A chill slides down my spine. “Okay, and?”
Her laugh is sharp, humorless. “There’s nothing that happens besides the aftermath I’ve seen of girls with new jewelry and men twice their age suddenly paying for their apartments.”
I press my hands into my knees to steady myself, wondering why Joe would have anything to do with these games that are clearly more than just poker. Liam tells me he doesn’t know — either he’s blind to the depravity, or he doesn’t know that Joe took part.
“And what Mimi? Are you one of those girls…?”
Her gaze sharpens. “Why are you asking?”
I force my face blank. “Just curious.”
She leans close, her blue eyes hypnotizing me. “A little too much curiosity and willpower will get you on one of those yachts, but once you’re on… you don’t decide when you leave. I saw how it worked.”
“How? When? Why didn’t you ever mention this before?” I risk asking.
“Last year, a little after my nineteenth birthday. I needed some cash after my mom’s divorce got so nasty. No one knew… I made sure of it.” Mimi tenses. “I'm not very proud of it. I needed to open up to you, and I figured it was time.”
“So did you… were you like a…?” I bite my lip, trying to sound the least judgmental, because I never would be. To each their own.
“I was just a waitress.”
“Mimi, did you… Did you ever see Joe at one of those?” Her eyes narrow at my question, but her expression shifts before I can decipher it.
“No, why would you ask that?”
“Would you be able to get me an invitation? I want to try new things he wasn’t a part of. It’s hard not to see him everywhere I go.”
Gosh, even my own lies taste like cow shit in my mouth. I don’t want distance from Joe. I want answers.
“Listen, if you need cash or something, I’d rather you ask me. Please stay away from those parties.” She pauses, thinking about how to word what she wants to say next. “I’d never judge you, Sara, but I wouldn’t suggest this route. Unless…”
“Unless what?” My stomach tightens.
She studies me for a beat. “Never mind. Yeah, sure I could, but that doesn’t mean I will.”
I eventually leave her house, walking to mine, my thoughts spiraling with too many things I’m unsure of.
Once you’re on… you don’t decide when you leave.
I shake off the incredible discomfort, and by the time I make it home and shut the front door behind me, someone is out there by my gate. Watching. Again.
And for once, I pray it’s Liam.
Nineteen
Liam
The bar is old with red blood-warm brick walls and life-size picture frames of unforgettable rock stars from Led Zeppelin to the Rolling Stones. Black and white stripes behind the liquor shelves make each bottle look as if it belongs to a prison with a giant Elvis Presley in the background, a perfect Jailhouse Rock.
The music matches the energy as people mingle in leather booths curved like confessionals, swallowing anyone’s sins who slide into them while wishing to live like a rock and roll legend. Crystal ashtrays sit in the centers of scarred oak tables, instantlyelevating the debauchery of this place in the Costa Del Sol of Marbella. It is a place built for deals no one speaks of in daylight, my favorite spot in Spain to pay a little visit to an old-time friend.
When Mateo sees Damien and I walk in, he does a double take at the two tall, tattooed dudes before he realizes it’s us. He wears the same “showtime” expression from the night we first met, right after catching his wife with the bartender and tried to slice off his dick with a bread knife. Some people leave one heck of an impression, and I remember thinking ‘I need to know this guy.’
Mateo doesn’t look like a man who needs a gun to be dangerous. He’s in his mid-forties, Spanish, with a faint accent that softens the edges of his English; it’s almost poetic. His skin carries the warm bronze of the coast, weathered by sun and sex, and at his temples the first strands of gray thread through light brown hair. It makes him look expensive, but it’s his eyes that make people stop, the green, sharp and alive that women call hypnotic.
He relaxes with a side smile and a warm greeting as his hands open wide and shifts his cigar between his teeth. He hasn’t missed a ploy in five years of working for me, and he is one of my best guys, ex-cop and still has all the resources at his fingertips while he's got a knack for hunting down the men who'd make the devil himself uncomfortable.
Mateo gestures for us to follow him into the bar’s red glow. The smoke from his cigar curls around his smile and jawline and disappears into the back room to retrieve the files we came for, as we sit at the table in his office.
