“You know, nothing good happens after midnight.”
The familiar voice comes from behind the bar, and I look over to see Griffin Marx stepping out from behind it.
“Especially in a place like this.” Ringo chuckles, and Griffin’s lips spread wide as he approaches.
“I have private rooms if you and your girl want some alone time. Plenty of tools and toys to explore.”
My cheeks flush hot, and I dart my eyes to the floor as both men chuckle.
God, did Riggs hear that too?
“As tempting as that is, we have more pressing matters.” Ringo’s voice turns serious, cutting straight through the chitchat to get down to business. “Is everyone here?”
“They are. Follow me.” Griffin nods, his smile dropping and shit… what is happening?
I think I preferred him being playful and suggestive.
“Ringo.” I hiss quietly as we follow Griffin through the pretty much deserted showroom and past a black curtain, leading us to a passage. “What’s going on?”
Ringo glances down at me, and just winks again, and I want to stomp my foot and demand someone tell me what the hell is happening, but again, I remind myself that Ringo is doing this for a reason.
I just don’t know what that reason is.
We pass a series of rooms, all with the doors open, and my heart races at the things I see.
Whips. Chains. Paddles. Benches. Dildos. Other contraptions that I have no idea about.
Would Ringo really take me into one of those rooms? He said it was tempting. Is he into that stuff? Would he really want to chain me up? Whip me?
Panic rises quickly in my chest, and I stumble over my own feet, nearly tripping both of us.
“Shit, Angel. You okay?” Ringo rights us quickly before I feel his analysing eyes roaming my face. “Angel.”
I shake my head, not wanting to have this conversation here, in this hallway, with these people around us, so I blow out a breath and shake him off.
“I’m fine.”
He frowns, knowing I’m talking shit, but doesn’t question me further as I keep moving forward, following Griffin to wherever it is he’s leading us.
I ignore my surroundings for the rest of the short walk, my gaze zeroed in on the back of Griffin’s dark head of hair until we step into a room with a large conference table in the middle, and I stop in my tracks.
Sitting around the table are Dee, Jared, Devon Marx, and the two sisters, Bec and Amanda Angel.
“We’re clear,” Riggs says from behind me after closing the door, and all eyes shift to me from the table.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” I snap, throwing my hands up in frustration.
“You didn’t tell her?” Bec glares over my shoulder at Ringo, who quickly moves to my side and re-links our fingers.
“No. It was too risky. Couldn’t be sure we weren’t being watched or listened to.”
What?
Watched?
Listened to?
“Even inside the Marx car?” Amanda asks from where she’s sitting across the other side of the table, a warm mug of coffee in her hands.
