Page 1 of Diamonds (Aces Underground #2)

MADDOX

W here the fuck am I?

First I have to check in with this creepy-ass guy in purple pinstripes at the front door, and then I have to go down this staircase lined with mirrors, and now this.

Four sections, one each for spades, diamonds, clubs, and hearts. Jazz music coming from the Hearts section, a cloud of tobacco and marijuana smoke hovering over the Clubs, the clinking of poker chips echoing through the Diamonds, and people gathering around the bar in Spades.

I was freaked out going down that staircase.

I thought for sure I was about to fall victim to some elaborate prank to embarrass the son of Henry Hathaway.

I had absolutely nothing to do with the stunts my old man pulled in the last year of his mayorship, but I still get sneers from people on the streets.

I thought they might go easier on me after he died, but if anything, the news of his demise brought all the emotions from his term back to the surface, and the treatment got worse.

I actually had to board up the windows of the haberdashery to keep people from throwing bricks through them.

For several weeks, I questioned my father’s decision to leave me his membership at this club. I’m still at a complete loss as to why he left me this and the Rolls-Royce, but not a penny of his millions.

Well, I guess there are several pennies in that damned trust, but I’m never seeing a single cent from there. I’m not abandoning the haberdashery for anything. It’s the only thing that is completely mine.

I didn’t even abandon it when Laurie threatened to break up with me. I loved her, thought she was end-game material, but she turned out to be like every other girlfriend I’ve had. Just in it for the potential of power and prestige.

So, after several weeks of jacking off on my couch, I decided I’d rather find a good piece of ass to ease the blue balls Laurie left in her wake.

I could have gone to one of my regular haunts, but I decided to finally check this place out. Aces Underground, where my dad went when he was “at the club.”

I wasn’t anticipating this. The colored lights, the unlabeled liquor bottles, the tattooed waitstaff wearing next to nothing. This doesn’t match my dad’s vibe at all.

But I kind of like it.

I spent the first year working at the haberdashery trying to cultivate a particular aesthetic.

I went up and down the streets of Chicago, checking inside every antique store, haggling with the owners for a good price on certain items. I got that old gramophone for a steal, same for the awesome set of wingback chairs and the vintage register.

Most of the time, the people running the shops were just happy to make a sale at all.

But all the work I did on the shop pales in comparison to what the owners have done with this place. The theming is next level.

There’s a small empty table by the bar, so I take a seat.

Almost immediately, a young lady with porcelain skin and dark-brown hair approaches me.

I instinctively look right at her tits, which are spectacular.

I then notice that the pattern on her bikini top is tiny white spades over a black background.

She has a tattoo of a spade on her left shoulder, and the number three on her right.

She closes her eyes and bows her head.

I blink. “Are you here to take my order?”

She nods.

I cock my head, confused. “Cat got your tongue?”

She wrinkles her forehead.

“You can talk to me, you know.”

She widens her eyes and then shakes her head.

“You can’t speak?”

She presses her lips together and gazes around.

“You can speak, but you won’t?”

“Correct, Mr. Hathaway.”

I turn around to the cool female voice behind me and widen my eyes.

A gorgeous woman, late thirties, wearing an outfit that makes the waitstaff’s look normal.

Big poofy collar, and a crimson ballgown that looks like something straight out of Bridgerton .

Her hair is bright red and styled in an elegant—if not slightly stuffy—updo, and she is bedecked from head to toe in rubies.

She extends a hand to me, and the gem-studded bracelet around her wrist tinkles.

“Rouge Montrose. I’m the owner of Aces Underground.” She looks me over. “We’ve been expecting you for a few weeks now, Mr. Hathaway. We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”

I swallow. “Well, my father left me his membership here. I wasn’t even aware that was something someone could do.”

She crinkles her eyes. “My grandfather insisted on that policy when he started the club. It was during Prohibition, you know, and people would disappear from time to time. We decided that members could bequeath their membership to their next of kin in the event that they died of something other than old age.” She lays a hand on my shoulder.

“My condolences on the loss of your father, by the way.”

My brain goes haywire at her touch. I’m not sure why—she’s only touching my shoulder—but it’s sending an electric shock through me that I haven’t felt since…

Since Laurie.

And from deep within my bowels, Mad Maddox opens his eyes, sniffs around.

“We weren’t particularly close,” I say.

Her eyes sparkle. “Yet he saw fit to leave his membership to you.”

I nod. “I was his only child. The only one who could inherit it.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She cocks her head. “Still, though, he could have simply opted to not pass his membership forward.”

“Well, he did.” I run my hands through my hair. “And believe me, I could use a drink after the last few weeks I’ve had.”

“Of course.” She gestures to the server. “Three, why haven’t you taken this man’s order yet?”

I wrinkle my forehead. “Her name is Three?”

“You see her shoulders, don’t you? She is the Three of Spades.

We call the servers by their numbers here.

” She points one of her long fingers at Three.

“We have a philosophy that servers should be seen and not heard. Truthfully, we hardly want them to be seen at all, unless”—she leans closer—“one of our patrons wants to see them.”

“How do you mean?”

“Interpret the meaning however you will, Mr. Hathaway.” She gestures to the curtained-off areas surrounding the club’s perimeter.

“As a member, you are allowed to reserve a private space by the hour. The spaces have very comfortable chairs…and beds. If you’re interested in some company in those spaces, I am happy to arrange that for you.

” She gestures broadly across the club, where servers—mostly women, but a few young men—are milling about, carrying drink orders. “Pick a card, any card.”

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.