Emerson hadn’t deleted it from her phone, but he didn’t need to know that. Before she could reply, he took her pen and pad and scribbled out a number. “For when you want to interrogate me again.”
“I’m gonna need to review the surveillance at your club and talk to some of your employees.”
He stepped into her personal space. Rather than step back, she tilted her face upward and stared into his fury-filled eyes. “This time, I’m playing hardball, Easton. No warrant, no access.”
Glaring at him, she said, “Your refusal to cooperate makes me think you’ve got something to hide.”
“I wasn’t the enemy then, and I’m not now,” he ground out.
“I’ll let you know when I get the warrant.”
“I can’t wait.” His low growl filled the air before he took his angry self and stormed out. Of all the men she wanted to interact with, Stryker Truman was at the bottom of her list.
* * *
Though Stryker needed to burn off his anger, he’d use it. It kept him from slowing down, forced him to stay vigilant. Being mad, all the damn time, had turned him into a cold-blooded predator.
He jumped in his car and drove onto the main road, opened the sunroof and dropped the pedal. The throaty roar of his Mercedes’ exhaust reminding him that this baby could fly.
April’s posed body in the wedding gown popped into his thoughts.Who the hell would do that to her?He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. Sorrow he couldn’t process, but anger…no fucking problem.
The universe must really wanna stick it to me. I gotta deal with Easton again.Detective Emerson Easton brought the mother-loving heat every single time. He was off-the-charts attracted to her. But he flat-out could not stand the woman. Sure, she was cool under fire. Easton was beautiful, sexy, and the biggest pain in his ass he’d ever met. Eighteen short months ago, she’d wreaked havoc with his life, then cost him millions when several high-profile clients severed ties. It took months to repair those damaged relationships and earn back their trust.
It was almost one in the morning when he pulled back into The Dungeon’s parking lot. Some idiot had parked in his spot, despite the curbside warning.
Owner’s Spot
You park here, you get towed.
$500 big ones. NO Exceptions.
After muttering a string of obscenities, Stryker called for a tow and blocked in the car with his own. The early May breeze blew through the sunroof and he rolled down the window.
While waiting, he pulled up the surveillance footage from his club. He had no idea how far back he’d need to go, and he had no clue what he was looking for. Hell, he didn’t even know if April had a boyfriend, or several. She could have been a club member and played here on her nights off.
Three men staggered out of the club, their drunken laughter catching Stryker’s attention. None of them wore masquerade masks.They’reL1 members.
Members on L2 and L3 always wore them, even if it was a simple, black masquerade mask. His private club catered to wealthy and well-known Washingtonians. Many liked the anonymity that The Dungeon provided.
“Fuck,” one of them blurted. “Some asshole blocked us in.”
“Damn, that’s a nice car,” said the second.
“We should break the windshield,” said the third, and they started laughing again.
Stryker stepped out of his vehicle. “You break my glass. I break your necks.”
“Oh, shit,” one of them uttered.
“You idiots park in my spot?” Stryker glared down at them. Late twenties, average builds. He dwarfed them by a good six inches.I got this.
“Fuck, yeah,” said the third. “Who the hell are you?”
“The owner. You got names?”
The first two rattled theirs off. The third crossed his arms. “I’m not stupid enough to tell you.”
“Hey, man, this is the owner,” said the first guy. “Take it down a few.”
