Instinctively, he wanted to disarm her, put her in a choke hold and restrain her, but she wasn’t the enemy. Only one damn hot roadblock.
He glanced back at his team. Marcus was stone faced with a clenched jaw. Rys looked amused. That man was rarely fazed.
Again, she held open the door with her ass. It took a mega-ton of restraint not to glance at the curve of her backside.
With a toss of her head, she motioned for the men to step inside. Each offered a polite acknowledgement as they passed, but she said nothing. Dakota gripped the steel door above her head. “Go ahead.”
Pausing, she eyed him from head to foot while swirling sparks ignited the air between them. Her wild eyes seared him with a welcomed ferocity.
Who is this woman?
His peripheral vision afforded him a shadowed image of her body. Like a moment ago, the large swell of her breasts protruded from her black tank top, but he wasn’t stupid enough to look. Sounded like he was two minutes from getting an earful. In exchange, he’d take an eyeful.
Until tonight, they’d entered and exited the club via the back stairs without incident. The fewer eyes watching their comings and goings, the better.
With the men in tow, she climbed the stairs two at a time, unlocked the third-floor fire door, and marched through it.
The Dungeon was located in an unmarked building outside D.C. Though the structure appeared unremarkable on the outside, anyone interested in kink knew this wastheplace to play.
Two years ago, the club had changed owners. That’s when Dakota and his team had claimed a room on the third floor in a dark alcove next to the back stairs. The sign on the doorframe saidTravesty. Seemed fitting, so they left it.
Though the Travesty room was stocked with playing cards and poker chips, Dakota and his team never played. The soundproof, surveillance-free room provided a secure location for their clandestine meetings.
But Mavis, the club’s former General Manager, had never used the Dungeon’s surveillance system. Based on the actions of thisnewemployee, she was all about controlling mayhem and enforcing rules.
Once, Dakota had been an excellent rule follower himself. But he had buried that man three-and-a-half years ago. Now, he lived by his own set of rules.
The pistol-wielding vixen tried the door handle. Locked. She flipped Dakota a saucy look, then used her master key.With a sweep of her hand, she gestured for the men to enter. Once inside, she followed.
Quincy, their cybersecurity expert, looked up from his computer and blinked. “You pussies needed a private escort?”
“Unfortunately,” Rys replied.
The scuffed walls were bare, the lighting dim. The dingy room wasn’t inviting, which was how Dakota liked it. Six mismatched chairs surrounded the table with its neatly stacked poker chips.
Dakota hoped the master key didn’t work on the unmarked door on theotherside of the room. But he’d never call her attention to that. With any luck, she hadn’t noticed it.
A server entered, balancing a tray of glasses on his palm. “Here you go, my darlings!” After distributing the drinks, he shut the door behind him.
“Okay, cowboy, ready to chat?” The woman eyed Dakota with a hard stare.
“Back in fifteen,” Dakota said as he lifted an ice-cold glass of water from the table.
She raised her brow. “You’ll be back when I say so.”
Eyeing the guys, Dakota tapped his watch. “Fifteen.” He opened the door and waited for her to walk through it.Damn, she smells good. Before closing the door, he stuck his head inside. “She could have installed a security cam in here. Sweep the room.”
As he followed her down the red-lit hallway, he eyed her perfectly rounded ass. His breathing shifted. My God, she was hot. Shoving down a smile, he pushed on.
In flip-flops she was, maybe, five eight. This smile he couldn’t hide. Every woman he screwed wore five-inch fuck-me stilettos. Was this a sign she was all business and not to be fucked…or fucked with?
Her shoes, her garb, and her tight ass were irrelevant. Women were distractions—beautiful ones—but distractions, nonetheless. A way to spend a few hours and try to forget. Then, he’d be on the warpath again, hunting for Beth’s elusive killer.
But this one was more than a pretty face and a sexy body. Her defiant energy turned him on in ways he couldn’t explain. This woman’s aloofness sparked something. Could be as simple as not getting his way or her waving a gun at his junk. Whatever, it would be over in less than fifteen minutes, and he’d get on with his evening.
Their next hit.
This one, a serial killer who’d gotten away with murder one too many times. Tonight, the son of a bitch would breathe his very last breath. Dakota would make sure of that.
