Speed King (Men of Action 1)

“Maybe we should rethink this.” I try to opt out before it’s too late.

“Don’t get cold feet now. We’re almost there, and I didn’t buy these outfits for nothing,” Jewls sasses, waving down her body.

We are identical in leggings, Chucks, mock turtlenecks, and beanies—all in black. “Why did you insist we wear these ridiculous outfits? We’re not getting out of the car.”

“Because we’re on a stakeout and this seemed appropriate. If on the off chance we leave the car, we can blend into the night. Being a cop’s daughter, you should know the process.”

“Jewls, criminals dress in all black when conducting crimes! We’re supposed to be doing an innocent drive-by to check the place out.”

“Mmmhmm, you keep telling yourself that, Harley, but we both know why we’re here.”

I snap my mouth shut because she’s right and there’s no point in arguing. We’re here because curiosity has seeped its way into my overly nosy brain. Achilles’ visit to Tom’s two nights ago left me aggravated and even more confused than ever. I felt more a part of his life during his first deployment to the Middle East than I do with him living in the same city. Then he shows up, looking heart-stoppingly gorgeous, and for a split second the air filled with the same heat we shared from the graduation. The way he hugged me close sent tingles shooting through my body. I wanted to stay that way, never leaving his arms. Those minutes were perfect until dickshit Glen came over and ruined the moment.

He’s been trying to get my attention for weeks, but I’ve politely ignored his advances. To me, he’s harmless. The thunderous rage on Achilles’ face said otherwise.

I wasn’t sure whether to shout with glee or fury at Achilles’ caveman attitude. Acting like an overprotective barbarian when he’s ghosted me for longer than I want to admit.

The comment Glen made about the Casanova Club stuck with me, but I didn’t ask him more because he was drunk. When he brought it up again, warning me to be careful of the ‘Club’, while insinuating Achilles was a legend, my mind took off. I mentioned it to Jewls, and she went to work asking around and uncovering the rumors behind the name. Her persistent poking paid off when she hit up a group of cops that enjoyed a few too many and had no problem babbling. According to the tales, the four men earned the name Casanova Club during the first weeks at the academy. They mostly stuck to themselves, which didn’t surprise me, considering how close and private they are. They turned down invitations to go out, they never socialized, and the only place they ever hung out was the gym. One lady in the group told Jewls that the gym was where they made contacts. Women flocked to them and word quickly spread. The four of them had private parties at the ‘mansion on the hill’. Not one of them had any type of proof, but they all insisted that the whispers were true.

Major, Ford, Talon, and Achilles are considered playboys who don’t share the wealth. Hence earning the name Casanova Club.

I planned to mention it to Achilles, but he hadn’t been back to the bar. Instead, the last two nights, Talon and Major had come in, sat on the same stools, and stayed until Jewls and I left for the night.

Jewls thought it was hilarious. She’s trying to convince me that Achilles orchestrated this because “he’s finally ready to get his stubborn, bullheaded, ridiculously self-righteous head out of his ass”—her exact words.

I wanted to hope, to believe she may be on to something. But before I could allow myself to feel this, I needed to investigate the ‘Casanova’ mansion. Not that I believed these guys were egotistical playboys, but it was my way of justifying spying on them.

We chose tonight because Achilles is working, and I knew if anything about the rumors proved true, at least they wouldn’t be confirmed by him bringing a woman home. I’m not sure I could handle witnessing him with someone else. Which is absolutely stupid since he’s free to live his life any way he chooses, including hooking up with random women night after night.

“Well, shit.” Jewls slows down, pulling off into a small parking lot.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look at that.” She points to the large stucco sign that reads ‘Whitman Estates’.

“Shit,” I repeat her earlier sentiment. This neighborhood is pretty well-known and sought after. I’ve only been back here one time when Jewls and I attended a bridal shower. The houses are mansions on massive lots.

“Are you sure you have the right address?” I question her, unbelieving that the guys live back here.

“Yes, I memorized it off Talon’s driver’s license. Just to be sure, I snuck a look at Major’s, too, when he left it on the bar. This is the right place according to the navigation.”