Page 76 of Choosing Hope

My ears prick up at the sound of my friend’s name. I asked him here to discuss taking over the club, not to fuck the patrons.

“What are you talking about?” I quiz her. My brain befuddled.

“He came in about forty-five minutes ago with a blond woman I’ve never seen before.” She moves closer as she murmurs; “She’s hot as fuck.”

My pulse speeds up and I suddenly feel unsteady.

“Are you alright, Spence?” Claudette touches my forearm, as if her petite frame could steady me.

“Describe her to me.”

“About my height, blond hair, gorgeous figure. She’s wearing a very expensive-looking dress which is almost backless; at the base of her spine,she has a sexy lily tattoo on the top of her right buttock.” She pauses, and I can almost see the cogs whirling in her mind. “Actually, it’s similar to yours.”

My stomach drops and my mind is suddenly blessed with perfect clarity.

The cunt has brought Sophie in here!

“Fuck.”

I take a step forward, only to realize I don’t have a clue where they are.

“Where are they?” I spit the words out.

“Room 212, I believe,” she replies, trying to sound vague when we both know she knows exactly where they are.

My eyes stretch wide.

“He’s in a fucking voyeur room!”

“Get me into that room now!” I bark over my shoulder as I strut away.

“You know I can’t do that. It’s against the club policy,” she calls.

I spin around, marching back to her and getting into her face aggressively, speaking through gritted teeth.

“He’s got my fucking wife in there!” I growl.

Her face pales and her eyes grow wide; she’s never seen me so incandescent.

I turn away from her and storm upstairs in their direction. When I turn onto the long corridor that leads down to room 212, I see one of our security team is blocking access. It’s a relief. Carlo’s made sure nobody can see them. Some of my tension dissipates, sharpening my understanding.

They’ve laid this on to taunt me. But, if he’s told her I own this place, I’m going to kill him.

“Mr. Barton-Jones.”

One of the security guys greets me.

“Chas. What are you doing?”

“I’ve finished my shift. Mr. Moretti asked me to stand here and stop anyone except you from viewing inside room 212.”

My jaw aches with the pressure from my back teeth.

“Get me inside that room.”

“I can’t, sir. He’s locked the door from the inside.”

Pushing past him, I pointlessly hammer on the glazed door. I know they won’t open it even if they hear me—they wouldn’t have locked it if it were going to be that easy.