Cuffed by His Charm (Dirty Little Secrets 4)

“I guess I’m seeing why you bought the sex club and needed that type of thing for yourself.”

He looks taken aback, brows furrowing. “What makes you conclude that?”

“Because you had to be someone you weren’t for a very long time,” I explain, feeling like I’m figuring something out about him I didn’t know before. “Maybe even long before that because your family wanted you to be proper. You were expected to be the successful rich kid, and be all the thin

gs that you didn’t want to be. And somehow in all that, you became this guy.” I pause, give a little smile and shrug. “I guess I’m just . . . getting you.”

He stands then, emotion crossing his face as he comes over to me and takes my chin, lifting my gaze to his. “Again, that is what I like about you. You’ve always seen me in ways others do not.” His eyes heat with sinful intentions as he lowers his mouth to mine.

And his kiss . . . well, that isn’t proper at all.

Gabe

Hours later, and into the darkness of the night, I sense McKenna’s tension as we leave my apartment in the Audi. It’s tension that’s been there all day, while we waited for Ryder’s call, and it’s been slowly becoming more intense as the hours click by, but his call finally came. I’m hopeful this will end tonight, and we can finally put this matter behind us, as I exit the car and meet McKenna at the passenger side.

She’s staring at the neon sign above the door. “Of all the places to hold an underground poker ring, they pick a skeevy strip club.”

“The entertainment is good,” I say.

She snorts. “Not funny.”

I chuckle, taking her hand and leading us up to the red velvet rope for the line that’s not there and toward the bouncer standing there. He gives us a quick look, but allows us to pass without problem. Once inside, I find exactly what I’d expect to find. It’s dark, the only lights being on the stage with mirrors along the back, and on the cheap set of tables and chairs there are fake candles giving off what I suppose is meant to be a romantic glow but looks nothing more than trashy. The focal point of this space is clearly the women, and there are many of them here tonight. Lingerie-clad young ladies, some looking only a day past twenty-one, stand out among the men. A couple of the dancers are on the stage, putting on a show. More are on the floor, either walking around or giving lap dances to the clientele. Smoke from cigars and cigarettes billows in the room, and the scent of old sex, sweat, and cheap thrills fills the air.

McKenna gives me a cute smile. “So, what’s our game plan here?”

“Let’s start at the bar.” I know better than anyone that bartenders are the people who see it all, and usually pay attention to their surroundings, especially the people.

The closer we get to the bar, where two women wearing tight red leather teddies are working, the more the blond woman watches me. By the time we get there, I realize she’s recognized me. “Mr. O’Keefe, what can I get for you?”

McKenna narrows her eyes at blondie then slowly turns to me, eyes wide and brows raised to her hairline.

“No, I’ve never been here before,” I reassure her. “Don’t forget I am in the tabloids quite often.” I gesture at her phone. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

She gives me another look before her expression goes lax, telling me she believes I’m telling her the truth, which I am. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this place. I like my women to be with me willingly, not because they’re paid for their time.

McKenna finally clicks a button on her phone and holds the screen up to the bartender. “This is Evan Archer,” she says, “have you seen him in here before?”

Blondie gives the screen a good look. “Yeah,” she says, wiping down the bar in front of her. “He’s a regular.”

“Have you see him lately?” I ask.

“Not in a few days,” she replies.

McKenna hits the button on her phone, shutting off the screen, then asks, “Do you know when you saw him last?”

The woman snorts. “I don’t know him personally, honey, so why would I?”

Just as I’m about to tell McKenna we should move along, see if any of the dancers know him a little more personally, a deep voice behind me says, “Get back to taking orders, Crystal.”

I turn toward the curt voice, finding an obvious bodybuilder in a tailored suit. He regards McKenna, who’s stiff next to me, and then focuses on me. “Your attendance has been requested. Please follow me.”

“Uh-oh,” McKenna says.

“It’ll be fine,” I reassure her, taking her hand, reminding her I’m there with her. Then I address the suit again. “Who wants to see us, and what do they want?”

“The boss, and you’ll find that out when you meet him. Follow me.”

I assume it’s because we were flashing a photo, asking questions, and I know I’d likely do the same thing at the pub. Besides, if we want answers, the boss is likely to have them, so I nod at McKenna. She squeezes my hand a little tighter as we follow the suit, passing the stage where the topless stripper is sliding down the pole. When we move through an open doorway, there’s a bodyguard stationed on either side.