Chapter Two

Lightning struck overhead as Raymond Vargas grabbed the man by the lapel of his suit jacket and slammed him against the exterior brick wall of the courthouse, not caring if anyone saw them in that alley or if he hurt the son of a bitch and his precious three-thousand-dollar suit.

He gripped him by the throat. “Who hired you?”

The attorney clawed at Vargas’s hands, sputtering like he couldn’t get enough air to breathe, let alone work up an answer. The reaction was a complete exaggeration. This asshole was a trial lawyer. He knew how to put on a show.

Vargas gave him another solid slam. “Tell me.”

“All right, all right. It was Prescott.”

“Bullshit.”

“He’s my client.”

“But he isn’t the one paying you. He was all set to go with the public defender and consider a deal from the prosecutor in exchange for a confession until someone stepped in and hired you. I want to know who.”

“No one stepped in.” The lawyer continued trying to tear Vargas’s hands away from him. After several more futile seconds, he quit his flailing and gave up on the struggle. “Look, I took Prescott on pro bono. It’s a high-profile case. It’s going to make my career if I get him off.”

“Get him off?” It took everything Vargas had not to pummel the man for those words alone.

A crack of thunder tore through the air, but the rain that had been predicted that morning continued to hold off. Not that Vargas cared. Nothing would keep him from finally having this exchange.

He got farther in the man’s face. “A jury already found Prescott guilty. He’s in prison. He’s never getting out. No matter how much paperwork you throw at the court.” He gave the man another hard slam. That one felt damn good. “Besides, you hit it big decades ago.”

Twenty years earlier, Glenn Lauber had been named one of the top criminal defense attorneys by U.S. and Global News Today. An accolade that landed him a run as a featured legal analyst for several cable news networks. There was hardly much further up for his career to go.

Vargas was sick and tired of this man’s bullshit lies. He tightened his grasp on Lauber as if he were about to do more than slam him against the wall. “Tell me who hired you, tell me what Prescott meant in that courtroom, or I swear to God—”

Before he could finish the threat, someone grabbed him by the upper arms and tugged on him from behind. Vargas held his ground, as well as his grip on the lawyer. No way was he letting the bastard go now that he finally had a shot at getting the answers he’d been after for the past two years.

Too bad the fucker who had a hold of him was strong.

“Vargas.” The name was grunted in his ear as the man wrapped an arm around his chest and yanked harder. It was Tucker. He continued trying to dislodge Vargas from the attorney. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Lauber bobbed his head as he resumed struggling. “He has. He has. Get him off me!”

Vargas had lost his advantage. Reluctantly he let go and allowed Tucker to pull him away.

It didn’t take long for Lauber to scramble for his briefcase where it had landed on the ground beside him minutes earlier. Clutching the case to his chest, he stumbled backward toward the courthouse parking lot. “I wouldn’t think you’d have time to worry about me, Mr. Vargas. I know you’re close to losing that club of yours. You think you’d be spending your time trying to save it, not harassing innocent people.”

Vargas took a single step toward the attorney. Lauber spun around and made for the rear parking lot, scurrying away like the weasel he was.

Motherfucker.

Vargas whirled to Tucker. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“What? Save your ass?” Tucker pointed off after Lauber. “He could call the cops on you. File harassment charges. He still might.”

“I don’t care. He’s the one who’s protecting that son of a bitch.”

“You’ll care when you end up behind bars.”

“Well, if I do, at least I can get at Prescott myself.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

He was right on that front. If Vargas got locked up, who’d Seth have to count on then? Still…

“I want to know what Prescott meant that day in the courthouse, and I want to know now!” He slammed the side of his fist against the brick wall. His skin split on contact. He ignored the blood and the pain. A crowd of people had started to gather at the end of the alley not long after he’d first had the attorney against the wall. A few were still gawking at them.

“Come on.” Tucker tugged him toward the back lot and didn’t let up until they were beside Vargas’s SUV. “That lawyer’s not going to voluntarily give up who really hired him or what Prescott meant when he offered up that message for Seth. Not after all this time.”

“He will to me. We have to find out who’s financing this appeal. We have to get them to convince Prescott to withdraw the case.” He shook his head. “He can’t get out. Not now. Not ever.”

“I get that, but they’ve done a damn good job covering their tracks.” Tucker’s voice demonstrated his remorse. “You know, finding out who hired the attorney might not solve anything.”

“We’re out of options.” Short of Vargas breaking into the prison and coming face-to-face with Prescott. What he fantasized doing to that man demonstrated why people who knew the victims couldn’t serve on the jury.

Tucker was carefully studying him.

Vargas eased up on his anger. He shouldn’t have lost his temper with a friend. He sagged back against the driver’s-side door of his SUV, arms folded across his chest.

Tucker Nicodemus had been there for him in a lot of ways over the past two years. Their relationship began as a business arrangement not long after the night Vargas had learned that several of his members and employees had disappeared from the Haven, but it hadn’t taken long for the two of them to become friends.

Tucker, and the rest of his private investigation and personal security firm, had gone above and beyond when it came to Vargas’s requests. They had a stellar reputation, and Tucker knew his shit. He ran the PI firm with an old college buddy, and Vargas had liked both men since he first met them. Initially, he’d hired them to help with background checks on members and employees of the club. Now he had them handling a few extra security issues outside the Haven.

Security issues like Prescott’s attorney.

Vargas had asked Tucker to find out who hired the lawyer after Prescott was first arrested. When they learned the jury had found Prescott guilty, Vargas called off the investigation. It was time and money wasted on a man who’d be rotting in prison. As soon as he’d found out that Prescott’s attorney was following through with an appeal of the conviction, Vargas had them resume the search and start tailing the lawyer 24-7.

Since then, they’d followed every lead, examined every public record, combed through Lauber’s curbside trash, tracked his phone calls and movements, and reviewed all possible connections to the case, and still, they were nowhere.

That thought had the fury returning. Vargas kept his arms locked across his chest, his hands clamped down on his biceps.

Tucker continued eyeing him closely. “I’m not giving up on this. That’s why I schedule myself for one shift every few days, so I can personally follow this scumbag and try to figure out who he’s working for. I don’t want Prescott out on the streets any more than you do.”

“I know.”

Tucker squinted at the hand Vargas had slammed against the brick wall. “You should get that looked at.”

“It’s fine.” Without a glance at the damage or the blood, he swiped his hand across the side of his pants.

Tucker kept watching him with a focused stare. Even in the jeans and T-shirt Tucker had likely worn to blend in on the crowded sidewalks, he always looked like he was on some sort of high-priority mission for the secret service. Tall and lean but solidly-built, he had an intensity to him that spoke volumes about his past as a bodyguard, and also gave the impression he was ready to take a bullet for anyone, anywhere, anytime. Yet there was a softness to him underneath all that.

“Okay,” Tucker finally said. “Then how about you tell me what’s got you so worked up? All this time, and you personally go after Lauber now. Why?”

Vargas could barely get the words out through the clench of his jaw. “They moved him from the prison to a jail here in the city.”

“Prescott?”

“He’ll be staying there for the time being.”

“Why?”

“So he can meet with his attorney about the appeal.” Vargas shook his head. “I hate that he’s this close.” To Seth. He left those two words unsaid. “Is everything going okay with our other project?”

“Yeah. This week’s reports show no signs of anything odd.”

“Good. And the men we hired are keeping out of sight?”

“Just like you requested.” Tucker paused. “You know it’s usually—”

Vargas held up a hand. “I got it.” Tucker had repeated the explanation enough times. What Vargas had them working on would probably be a lot more effective if it weren’t a secret, but he wasn’t ready to share that with anyone else yet.

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Earlier that day when he’d gotten the call from his friend in the DA’s office about Prescott’s recent move from the prison, he’d had his head buried in the club’s finances and had developed a massive headache long before the call. The altercation with Lauber hadn’t helped with the tension.

A droplet of rain landed on his forehead. The sky overhead was rapidly growing ominous.

“I’m gonna take off and let you get back to work.” He shot a concerned look to Tucker. “You’ll pick up his trail again?”

“Yeah, he’s very predictable.” Tucker pointed a finger at Vargas. “No more going off the rails, all right? You need to vent, you call me.”

Vargas gave a nod. After another five seconds of that hard stare in warning from Tucker, the two shook hands in lieu of a verbal goodbye, and Tucker took off.

Ten minutes later, Vargas pulled into another parking lot. The rain was pouring by then, the heavy beads pounding the hood of his SUV like drums banging out a menacing beat that foretold some coming disaster. He got out and dashed for the brick building. At his private entrance, he slid his security card through the reader and opened the door. He took the stairs two at a time toward his apartment on the second floor.

Without stopping off to ditch his wet clothes or at least dry off, he bypassed the door to his place, made his way down the hall, past the security room and the second-floor reservation desk, then strode for the balcony overlooking the main floor below. Gripping the railing in both hands, he took in the view of the club he’d called home for years.

His haven.

It was still early in the day. The place was bare, except for the bartender restocking the bar near the front and housekeeping running a vacuum somewhere out of sight. Every light was on in the place, brightly illuminating the dance floor, the lounge, and the vast dining room. The result gave the entire first floor a completely different atmosphere from the heady, thrilling vibe it would have later that night when the lights were dimmed and the place was full of men, everyone eating, dancing, flirting, or heading upstairs to the private rooms for far more than flirting.

He’d surveyed the Haven that same way a thousand times before. Yet it was somehow different now.

He used to love taking in the sight of what he’d built, loved roaming the halls of the upper floors that were lined with guest rooms, many like those found in any upscale hotel.

When he initially bought the Haven’s current location, he’d purposely kept the rundown exterior of the five-story brick building. In those less gay-friendly times, the abandoned look had been helpful to mask its intent. Nowadays the facade was more about setting a mood, giving the guys who walked into the club the feeling that they were doing something forbidden and salacious, even if the rest of their night would entail nothing more out of the ordinary than a plate of mushroom risotto with a glass of Pinot Noir, followed by a leisurely soak in a hot tub, then making love with their partner of twenty years on a bed draped with fresh linens.

Although there were members who preferred the darker side of the club, which was why he also had rooms that catered to the BDSM crowd, the glory hole set, and those who wanted an anonymous fuck in a back alley, all while they were safely tucked away inside the building.

The Haven offered any fantasy a gay man could want.

It had been more than two weeks since he’d been there when the club was open. He was starting to feel bad about that. Thank God for Carter Reed, the club’s assistant manager and head security guard. Carter kept the place running smoothly and apprised him of the daily operations while he was otherwise preoccupied. As he’d been for months now.

Which just reinforced the idea that he needed to make a point of showing up when things were in full swing, let people know he was still on top of what went on there, maybe even mingle for a while, find someone to spend a few hours with in a private room upstairs. It had been far too long since he’d done anything of the sort. At the rate he was going, his dick was bound to think he’d given up on the damn thing ever getting any action with something other than his own hand.

If only it were as easy as showing up at the club at the right time on the right night. If only he deserved to feel that good.

Although that wasn’t the whole story. Not even close. He simply had no desire for a meaningless hookup. Not after the dreams he’d been having.

Dreams of one man.

The same man who’d recently asked him the most complicated question of his life. A question he wasn’t sure he could—or should—answer.

He pushed away from the railing and got moving for the main staircase that led to the public areas of the ground floor. He slowed his pace when he spotted Carter exiting the security surveillance room a few feet from the top of the staircase.

Now more than ever, Vargas liked how intimidating Carter appeared to most people, with his bald head, his somber expression that gave him the appearance of a slight scowl no matter his mood, and the serious muscle he was packing that had him looking like he’d stepped right off the set of an action flick.

Carter raised his brows as Vargas approached. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I do live here, you know.”

“Thought maybe you were planning on moving out. You haven’t been here much lately.”

Vargas snorted. “I know I pay you to be observant, but that’s overkill.”

“Ah, but you forget, you now have guards on duty twenty-four hours a day. Which means I always know what’s going on here.” Carter laughed, the sound a deep rumble that fit the man’s vast physique. His grin faded fast, though, as he asked, “Is he doing okay?”

“Yeah. That last surgery really seemed to do the trick.”

“Glad to hear it.” Carter gave him a thoughtful study. “Really hoping you don’t fire my ass for getting so personal, but is something happening between you and him?”

“Why would you say that?”

Carter shot him a look of disbelief. “He’s who you’re spending all your time with, yeah?”

“It’s not like that.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” The grin was back. Carter winked at him as he backed up toward the door to the security office.

Vargas ignored that. “Did you take care of that faulty lock on the kitchen entrance?”

“Yeah.” Carter stopped again, his hand on the open door behind him. “We’ve got everything covered here.” He tilted his head in the direction of the club’s main door on the first floor. “So you can head on back to Seth’s anytime.”

Vargas gave him a look of warning, but they both knew the threat wasn’t sincere. He wasn’t the kind of boss to get pissy with his employees for a little razzing. He actually appreciated Carter’s attention to detail. The man was loyal as hell, and Vargas trusted him to handle any issues.

He told Carter, “I’ll be in my office returning calls. Let me know if you need me.”

“You got it.” Carter gave one last smirk, insinuating that he hadn’t believed a word Vargas had said about Seth.

Vargas was left staring at the closed door of the security room, frustrated that Carter wasn’t getting it. Things between him and Seth couldn’t be like that. Not ever.

Seth Fisher was off limits. Period.

He pushed the thought aside, descended the stairs, and crossed the club, making his way to the staff-only doorway situated between the bar and the dining room. Once in his private office, he got settled behind his desk and went through the list of calls he needed to return. Most were from members wanting him to address their complaints. He steeled himself for what he’d have to deal with and started at the top of the list.

An hour into it, he slammed the phone down on his desk, cutting off the tirade of the latest asshole. “Fuck you too.” He sat back heavily in his chair and glared at the phone. “Goddamn selfish motherfuckers.”

He’d lost the will to talk to one more person. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what any of them had to say.

He didn’t need to be dealing with this shit. He needed to stay focused on Prescott and devising a plan to keep him from ever getting free. Because if he got out, he would absolutely go after someone again.

During the investigation, the police found a journal that indicated Prescott had abducted other young men ten years earlier. The detectives were still trying to find evidence to charge him in that case and were also trying to learn if there were others before them as they suspected.

All that meant one thing to Vargas: Nothing except prison or death would ever stop him.

And worst of all, if he got free now, he might return for Seth and the others who’d been rescued from him.

Vargas was going to do whatever was necessary to ensure that never happened.

The phone on the desk buzzed. Carter’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Vargas, there’s someone here to see you.” The formality with which he spoke indicated this wasn’t going to be good. “It’s Edwin Morris. I tried to tell him your decision was final, but he’s demanding to speak with you in person.”

“Got it. Be right there.” Vargas got up from his desk. If Morris wanted to talk, he couldn’t have picked a more perfect moment.

The man in question was waiting near the club’s main entrance. Carter stood beside him, and Neil, the guard on duty at the front door, was waiting directly behind them. Morris was dressed in a suit like he was on his way to work. Vargas had liked the man when he first met him at his membership interview three years earlier. He’d had a good feeling about him and never expected the guy to turn out to be such a total piece of worthless shit.

Time to show the man what happened to scum who walked through his front door.

Vargas approached the group of men. “Judge Morris.”

“Mr. Vargas.”

Vargas didn’t take the offered hand the judge held out. He gave it a pointed look.

Morris dropped his arm in defeat but forged on anyway. “I wanted to explain in person.”

“There’s no need. You’re done here.” To make his point, Vargas signaled to Carter and Neil to escort the judge out. Both men moved in but then drew up short when Vargas held up a hand as Morris spoke again.

“If you’d just hear me out. That little shit found out I was married. He said I was an asshole for cheating and was going to tell my wife.”

“I don’t care.”

“It was just one shove.”

“You often shove someone with your fist in his face?”

“It wasn’t like that. I only wanted to scare him, make sure he kept his mouth shut. This club’s supposed to be discreet. He can’t go around threatening to out me.”

Vargas got in the judge’s face. “I don’t give a shit what your reason was. You are no longer a member of this club.” He stepped back as if that was the end of it.

“This is unacceptable.” The judge marched forward but quickly stopped when the guards moved in to flank him. Vargas gestured for Carter and Neil to hold still.

More calmly Morris asked, “Are you going to refund my dues?”

“No. You lied and violated the membership agreement.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“You got married after you applied for membership, and you didn’t bother to update your records here at the club. That, and most importantly, hitting a member without his consent are violations of the club’s policies that you agreed to when you enrolled. I don’t owe you a thing.”

The judge scoffed.

“You’re going to leave now, and you are never stepping foot inside this club again.” Vargas signaled once more to Carter and Neil. They converged on Morris. Each security guard grabbed the judge by an arm. They spun him around and encouraged him toward the door.

Morris shouted over his shoulder, “You’re a fucking asshole, Vargas! You keep kicking people out and this place is going to become a joke. No one’s going to stick around for your bullshit.”

“If they’re all like you, then good riddance.” He waited until the judge was through the door. When it was closed behind him, Vargas took off for the bar and poured a glass of Glenlivet. He knocked it back in one try, then got another.

A minute later he heard someone approach.

“He’s gone. Got in his car and left.” Carter came to stand beside him at the bar. “I’ll put the staff on alert to keep an eye out for him, just in case.”

“Thanks.”

“If it’s any consolation, I liked the judge when I first met him. He didn’t seem like the type to hurt anyone.”

Vargas gave a nod in thanks. He appreciated Carter’s comments, but it did little to make him feel better. After all, Vargas had liked Prescott when he first met him, and look what that got six of his members and employees.

Look what that got Seth.

Vargas couldn’t help but recall how Prescott appeared in the courtroom months earlier, just moments before the verdict was set to come down. He seemed oddly unruffled and unconcerned about the outcome of his case.

After the guilty verdict was read, he’d simply, calmly turned to the spectators in the courtroom and scanned the crowd until he spotted Vargas. He looked him straight in the eye and said the words Vargas would never forget.

The eerie grin that lingered on Prescott’s face was also burned into his memory. It was the smug smile of a man who knew something no one else did, a man who had a plan.

Vargas would do whatever he had to, to keep that warped monster from ever getting free again.