Page 29 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

18

Dylan

I wear the black dress—the same black dress Ripley fucked me in not too long ago. Gliding the tube of lipstick over my mouth, I stare in the mirror. I may look more like my father, but everything in my reflection is my mother. Her cat eyes. Her full and pouty lips. And purpose. So much purpose it damn near purrs back at me.

When I walk out of the bedroom, tucking a black clutch given to me by Emily beneath my arm, Jörgen is standing like a statue against the wall. “How do I look?”

His eyes widen and divert away from me as he clears his throat and lifts his chin. “Very nice.”

“Do you have a way to track him? His cellphone?”

Jörgen shakes his head. “Agency phones are not traceable.”

Blowing out a breath, I give a nod. “I’m ready then,” I say, and follow behind him, where he leads me out to the SUV.

Jörgen opens the passenger door of the SUV and helps me inside before rounding the vehicle, and then we’re off.

A therapist once told me addiction is not knowing the outcome of your evening. Perhaps I’m addicted to danger, because as we drive toward Spades, I can’t seem to imagine anything after the point at which I watch Dorian’s face morph to surprise when he realizes who I am and what I’ve come to do.

I open my purse and dig to the bottom, where three bumps pass over my fingertips. If I parachute all three at once, six pills total, I’ll fall into a comatose sleep. The Oxys will slow my organs down to a peaceful death, just like my mother’s. Untouchable.

It’s my escape plan if things go south.

Jörgen grips the steering wheel, rubbing his hands back and forth, and I can’t help but think, if this giant is nervous, then I should be too.

“You cannot get hurt,” he warns. “Ripley will never forgive me.”

“I’ll be fine. Just focus on Ripley.”

Adrenaline has taken over my system at this point, and my only objective is getting Dorian beneath me.

If he’s a sadist, it won’t be easy.

“Dorian sometimes takes the girls back to his mansion. I’ll make sure a gun is taped beneath his car.” Jörgen pulls up to the back of Spades, and before I can double check my makeup, he’s at my door, offering a hand to lift me out.

“Careful,” is all he says while he pounds a fist on the back door of the club.

“I’ll see you soon.” I suppose whether I will or won’t remains to be seen.

I fasten a cat mask over my face and glance up where my escort, arranged by Jörgen, greets me at the door, waving me to follow.

London’s face is all business. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look back at me as she leads me down the hallway.

We pass one of the bouncers from before, but he doesn’t so much as spare me a glance with the mask.

“He’ll want you to dance for him. He’ll put his hands on you and make you feel as violated on the inside as the out. If he really likes you, he’ll take you back to his place.” She swings around to face me, and it’s then I can see the conflict burning in her eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? There are hundreds of clubs in this city, Dylan.”

Hundreds of clubs, yes, but only one that happens to be run by the same bastard who undoubtedly knows where to find my man.

“Yes. I need the money. Take me to him.”

Disappointment flashes across her face in the dip of her brow, and she continues on toward the back. “Jörgen’s a bastard for arranging this.”

I don’t respond to that. The less she knows, the better off she’ll be in the end.

We breach a curtain where three large men, much like Ripley and Jörgen, stand guard of the man sprawled on the couch. He must be in his fifties, I’m guessing, and somewhat husky in his build. Not as muscled as Rook. Ugh, the very thought of Rook casts a shiver down my spine and now, I’m about to meet his big brother.

Two of the men move closer, standing in front of me, so I’m seeing Dorian through the small gap between their bodies.