Gym Junkie

Ben is taking notes, and Jesten is back at the office. It was too much having three of us here with her.

“So, when was the last time you saw Peachy Sue?” I ask.

We are in a café and this girl was one of Peachy Sue’s known friends.

She lights up a cigarette and blows it out, trying to be sexy. Her dark eyes hold mine. I know that look. I roll my lips and stare at her. Why do women do this? Why do they purposely try to turn you on so that they can gain control of a conversation?

“You going to keep looking at me like you want to fuck me, or are you going to answer my fucking questions?” I breathe.

She smiles, licks her lips then takes another drag from her cigarette. “Do you get that often?” she asks, exhaling a thin stream of smoke above our heads. “Do you have girls begging to suck your cock? Is it big?”

I stay silent as I watch her. I’m not playing her fucking games.

Ben licks his bottom lip as he watches her, also unrattled.

She begins to look at her long red nails, feigning boredom.

I lean into the table. “Here’s the thing,” I say firmly. “Somebody is killing girls just like you, and you…” I pause, “could be next. I’m here to help you. So. Start. Fucking. Talking.”

She glances between the two of us. “What will it take for you to protect me?”

I stare at her.

“I can satisfy the two of you more any other woman ever could.”

Ben and I look at one another, and then I turn my attention back to her.

“You can do me together. We could meet up a few times a week. No payment, all you need to do is protect me. I love double penetration,” she admits darkly.

I exhale heavily. She’s scared, and the fact that she offered what she offered means she already does it.

“Who do you already satisfy to protect you, Mia?” I ask.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“You’re a high-end working girl. You don’t need this shit. Two-thousand dollars for two hours? You don’t give away that kind of service for nothing,” Ben says.

“Don’t judge me,” she whispers. “I do what I have to do.”

“Exactly, and society needs women like you,” I tell her calmly. “We appreciate what you do.”

She smiles to herself, thinking I’m going to try and make a deal with her.

“But here’s the thing: I really don’t want to fuck you,” I add.

She tilts her chin in annoyance.

“I want to protect you.” I lean into the table. “You don’t have to suck my cock.”

Her eyes darken, and she licks her lips. “Maybe I want to.”

Ben bites his bottom lip and I know he’s trying not to smirk.

“Tell me what you know and you’ll be protected,” I tell her, ignoring her last comment.

“You can’t protect me from them. They’ll kill all twenty of us eventually”

“Who?”

She leans into the table. “You’re so fucking stupid,” she whispers angrily. “You don’t get it. This is coming from the inside.”

I watch her.

“Someone in prison?” Ben asks.

“Who are the twenty?” I ask.

She shakes her head in disgust and begins to stand.

“Give me a name. What does he have on you, or what do you have on him?”

“They use us as if we’re their personal sex slaves.”

“Who?” I ask.

“They promise us protection if we do what they want,” she whispers angrily. “But our girls are still dying.”

“Who?” I whisper.

She takes a drag of her cigarette and rubs her fingers together as she looks at us.

“We aren’t the cops, Mia. We’re ex-military. We’ve been hired by Henrietta Jones’ mother to bring her killer to justice, whoever the fuck that may be. Give me a place or a name and we can help you.”

She looks around the café, guilt and fear crippling her facade.

Ben passes her his pen and notepad. “Write it down.”

She licks her lips, takes the pen and paper, and she jots down a single word.

Cops

I read it. “More than one?”

She nods once.

“Organised?” I frown.

She nods again.

“I need a name.”

She shakes her head and stands.

“Mia,” I say. “Come on.”

“Your answers are at The Roundhouse,” she says, and with one last look between us, she leaves.

Ben hits the end of recording button on his phone, and the two of us sit for a moment. I Google The Roundhouse and frown when I read what comes up.

“The Roundhouse is a gentleman’s club. Entry is by membership only.”

Ben pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking great.” He sighs. “That’s going to go down like a lead balloon.”

“You going to have trouble explaining that one to the missus, mate?” I smirk.

Bridget hates undercover work. She especially hates anything to do with women. Her being pregnant with twins while Ben is at this club is going to make her go batshit crazy.

“Don’t you fucking talk. I’m sure Tully will be thrilled with you going there, too.”