Chapter 2

Owen

I flick the lighter on and burn the end of my Cuban.

I need this smoke like nothing else.

The blaze matches that of my own soul.

I light a cigar inside of my brand new red Aventador in the club’s parking lot. I draw in a deep breath of the glorious tobacco as it fills my lungs and calms me down.

I might be fucking over the line here, but I don’t want you guys to see me this way. I bounced from the club in a hurry, before blame could be cast on me.

I’m not one for negative press or limelight, and I’ll always bolt in a quick fucking minute if it means I can get myself out of trouble.

Right before I press the button to turn on my car’s ignition, a well-dressed man approaches the car. I have no choice but to greet him because my window is rolled down because of my cigar.

“I don’t give out change to people on the street.” I smirk at the guy with arrogant flare, even though I can tell by the way he’s dressed that’s probably not why he’s standing next to my car window.

“Excuse me?” the man asks in confusion.

I shake my head; apparently it’s going right past the fucking idiot’s brain. “Nothing,” I say. “Are you with the club?” I ask.

“Yes, sir.” The man nods.

“I can’t find my Gold Card,” I say, referring to my membership to the sex club on the third floor of the strip club.

I lost it somewhere in the tussle with the man in the bathroom.

“Sir, your membership is going to be suspended,” the man says apologetically.

“What?” I shout. “I need to speak to Jay. He’s the manager. Go and fetch him,” I demand with a snap of my fingers.

“Mr. Wolfe, I’m afraid there’s nothing that Jay can do at the moment to help you,” the man sighs, as if he’s used to dealing with jerks like me all the time and he has some sort of higher than normal patience threshold.

“Go and fucking get him,” I demand with more force this time.

The man rolls his eyes and sighs again.

“Fine.” He spins around and leaves.

I notice that he’s tall and a little stocky and wears a large black leather jacket. He’s probably one of Jay’s little fucking minions, I think bitterly.

I take another drag on the cigar as I wait for Jay to come outside, which to my surprise he actually does. Jay is probably in his mid-sixties and has greying hair, probably from having to run this club all these years. He’s also dressed in a business suit and, like always, has professional poise.

“What is it, Owen?” he says, leaning in to talk to me through the open car window.

“What the fuck is going on? Why is my membership suspended?” I wail like the spoiled fucking child I am.

Jay takes a deep breath, gearing up to explain himself. “The board already knows about your little run-in with Inspector French,” Jay says.

“What? Who the fuck is Inspector French?” I demand. “More importantly, how does the board even fucking know what happened? It was only like five fucking minutes ago!” I shout, vaguely owning up to the fact that something actually did take place, and that it may or may not have been slightly sketchy.

“That leads me to my next point,” Jay says, and leans against the car, still looking down at me in the seat. “Inspector French is the man we just hired in charge of grading the club. He’s kind of fucking important, Owen.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling the shock sink in—but I’m still unconvinced that my actions warrant a suspension. “I still don’t understand what this shit has to do with me,” I state firmly.

“Owen, you fucking punched the guy. There have to be consequences,” Jay states patiently.

“He was trying to get a rise out of me!” I try and defend myself, but I can tell it’s going to be no fucking use.

These assholes aren’t going to back down.

“Obviously, the Inspector went to the board and told them immediately what happened. He’s shocked and told us that you came on his fucking shoe. Is that true Owen?” Jay shakes his head in disgust. “If it is, that’s fucking gross as shit, man.”

“That’s beside the point,” I continue to argue, skirting around and dodging Jay’s question. “I’m a goddamn paying customer; I have my rights.”

“This isn’t a fucking court Owen.” Jay gives me a chagrined look. “The board says your actions are disruptive and worthy of the offense. My hands are tied,” he admits.

I pound the steering wheel in frustration, then look back at Jay as an idea comes to me. “Let me talk to the board,” I request.

“Sorry, man. No can do,” Jay denies firmly.

“Why the hell not?” I growl, desperation filling me to the core.

“They don’t speak directly to the customers,” Jay admits. “That’s where I come in, as a liaison of sorts.”

“That’s fucking made up bullshit!” I yell.

“I can’t help you, Owen,” Jay says and walks away, apologetically telling me I should go home and get some sleep.

I watch in fury as he walks back into the club and out of sight. I stub out my cigar and speed off.

You remember that I said I only live a few blocks away, right? Yeah, I could walk to the club, but I just got this fucking new car and I want to drive it around for the hell of it. So sue me.

Did I mention I live right here in the city that never sleeps? My ride home isn’t long, but I’m pissed enough to drive a hundred miles; although right now, I just pull up to my ritzy and luxurious apartment building.

I step out of the car, tossing the keys to the valet man who appears to be a lanky young guy, wearing a red bellhop outfit with gold trim.

I give him a slight nod in thanks and give him a hefty tip before walking towards the building to the lobby inside.

“Good evening, sir,” our elderly doorman greets me with a twinkle in his eye.

“Hey, George.” I give him a wink and a smile.

George Worthington is the glue that holds this building together, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t see his shining face waiting for me to come home each night.

“Thank you, George,” I say and walk past him as he holds the door open for me.

I’m immediately hit with the refreshing coolness of air conditioning as I leave the damp, humid summer night behind me.

Good fucking riddance, as far as I’m concerned.

I pound the elevator button to the forty-ninth floor where my penthouse apartment overlooks Central Park. On the way up, a terrible thought comes rushing into my head, and I know I’m not going to fucking sleep a wink tonight.

If I’m banned from the club right now, I’m going to miss my “date” with Crystal Caspen, the prestigious five-star stripper that I’ve always wanted, but who’s always fucking booked up.

I punch the elevator door as I exit into my hallway, seething with the realization that I’m going to have to give up my coveted spot with her this month. I need to think of a plan, and fucking fast.