Chapter 70: THE REAL REASON

She leaned back and shook her head, staring past me at nothing.

I tried to focus on her, but my mind kept drifting to ten o’clock. To Mark. To a table full of people who probably had more money and fewer scruples than I did. This was bad. Properly bad.

Then, past Sarah’s shoulder, something caught the edge of my vision.

Karim.

He was standing near the front window of the shop, phone raised. The moment I locked eyes with him he smirked, snapped a photo of the two of us sitting together, then lifted his free hand and gave me a slow, deliberate middle finger.

My stomach dropped.

He had just taken a picture of me and Sarah. If he showed that to Hubert... or worse, if he kept it and used it to pressure her later to get into her pants... this could get ugly fast. The bastard was everywhere. Had he followed me here? I couldn’t even tell anymore.

Karim turned and walked off down the sidewalk like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Sarah hadn’t noticed any of it. She just gave me a tired little nod. "Thanks for coming," she said. "Venting like that... it really helped."

"Always." I smiled, but it felt stiff on my face. "I’m here for you, Sarah. Always."

Inside, my thoughts were already racing.

Karim. That goddamn bastard.

I had to cut this particular knot before it tightened around both our necks.

????????????

Night had fully settled by the time the bus dropped me off.

I walked the short distance to Ninth with my hands in my pockets, breath fogging in the cold. The line outside the bar was long, denser than the last time I’d been here. Music leaked out every time the heavy door opened. People stamped their feet against the cold and checked their phones.

I joined the end of the line.

Almost immediately the bouncer’s eyes found me. He leaned over and murmured something to a woman standing just inside the rope. She nodded once, stepped out, and walked straight toward me.

She was the kind of woman the place hired on purpose. Tall, dark hair pinned up with a few loose strands, a tight black dress that stopped mid-thigh and hugged every curve without looking cheap. Red lips. Calm, professional eyes that still managed to look inviting.

"Mr. Brooks?" she said, voice smooth. "Please, come this way. You’re expected."

A few people in line turned to look as she unhooked the rope and gestured for me to follow. I ignored them and stepped past the barrier.

Inside, the main floor was the same carefully curated luxury as before; low lights, expensive bottles, well-dressed bodies moving between booths. She led me through it without a word, past the bar, through the discreet door near the back, and down the narrow staircase I already knew. The air changed the same way it had last time: warmer, heavier, carrying smoke and cologne and the quiet tension of money changing hands.

At the bottom she opened the final door for me, then stepped aside and disappeared back the way we’d come.

The small private room was empty except for one man.

Mark sat at the round table with a cigar between his fingers, silver hair neat, suit impeccable. When he saw me he let out a faint chuckle and spread both arms in exaggerated welcome.

"Chance! Welcome, welcome. Come, sit down."

"Thanks." I pulled out the chair across from him and sat.

Without asking, he tossed a second cigar across the table, then a small cutter. I trimmed the tip, nodded my thanks, and looked at the band.

"Looks expensive."

"Cuban, my young friend."

I put it between my lips and lit it with my own lighter. The draw was smooth. Rich.

"Hmm."

Mark studied me over the rim of his own smoke for a moment, then set it carefully in a heavy crystal ashtray.

"You look down, friend. Why is that?"

Why? Because of that bastard Karim. He had a photo of Sarah and me together. One picture was all he needed to make her life, and mine, significantly harder. He would use it. Men like him always did. And I was going to have to do something about it before he got the chance.

"Personal stuff," I said, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "When are these guests of yours showing up?"

"Any minute. Traffic’s holding them up." He tilted his head slightly. "Did you do something with your face, kiddo?"

"No. Why?"

"You look... brighter. Hard to put my finger on it." He shrugged, then smiled again. "Anyway. Are you ready for tonight?"

"I am." I met his eyes. "And after this, we’re done, right?"

"Oh, of course, of course. Done."

"Good."

I took another pull on the cigar and let the silence settle between us. Somewhere above, the club kept thumping. Down here it was just the two of us, the soft crackle of burning tobacco, and the knowledge that whatever came through that door next was not going to be friendly.

I leaned back in the chair and waited.

A few minutes later the door opened again.

Two of Mark’s men stepped in first, followed by a pair of women. Mark’s face lit up the moment he saw them.

"Ah. There are the life-savers."

The women were dressed in the absolute minimum the club would allow. One wore a shiny micro-skirt that barely covered anything and a top that was little more than two thin strips of fabric over her breasts. The other had on a sheer black bodysuit with strategic cut-outs that left almost nothing to the imagination, nipples and the outline of her pussy clearly visible under the lights. Both had heavy makeup, high heels, and the practiced, empty smiles of women who were paid to look eager.

Without any further instruction, the first woman dropped to her knees, crawled under the table on Mark’s side, and disappeared from view. A moment later came the soft sound of a belt being undone. Mark leaned back slightly in his chair, expression going slack with casual pleasure as she got to work.

The second woman started to crawl toward my side of the table.

"Uh..."

"It’s a gift, Chance." Mark chuckled. "Don’t worry."

I met her eyes for half a second. Unlike her friend, there was no enthusiasm there, just resignation. She didn’t want to be doing this.

I raised one hand under the table, palm out, stopping her before she could get any closer.

She froze, then gave a tiny, almost grateful nod and simply stayed where she was on her knees, waiting in the shadows under the tablecloth. Doing nothing.

Mark glanced over, still relaxed, one hand resting on the back of the woman currently busy between his legs.

"Well, Chance? How do you like them? Some of the best around."

"They’re... beautiful, yeah."

Mark barked a short laugh. "More like sluts!"

"Y-yeah. Like sluts."

His men laughed with him. The sound was loud and easy in the small room. I kept my face neutral and took another slow drag on the cigar, very aware of the woman still kneeling silently under my side of the table, waiting for an order that wasn’t going to come.

A couple of minutes passed. Mark’s attention stayed mostly on what was happening under the table. His breathing changed. Then he let out a low, satisfied exhale and sank deeper into the chair.

"Ah... that takes the stress right out." He looked over at me, still a little flushed, and smirked. "You done already? Quick shooter?"

I let out a quiet, dry laugh. Mark laughed much louder, clearly pleased with his own joke.

He waved a hand. "Alright, girls. Leave us alone."

Both women extracted themselves from under the table. The one who had been with Mark stood up, wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, and adjusted her top without expression. The one who had been waiting on my side met my eyes again, gave another small nod of acknowledgment, and followed her companion out of the room. The door closed behind them.

Silence settled for a few seconds, broken only by Mark relighting what was left of his cigar.

Then one of his men stepped back in, leaned down, and whispered something close to Mark’s ear.

Mark nodded once. "Bring them in."

I took a final drag on my own cigar, then crushed it out in the ashtray.

The man left. A moment later the door opened wider and four new men walked in.

They were all middle-aged, well-dressed in the way that said money rather than taste. One was heavyset with a thick gold watch. Another was thin and sharp-eyed, already scanning the table like he was looking for an advantage. The third had the flushed look of someone who’d been drinking upstairs. The fourth was quieter, older, and carried himself like he was used to being the most dangerous person in any room he entered.

The real reason I was here had finally arrived.

Good.