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12

Sage

Onmywaybackto the bar, a cardboard drink coaster flew past my face.

Which asshole had—

I spun and spotted Brandon waving me over to the curtained-off rooms where strippers provided extra services. Sometimes I had to clean up afterwards. Definitely my least favorite job, but still better than having to perform those services.

Brandon ducked behind a curtain. I scanned the room to make sure nobody watched before following him and yanking the curtain closed.

I charged for him and shoved his chest with all my strength. The move took him by surprise, which might’ve been the only reason he stepped back, but otherwise, it was like trying to push over a concrete wall. “What the hell are you doing here?” I whisper yelled.

He raised his palms. “Calm down, Sage. We don’t have time to argue. We need to talk.”

“No, you need to leave right now before you get yourself killed.” I tried to drag him toward the curtain and out of the room.

He planted his feet wide in full bossy-man stubbornness. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I already told you. I don’t want your help.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not safe for you here.”

“Of course I understand how dangerous this place is. But I’m just serving drinks. It’s no big deal.” Actually, it was icky and I hated working here. Plus, moments like earlier in the storeroom scared the crap out of me, but I thought I was handling myself pretty well, all things considered. “And I’m”—I shifted on my feet—“I’m doing something important. I can’t leave.” Deep down, those words felt hollow. I was in way over my head, and despite the opportunity to find the tattooed shooter, I didn’t want to be here. Not that it mattered. Sickening thoughts of Maxim hurting Lettie flashed through my mind. I was stuck here. There was nothing Brandon could do.

A muscle in his jaw flexed, and his chest expanded with a deep breath. “Two years ago, my sister went missing in this city. Six weeks later, her body washed up on a beach in the south of France.”

His eyes held mine, and I…I didn’t know what to say. Brandon’s sister was dead?

He continued. “I’ve uncovered fresh evidence that points to the Wolf Street Mob being responsible. And not just Janie. There are more women. A lot more.”

Oh my God.The case he was working on. It must be that. And it explained why he was so worried about me being here.

If he’d intended to shock me with his words, it’d worked.

“So, you’re going to listen”—he gave me a pointed look—“right now.”

I nodded. “All right, fine. Make it fast. I have to get back.” I peeked between the curtains. Everything appeared normal. Angelo talked to another waitress while mixing drinks, and Melissa had the clientele transfixed by shaking her tits and ass on stage.

“Not possible,” he said. “I need ten minutes of your time to go over my plan.”

“I get a break in an hour. Meet me outside and—”

“No. It needs to be right now. Things are moving fast. We need to hurry.”

“There are cameras everywhere in this place.” Even in here, which meant we shouldn’t stick around. One of the offices upstairs had a screen that rotated through the cameras. If someone was monitoring it, Brandon and I being in here would look suspicious.

“I know.” Brandon eyed the black-leather bench seat behind him before returning his gaze to me. “You can hate me for this later, but how do you feel about giving me a lap dance?”

“What?” I hissed. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Brandon held his palms out in a placating gesture. “I don’t mean a real lap dance. Just pretend for the sake of the camera. We need privacy while I explain the situation. And I’m guessing you have twenty questions.”

He was right. But still, me? A lap dance? He was out of his goddamn mind.

Although it wasn’t an entirely stupid idea. Other waitresses earned extra cash in these rooms with private lap dances, so it wouldn’t seem strange if anyone noticed on the security feed.

Oh, hell. Was I really considering doing some ridiculous raunchy dance? At least it wouldn’t be repulsive, because it was Brandon, not the Russian or any of the lecherous assholes here. But it would be embarrassing, even if it was pretend.