Dillon
THERE’S NOT ENOUGH COFFEE IN the world to keep me alert today.
“Rough night?” Marcus huffs, throwing himself into my chair, forcing me to frown and sit on the corner of my desk. I do a quick once over of his fancy suit and roll my eyes. Is he going to run for congress or some shit?
“Jade is in her horny-as-sin stage of pregnancy,” I mutter, and his brows lift almost to his hairline.
“Is that a thing?”
“Well, my dick can agree it is. I’m fucking chafed from her riding me so much.”
Picking up a pen, he throws it at me, and I catch it, holding it up. “What the hell?”
“No man should ever complain about getting too much ass,” he grumbles. “Go write up a ton of paperwork and then bitch to me.”
My eyes dart to his face, noticing the bags forming under his eyes. “You been here all night?”
Pushing back in the chair to stretch, he rubs his hands over his face before answering. “My night didn’t go as planned, so I came in to catch up on some of those interviews from the club workers.”
“Anything you need to tell me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Do I look like a tween girl who needs to discuss my feelings?”
I kick out my leg, hitting his ankle. “You sound like one, and although I love hearing about your social life, I was referring to the interviews.”
He sits forward, smiling half-heartedly. “Shit, sorry. I’m just tired.”
“No problem,” I grunt. Join the club.
“One dancer. She mentioned something about a man she recognized from a different club who came in and had a heated discussion with Mr. Law. Said she only saw him because she walked into his office during the talk.”
“Did she have a name for us?”
He grabs a folder he must have put on my desk and thumbs through it. “No name, but an address for a club called The Vault. She said she applied for a job there but was turned down.”
A groan leaves my chest. “You think she’s just disgruntled and this is her way of getting back?”
“Either way, it’s the only lead we have, so it’s worth looking into.”
“Did you run the club?”
“Yeah. It’s owned by a Cassian Harris.”
Getting to my feet, I pull on my jacket and grab the car keys. “Priors?”
Marcus follows behind me, matching my stride. “Nothing. Not even a parking ticket. He is squeaky clean.”
“Too clean, or just a top member of society?” I snort.
“Let’s go find out.”
The Vault has a completely different atmosphere from the one owned by the victim of some crazed murderer. A woman greets us at the front, asking to see our card and then to sign in, like we’re at a spa or some shit. When I show her my badge, she smiles and walks us to the real leather couches situated along the walls. “If you take a seat, I’ll inform management you are here.” She beams, offering us both a drink while we wait.
“Thank you?” I reply, unsure if there’s a reason she’s being so polite. Usually workers are standoffish when we flash our badge. Marcus sits, and I decide to do the same. There are two sets of double doors, one on each side of the “welcome desk,” and I wonder what’s beyond them.
The floor looks like it’s made of cracked glass, and it reflects the light from a giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling, igniting the foyer in a brilliant bright light. Men enter in thousand dollar suits, then disappear behind large black doors. My eyes find Marcus, who nods his head. This place is in a league of its own and shouldn’t really care about a club like Rebel’s Reds. I doubt there’s any real rivalry between them. A door made with a mirror effect, much like the wall and floor, opens from beside me. It was so camouflaged, I didn’t even realize there was a door there.
“Detectives.” A tall, well-dressed man stands in front of me, offering his hand first to me, then Marcus. His tone is deep, authoritative. There are no nerves in his mannerisms. He is cool, collected, and it puts me on motherfucking edge.
“Would you like to come through to my office?”
“Yes, thank you,” Marcus answers for us, following him through the same door he came from. The mirror theme continues down the corridor, and my eyes sweep the long hall as we pass a few doors before he finally enters one.
It’s small and holds no personality. No pictures of family. No computer or other electronics. It’s barren except for a desk with chairs on either side of it.
He takes his seat, then gestures for us to take the others.
Marcus gets out his notepad and pencil. “Can I confirm who you are?”
The guy tilts his head, regarding us. His eyes are the color of honey, but there is nothing sweet about the way they bore into us, stripping away the layers.
“I own this establishment,” he retorts, clasping his hands together and leaning his elbows on the desk.
“So, you’re Cassian Harris?” I clarify.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Harris, we are investigating the murder of a Maximus Law. Can you tell me how you know him?” Marcus asks.
I smile internally at the way Marcus posed the question. Not if you know him, but how.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Harris says. “I feel at a disadvantage.” He smiles, but his eyes are vacant. My sixth sense sends a chill up my spine.
“A disadvantage?” Marcus asks.
“Yes, you know who I am, yet you haven’t informed me of who you are.”
Jackass.
Pulling out my badge, I smack it down on the table in front of him. He looks it over with intense scrutiny before a twitch in his lip makes my piss boil. He’s a game player. It’s a good damn thing I’m fucking headstrong and have played with the big leagues.
He ignores Marcus as he flashes his badge, only having eyes for me.
“Detective Scott. What can I do for you?”
I slip my badge into the pocket of my slacks and lean back in the chair to show him his little show doesn’t rattle me. “You can answer the question. How do you know Maximus Law?”
“You mean, knew Maximus Law?”
Swallowing the growl, I smirk. I’m aching to smack his head into the goddamn table. “We have reason to believe you saw him the night of his death.”
Leaning back, he taps a finger to his forehead, then asks, “Which night did he die?”
Fucker is smarter than I gave him credit for.
“The nineteenth,” Marcus answers for me.
“Well, I was here all day and night on the nineteenth.”
“Do you not need to check your schedule?” I grind out.
He eyes me, a spark igniting in his unusually colored eyes. “I can keep track of the days, Detective. The nineteenth was a Thursday, and on Thursdays, I see to the accounts, then spend the evenings unwinding inside a warm body.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Can anyone verify that for you?”
A wicked grin spreads over his face. “Of course.” Pulling his cell from his pocket, he dials a number and brings the phone to his ear.
“Kami, office B. Now.”
“While we wait, would you mind telling us why a witness said she saw you at Rebel’s Reds?”
“A witness said this, Detective Scott?” He says my name like it’s a swear word. “It’s not a crime to visit other establishments. I was merely scouting out purchase opportunities. I’m looking to expand.”
“So, you were there to buy the club?” I demand, my patience wearing thin.
He wags a finger and shakes his head. “No, quite the contrary. The place wasn’t nearly worth my time, so I thanked Mr. Law and left.”
“Were you aware of Mr. Law’s involvement in trafficking women?”
A brazen question for this early on in the investigation, but I want to see the look on his face. He gives me not one tell as to whether he knows or not.
The door opens and a young girl in a pair of khakis and a tank top enters. She’s petite with pink streaky hair, her eyes huge and expressive. She immediately walks over to where Harris is sitting and crawls into his lap, facing us.
Fucking creepy.
“Can you confirm your whereabouts Thursday the nineteenth?” Marcus asks, hoping to catch Harris out by not asking her straight out if she was with him.
“Who the fuck are you?” She cocks her brow, and her attitude makes a laugh bubble from my chest. She reminds me of Jade when we first started working together.
Marcus recoils, shooting his gaze my way. He doesn’t like brash, mouthy women. He prefers a chick to act like one.
Harris wraps a hand around her waist, his fingers breaching the waistline and disappearing down past her pelvis. She gasps when he touches her pussy, and Marcus shifts in his seat, getting uncomfortable. Harris is a power player. He thinks this will undermine us and make us want to leave, but he’s a fool if he thinks I don’t know these tactics. “Where was I Kami? Don’t be coy,” he teases.
“He was with me.”
Pulling his hand from her pants, he pushes her from his lap before smacking her ass and gesturing for her to leave.
“We need her name and a testimony confirming your alibi on record. Just a formality,” Marcus informs him, his eyes narrowing further.
“I hope you have more than that to warrant you being here,” Harris states in a bored tone.
“We’re just following all leads and ruling out possible suspects,” I growl with a smile on my face.
“Well, Detective Scott, I’m a businessman, not a murderer. If Mr. Law was trafficking women, it’s more than likely a deal gone wrong. Tricky business, and not one I dabble in.”
I get to my feet, and Marcus follows suit, offering his hand to Harris. “Thank you for your time.”
“Glad to assist you in any way I can.”
As we leave, Marcus pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and begins rubbing his hand on it, a scowl on his face. I want to rib him for owning an old man snot rag, but he’s having a meltdown.
“I didn’t think when I went in for the handshake…” He shudders, shaking his head.
“It’s just pussy, Marcus. It’s not a virus.”
“How the fuck do I know what she’s carrying?” he snaps. “She clearly works here. God only knows how many men she lets handle her there.”
As we make our way back to the car, I nod my head at his vagina cloth. “You aren’t bringing that in the car.”
“It’s my grandpa’s,” he grumbles. “He’s eighty-eight. I can’t throw it away.” He frowns, stuffing it in his pocket.
I grin. “That’s the most pussy he’s had in a while.”
“Fuck you, man.” He fastens his seatbelt and looks over at me. “So, this was a bust.”
My eyes scan the huge structure of the club. It’s massive, and we didn’t even get to look around inside. Something is off for sure with that fucker. Wealth and owning this type of business can leave a man very cocksure, and I hope that’s all it is. My intuition, however, tells me there is much more to him and it’s not the last time we’re going to be seeing him.
It’s been a long ass day and we still have nothing to go on. I spent the entire afternoon looking into Cassian Harris and anyone he’s associated with. The further I dug, the more suspicious I became being that there’s nothing on this guy. No past. No ties to anyone. His title is on documents for a few more properties, but that’s it. Even asking informants and people into that scene, the name Cassian was unknown. He ran an empire, but no one knew of him. People gave different names for who they thought owned his club, but no one would or could confirm if this was the same guy we spoke to. Someone who stays anonymous and uses different names always has something to hide. And that fucker isn’t getting off my radar that easily.
My cell vibrates against my leg and a text from Jade lights the screen.
Jade: Left MJ’s doll at Beth’s and she is screaming for it, but I’m midway through cooking dinner. Would you please stop by and pick it up on your way home?
Starting the engine, I send a quick reply and make my way to the twins’ house.
The sun is going down. I love this time of day, right on the cusp of night. My thoughts are with Scarlet, the worker from Rebel’s Reds who brought up she recognized the owner of The Vault. He appears to be more of a ghost than someone who would do his own interviewing, so why would she remember him?
Tomorrow, I’m taking a picture of Cassian Harris to her to see if it’s even him she was talking about. Maybe it was someone else from his club. Maybe it’s nothing.
Whatever it is, I’m going to figure it the fuck out.