Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I look up at Three, who is still standing there silently. “Gin and tonic, please.”
She walks away, and I turn back to Rouge. “What do you mean? You’re selling their…services?”
She smirks. “Only if you want them. These people are brought over from the most poverty-stricken corners of the globe. Aces covers their housing, food, and medical expenses for the first five years of their lives here in America. In the meantime, they need to save up money. They keep one hundred percent of their wages and tips, and their tips can be earned in”—she purses her lips, her eyes almost glowing—“several ways.” She looks down at my crotch. “I can see that Three has…piqued your interest.”
Three is gorgeous, and I’d be happy to take her to bed, but it’s Rouge herself who has fascinated me more. She’s the reason my dick is reacting.
“How much does it cost to take one of the servers to a private area?”
She grins. “There is no cost. But the customary tipping rate is one hundred per hour. More if you’re satisfied.”
I lean toward her. “And what’s your rate, Rouge?”
She laughs at that. “Mr. Hathaway, you’ll have to work your way up through the deck before you can land yourself a Queen.”
I’m not proud of it, but I did end up taking Three into one of the private areas that night. She was beautiful, and I was horny as all hell. I paid her well for her services, and I hope she used that money to build herself a good life. She left the club about a year after I started coming, and I never heard anything from her again.
I never knew her real name. Based on her looks alone, she was probably from Russia or Ukraine. True to Rouge’s words, she never spoke a word to me, not even when I was pumping my cock into her shaved pussy. Not a single moan. It was like fucking a photorealistic sex doll.
Of course, I wasn’t thinking about her as I emptied myself into her. I was thinking a little bit about Laurie, but I was mostly thinking of Rouge.
What was so interesting about her? She’s a beautiful woman, and the electric charge that pulsated through me when she laid her hand on my shoulder was comparable to what I felt with Laurie. Mad Maddox peeked his head out. He was the one who asked Rouge what her rate was.
And then…
I never let myself think of what happened after that.
I can’t. It’s too much.
I never took another server to a private area again. It felt dirty.
I met a lot of women at Aces. I occasionally took one of them into a private area, but they were well-to-do young ladies who didn’t need my money.
Sex wasn’t the only reason I went to Aces that night. I couldn’t get those words—the ones in my father’s handwriting on the note I received after the funeral—out of my head.
Follow the writing raven through the river of tears.
I figured maybe this would refer to a painting in the club, of a raven with a quill and scroll of paper, but I explored the entirety of Aces that night after Three brought me my drink and couldn’t find anything.
I dismissed the words as the rants of a man losing his grip on reality as his political career—his very legacy—crumbled around him.
But now that we’re here, at this nature preserve next to O’Hare, I can’t help wondering if the Des Plaines River, which we’re being told to follow to find some evidence of Rouge’s wrongdoing, is the river of tears my father wrote about on that sheet of paper I received all those years ago.
I’m keeping my eyes peeled for a raven as Alissa drives her car to the parking lot in the clearing next to dam number four.
At the same time, I’m looking for a cat, too. See if there’s some other clue.
But I haven’t seen either. Not that I can see a whole lot in the black of night.
We park across from the picnic grove. There aren’t any other cars parked here at this hour. It’s nearing midnight. Alissa pops the trunk and gets out before I can open her door for her—damn it—and she grabs the spades and flashlight out of the back. I take both of the spades in my left hand and she takes the flashlight.
The picnic grove is unassuming. A few wooden tables underneath a tall shelter. Some half-deflated heart-shaped balloons are scattered around—someone must have had a birthday party here recently. There are no lamps, so we have only the glow of Alissa’s flashlight and a sliver of moonlight illuminating the area.
Alissa shines the flashlight around. “You see anything out of the ordinary?”
I rub at the back of my neck with my free hand. “Nothing so far.”
She frowns. “This has to be it. There’s no other way to have read that second riddle.”