with a beard and a receding hairline. He was in town, and he should be here. He was supposed to be here.

Brady calmed his panic and focused on the others. They were deep in discussion about something that obviously upset the younger man. His posture was defensive, his expression volatile. But nothing he said made the others react in kind. Brady tried to guess what it could be about. A merger gone wrong? A country they wouldn’t let him buy? Or did the little evil Cabal member want a pony?

Before Brady could come close enough to hear anything interesting, they stopped talking and started to turn in his direction.

They’ve seen you. No backing out now, Finn.

“Good lord, Grimes wasn’t exaggerating was he, boys? That has to be a first.” The man closest to the stairs chuckled, his expression surprised as he looked Brady up and down without leaving his chair. “He’s bigger than my head of security, and that man is a mutant.”

The younger member, Pony Boy, stood and moved closer in silence. He shook hands with Grimes, but the entire time he was studying the zipper of Brady’s jeans as if he could lower it by will alone. 

“Did you say he was a Marine, as well?”

“Yes,” Cal answered proudly, as if he’d enlisted himself. “He was commended more than once for heroism and valor in combat.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Brady forced out stiffly, wishing he’d been sent here to knock some heads together instead of playing Cal’s date. “Thank you for letting me—”

“He has a nice voice, too,” the third man interrupted, reminding Brady that Cal had told him not to speak unless spoken to. “Very deep. Very commanding.”

Brady felt drunk again. He was nauseated and not quite sure any of this was really happening. In fact, it was so much like a bad movie he had to swallow a laugh.

“Well done for your first time out, Grimes. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d get him here voluntarily. But looking at him now, I can see why you went to so much trouble. If he weren’t so well connected, he would be a perfect addition to our stables.”

Addition to your what, motherfucker? Brady looked down at Cal who was wisely avoiding eye contact. Brady no longer felt sorry for stringing him along. He no longer felt anything but quiet, seething rage.

Stay on mission. Smile. Relax. Imagine what you’d do to them if you could. That should cheer you up.

“The senator only has pull in this state,” Cal protested. “We have other clubs.”

Pony Boy frowned at Cal. “We have other clubs. You’ve only been invited to this one, so take care. And you’re still an idiot. The senator has more influence and political capital than he did before. And this big bruiser was there. He knows what happened.” He laughed. “You can’t handle a ride like this, Grimes. He would break you.”

Cal’s face turned red. “He’s mine. He wants to be here. Tell them, Brady.”

“I want to be here.” To burn your house down. Brady smiled genially.

All four men laughed at that and Pony Boy patted Cal on the shoulder. “I can see he’s overcome with lust.” He paused. “Are you sure you wouldn’t consider sharing him? I’ve been disappointed once already this evening. In fact, we could make the argument that you were personally responsible for that, so you owe me.”

Cal took a step forward. “I don’t care. I’m not sharing him.”

No one is sharing me you sick, nasty jackoffs.  Brady nodded in agreement with Cal, showing the men his pleased expression. Try it and you’ll lose a limb.

Pony Boy didn’t look happy with that answer, but his tone was amused. “For now, that might be best. You’re our newest member, definitely our first charity case, and you’ve been here more than the rest of us combined these last two weeks. You need your own toy so you don’t break all of ours.”

Cal seemed confused. As if he didn’t know whether or not he’d been insulted.

Oh you have, buddy. Trust me. He doesn’t like you at all.

None of them did. It was obvious to Brady, but confusing. It wasn’t like they were low on whipping boys. Why had they let Cal join if they couldn’t stand him?

The fourth man set down his drink. “Look at what he was working for, Clive. That is a prime piece of real estate. The size of him alone gives one ideas. Any of us would have used the club’s amenities as roughly in the same situation. Once Vargas is finished with Cal’s favorite piece of equipment, he’ll see this strapping Marine and say the same. He’ll probably try to purchase him from you, Grimes, but don’t you let him.”

Cal frowned. “He’s… I didn’t know he liked that one.”

Clive/Pony Boy snorted and shared a laughing look with the others. “He doesn’t, really. He has his own toys. He’s just not that fond of you. He’ll come around to our way of thinking. You’ve already been invaluable.”

Brady knew he could turn around and walk out. There was no doubt in his mind that none of the guards, armed or not, could stop him. Not if they wanted to remain intact. One word stopped him.

Vargas.

He has his own toys.

Ken wasn’t here. Brady was the only one who could salvage this shitstorm and finish the mission. He turned and looked down at Cal, raising his eyebrows expectantly and hoping his anger would come off as excitement instead. “Your favorite? That sounds promising.”

“Show him, Cal,” one of the men urged. “His reaction should be interesting. They’re in the back room.”

Cal hesitated, trying to read Brady’s expression. “You remember what I told you about keeping an open mind?”

Nodding as nonchalantly as he could, Brady used Ken’s trademark smile so he wouldn’t have to speak.

Cal’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Come with me.”

Brady shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets so Cal wouldn’t take his hand. If he did Brady might break his bones. Slowly. One at a time. And then he might reset them and do it again.

Burke was a blackmailer who liked kink. These men were something else entirely. Brady wanted to laugh them off as stereotypical spoiled pricks but… They didn’t care. They didn’t care that Brady had been listening to them while they talked about his cousin. They didn’t care that he knew what they looked like or where this club was located. That wasn’t stupidity, and it wasn’t coming off as blatant overconfidence. It was knowledge.

That made them dangerous.

“I told you on our first date that everyone would want to take you home. Clive already does.”

Cal said it like Brady was supposed to be pleased. What happened to the man? He’d been Stephen’s assistant, for crying out loud. How could he think this was okay? That this was acceptable behavior? “How did you meet your friends?”

“They found me nearly three months ago,” Cal told him. “But they’d had their eye on me for a while. They said I had exactly the kind of ambition they were looking for, and that was more important than my pedigree.” He sounded so proud. “I’m the first man to gain membership without generations of money behind me. Do you know how impossible that is? And since then I’ve had more work than I know what to do with, more money than I’ve ever made and this. All of this, whenever I want it. Everything is finally working for me. That’s why I knew I could have you too. When you know these men, nothing is impossible.”

Aw, hell, the stupid bastard was a fall guy. Brady didn’t have proof, and he didn’t know when they would throw him to the wolves, but he knew it would happen. Greed and lust did strange things to people, and Cal had an overabundance of both. The men here would know exactly how to exploit it.

Brady might feel sorry for him if Cal hadn’t just paraded him in front of those men like a prize bull. It had been the worst sort of humiliation. Not purposeful, just matter-of-fact. They spoke about him, not at him, enumerating his traits and studying the goods for future reference.

He’d been an object. A thing. He wondered if they’d still feel that way if he took turns dangling them out a window by their ankles.

Focus. For Ken. For Terry. You made a promise.

“They didn’t treat you very well.” Damn it, Brady, shut up. “I mean, you deserve better.”

Cal stopped walking and whirled to face Brady, his hand coming up as if he thought he could slap him. Instinctively, Brady’s own hand shot up to grip Cal’s wrist lightly. Just enough pressure to stop him, and then he let him go.

“You say another word about them and I will get the guards to hold you down while I beat you.” Cal was whispering, quick and panicked. “I want you but I will be damned if I let you ruin this for me. They chose me. Me. Clive is jealous, because he’s not the young hotshot anymore. I am. This is what I deserve.”

Fix this. Tighten up. “I’m sorry, Cal. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“That’s right,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Now I really need that ride so I don’t hurt you later. I hope Vargas is done.”

The back room wasn’t that different from the rest of this sadistic nightmare, but it had a wall for privacy. There was also what looked like a medical curtain, behind which Brady could see a heavyset, bearded shadow, pumping away.

Almost done. 

That was Vargas. It had to be.

Cal swore under his breath when he saw the shadow and took a step closer, his hands folded tightly together. He waited until Vargas had taken a breath between grunts and called out, “Are you almost done with him?”

“I’ll be out when I’m finished,” Vargas groaned. “I’m showing him how it’s done.”

Him. Sonofbitchmotherfuc— They’d been talking about a person, Brady realized. Not a machine or accessory. Vargas was using Cal’s favorite person.

Brady was genuinely concerned he might be sick. He grimaced in disgust, using the opportunity to look for his target’s clothes. One break, he prayed. One break and I can get the hell out of here and find Ken.

There. Vargas’ jacket was neatly folded on a chair in the corner. His phone was right on top. There is a God. Brady walked around the scene, pretending fascination with different implements on the table beside the chair. He angled his body until the jacket and phone were behind him.

Almost there.

Vargas was grunting on top of that poor son of a bitch and Cal couldn’t seem to decide if he was upset or aroused as he moved a little closer and looked around the curtain.

It was now or never. While Cal was absorbed with getting his “turn”, Brady stepped back until he felt the fabric of the jacket brush his jeans, slipped his hand into his pocket and turned his small phone on. It vibrated once, confirming it was working.

One minute. That’s how long Ken told him it would take to clone the phone. Every name and phone number, every account and every message Vargas got would be theirs. Most importantly, so would his GPS.

One minute was too long, Brady thought, keeping count.

As he waited, he came to a realization. Whether things worked out with Ken or not, this was his next job. Stopping this. Making these men suffer and lose everything they thought protected them from punishment. Stopping this.

There was no reality where they would get away.

One minute. The phone buzzed silently in his pocket, two quick pulses to let him know it was done.

Finally.

Vargas finished with a gasping, “I think he likes me better, Grimes. But you can have a turn now if you want.”

Cal was already slipping off his jacket and unbuttoning his pants when Brady put a hand on his shoulder. “Cal?”

Cal’s cheeks were flushed when he sent Brady a pleading smile. “Would you be too jealous, Brady? You’re the only man I want. I just started playing because you made me wait.” He lowered his voice. “Now I sort of have to do this or he’ll think he’s won.”

Grimes would look so much better with a broken nose.

Get out. Say anything. “Oh yeah, I get it. But I have to take a piss so I was hoping you could start without me. Just don’t finish until I’m back. I’d like to see that.”

Cal nodded, relief and arousal making him amenable. “I want you to see it, so you’ll have to hurry.  I promise it’ll be your turn as soon as I’m done. Restrooms are to the right of the elevator, next to the kitchen. Don’t wander—just come right back here when you’re done or Clive might try to steal you.”

Brady smiled and nodded, then turned and walked away without another word, his mind racing to find a way down that elevator to freedom. He was thinking he could trick one of the guards into the bathroom, knock him out and take his key card. It would have to be quiet and quick, and there’d be no room for mistakes, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.

It would be easier than staying in this club.

He frowned when he got to the elevator. The guards weren’t there. He walked toward the restrooms to buy more time, his gaze skimming the bare walls. Where were those damned armed wrestlers when he needed them?

Brady pushed open the door and found himself flat on his face with a knee in his back before he could react or make a sound.

“Brady?”

The knee disappeared and Ken was there, rolling him over and smiling with those perfect lips. “Are you ready to go yet?”

He stifled his wildly inappropriate laughter as relief temporarily replaced his rage. Ken was there, in a black t-shirt and black pants, ready to save the day. “You’ll never know how ready. I cloned the phone but we need a key card.”

“We don’t, but pick one if you’d like a souvenir.” Ken pointed toward the bathroom stalls and Brady saw five mostly unconscious guards tied up and gagged on the floor, their empty guns and keycards beside them.

“Damn it, Tanaka. I was really looking forward to hitting someone and you had to show off like a damn ninja. How did you get up here? I know Cal canceled your demo.”

Ken’s expression was feral. “Is he the one? I’ll have to thank him for that.” He smiled at Brady. “I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun, Finn. After the call, I came anyway, bypassed the elevator lock and started rounding up these losers. I figured you’d want to leave as soon as possible.”

Brady grabbed Ken and kissed him, nearly lifting him off his feet in the process. When he pulled back Ken’s eyes were worried. “That bad, huh?”

“I can’t talk about it now. We need to leave before Grimes finishes up and comes looking for me. Before Pony Boy sees us.”

“Pony Boy? Let them come. I mean it.” The look in Ken’s golden eyes was deadly. “From what little I’ve seen since I got here? I could take them.”

He motioned confidently toward the pile of disarmed men and Brady was tempted—but something felt off. They bastards hadn’t noticed that all their guards were missing. This wasn’t that big of a place and it wasn’t that crowded, yet no one had sounded an alarm. Just more overconfidence…or something more sinister? “Later.”

They left the restroom together, walking casually toward the elevator. Brady kept a lookout while Ken punched in the code to open the doors. He heard the whoosh and turned, ready to breathe a sigh of relief, when he saw the guard inside.

Without thinking, Brady rushed him, gripped him in a chokehold and cut off his air before he could cry for help. Ken joined him, punched in another code and sent the elevator down. As the doors closed, Brady slammed the guard’s head against the wall just hard enough to give him a headache when he finally regained consciousness.

“You missed one.”

“I was saving him for you.”