Page 12 of Diamonds (Aces Underground #2)

MADDOX

I collapse onto my couch the second I get home.

I could take a nap. I maybe got four hours of sleep last night. I could definitely use some extra shuteye.

But right now, I’m not tired.

Not true. I’m exhausted. But I’m not sleepy.

I’m wired. Like I just drank ten cups of coffee.

Just when I think I’m feeling normal again, the cold, dead eyes of May staring blankly at me from the hatbox pop back into my mind.

I don’t know how long Bill will take to get us some answers.

Could take a day. Could take weeks. He’s going to have to do it under the table, after all. We can’t risk Rouge finding out.

Either way, it’s out of my hands for now.

I just have to pray that a band of Rouge’s Kings doesn’t show up and gun me down in the meantime.

No wonder I’m so restless.

I take out my phone. Open Instagram.

I don’t have a personal account, but I have one for the haberdashery. I use it to follow all my friends’ accounts. I scroll down, browsing the images the algorithm has chosen to display for me this evening. Then I switch to Facebook. To Twitter. Then back to Insta.

I put my phone down. I’m doing exactly what these social media companies want me to do. Get caught in a loop, endlessly devouring content in little bursts of dopamine, in hopes that I’ll click on an ad and generate some revenue.

Alissa wants to meet up on Thursday. It’s Monday afternoon. That’s three whole days before I’ll see her again.

Of course, I can always have her over at night, provided the hospital isn’t making her work the graveyard shift.

I’ve gone and gotten myself hooked on Alissa.

I’m addicted to her. I crave nothing but her. All I’ll be able to think about over the next few days is when I’ll get my next fix.

I had three nights in a row with her. Four nights, if you count that chance meeting when she walked into my shop on a whim.

God, how many lifetimes ago was that?

She walked into my shop last Thursday, and by Sunday we were unearthing the body parts of the woman who served us on Friday and Saturday.

Fuck.

The whole thing should make my stomach twist, but I’ve become numb.

Defense mechanism, I guess.

I’ll be unpacking what we found last night for the next several years once it finally settles into my psyche.

For now, I guess I’ll enjoy the nothingness.

I close my eyes. Think back on that first date. Back when Aces was just a club, not the den of carnage it turned out to be.

Alissa and I discussed our favorite music.

I told her how much I enjoyed the rockers of the sixties and seventies, and she told me all about her favorite composer.

What was his name?

Shosta… Shosta… Shosta-something.

I grab my phone again and search it. It autofills in the rest of the composer’s name. Dmitri Shostakovich. A Soviet-era Russian composer.

And… That’s right! The Chicago Symphony Orchestra is performing one of his symphonies this week. I pull up their website and go to the calendar.

It’s Thursday night. Alissa will be free. I sure as hell can clear my schedule.

Of course, with my luck, that’ll be the day Bill calls with results for May.

But fuck it. Worst case we have to wait a few hours.

Before I can overthink it, I’ve purchased two tickets. About halfway down the main floor. It’s a couple hundred bucks. Not exactly cheap, but a night out with Alissa is worth it.

She’ll love it.

And if she somehow is no longer available Thursday, I can see if Harrison wants to come with me. I don’t know if he knows the first thing about classical music, but he might enjoy it. I know he goes to the theater sometimes.

I shoot her a quick text.

Hey. I know we said we’d hang Thursday—turns out that’s the date of the Shostakovich symphony at CSO. Got us tickets. We can meet there or grab dinner before. Whatever works. Have a great day at work.

I send it.

She probably won’t get it until later. I’m not sure when her shift ends, but I think she keeps her phone in her locker while she’s on duty.

They’ll keep her busy today, I’m sure. People come in on Mondays after fucking themselves up over the weekend. She’ll have plenty of patients to distract her.

Keep her mind off May.

Wish I had something to distract me.

That poor girl.

And her friend, the one who disappeared first. The one who made her reach out to Alissa and ask for help.

Svetlana. The Nine of Diamonds.

I remember her. I last saw her a few weeks before I met Alissa.

* * *

Fuck. It’s cold tonight.

Normally I don’t bother with an overcoat since it’s a quick walk from the parking garage to the club entrance, but tonight I made an exception. Long dark overcoat, gloves, a scarf, and earmuffs.

The Chicago winter wind has a way of finding any exposed part of your body, so I’m bundled up as best as I can get.

Why the hell does anyone live in the Midwest? The winters are brutal. Especially for those of us this close to Lake Michigan.

I get in and have to dig through several layers of clothing to get my ID so Chet can check me in. Even he’s bundled up—wearing a thin pink sweater under his pinstriped jacket and fingerless gloves. He looks like some sort of vaudeville actor.

“You’re all set, Mr. Hathaway,” he says, grinning from ear to ear like usual. “No guest tonight?”

“You know as well as I do that I come here to meet women, Chet.”

He nods. “Of course. I think you’ll find the selection tonight to be quite…appetizing.”

I lean over the desk. “Really?”

“Indeed. Some very lovely ladies have come on the arms of members this evening.”

I frown. “Then they’re probably here as dates. I can’t exactly horn in.”

Chet twiddles his fingers together. “I’m sure you’re aware that a lot of the club’s members don’t mind sharing.”

Shit. I’m not interested in a three-way. At least not with another man.

Two ladies? Sign me the fuck up.

But another dude? Not my thing.

Harrison told me once about being in a three-way with another guy. He said it was a little weird at first, but that he got used to it. You just focus on the girl.

But I’d rather have the girl all to myself.

Whatever. Chet always says weird stuff. He probably doesn’t even mean it.

At any rate, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for single women. It’s been a few weeks since I last had a good piece of ass.

“Is Rouge in tonight?”

“I believe she’s attending to one of her other clubs tonight, Mr. Hathaway.”

I nod. Good.

I’ve been avoiding Rouge ever since that night a year ago. The night that started with a fistful of psychedelic drugs and ended with what I assume was a really bad trip.

God, I hope I’m right about that.

But whatever. I shake the thought from my head.

Rouge isn’t here tonight. I won’t have to worry about avoiding her.

Normally I make a beeline for the bar in the Spades section as soon as I go through the Green Door, but tonight I’m itching for a game of chance. I’m going to try my hand in the Diamonds section.

It’s a great way to pick up chicks. Once you’re on a roll, they flock around you, mystified at your perceived fortune.

Fortune my ass.

These games do have an element of luck—all games do, from Candyland to Russian Roulette—but casino games are all about reading the room, getting a feel for the cards in your hand.

Of course, if the ladies of Aces Underground want to think I’ve been kissed by Lady Luck, I won’t stop them.

Lady Luck might just lead to Lady Fuck.

And the latter hasn’t pulled into town in a while.

The Diamonds section of Aces Underground shimmers under the low amber glow of hanging glass chandeliers. I walk to the craps table. Its felt is a rich mustard yellow, the edges trimmed in polished brass.

“Mr. Hathaway.” The croupier—Terrence Shellby, according to the nametag on his lapel—flashes me a smile. “We don’t see you in the Diamonds section very often.”

I lean over the table. “Felt like trying something different tonight, Shellby.”

Shellby hands me the dice and I cradle them in my hand. I’m loosened now, the tension in my jaw melted away with the knowledge that Rouge is out tonight. I toss the dice with a flick of my wrist. They tumble across the felt, clinking together as they settle.

“Seven.” Shellby calls.

A ripple of approval spreads through the gathered onlookers. Shellby pushes a stack of golden chips to me. I sweep them toward myself, loosening my tie at the collar and pushing my sleeves up just enough to reveal the sharp cut of my Michael Kors watch beneath my wrist.

“Hot tonight,” purrs a voice at my shoulder.

I turn. A gorgeous woman, short blond hair tucked neatly behind her ear, is watching me with a smile.

A golden dress clings to her frame, her manicured nails tapping lightly against the side of a champagne flute.

Next to her is a woman with long red hair cascading over one shoulder, the deep crimson of her lips matching the flush on her cheeks.

She wears a sleek black dress with thin gold chains draped over her collarbones.

The blonde smirks at me. “Pia. My name.”

“Pleasure.”

The redhead crosses to my other side and wraps her arms around my bicep. “And I’m Serafina, darling. Your luck holding out?” Her voice is low and husky. She could be a phone sex operator.

“We’ll have to see.” I roll the dice again. They skitter across the table, landing cleanly.

"Eleven!"

The table erupts with a chorus of approval. Shellby slides another pile of chips toward me. Pia’s hand finds my arm, her fingers light and soft as silk.

She glances at Serafina. “I think we’ve found our entertainment for the evening.”

Serafina’s eyes narrow slightly, a faint smile curving her lips. “At this rate, we may have to buy him a drink.”

I chuckle. “Only if I lose.”

I pick up the dice again, feeling the heat of the moment between my fingers.

The crowd presses in tighter. The dice tumble across the goldenrod felt, clinking against the back wall before spinning to a stop.

“Eight!”

Another win. Pia’s hand slides further down my arm, her gold rings cool against my skin.

“Maybe you should let it ride,” Serafina says, tightening her grip on my other arm.

I run my fingers through the growing stack of chips. “Maybe I should.”

If I keep this up, I could very well end up with that threesome I was hoping for.

I gather the dice again, rolling them between my fingertips. The weight of them feels good—solid. I catch Serafina’s eye as I toss them across the table.

They bounce, rattling against the back wall again before settling.

“Nine!”

A burst of cheers follows. Pia whispers into my ear. “You’re on fire.”

Her words send a rush of blood to my cock.

“You always this lucky, stud?” Serafina asks in my other ear, making me even harder.

I flash her a smile. “Guess you’ll have to tell me .”

Serafina grins at Pia. “I like this one.”

Pia leans in, her champagne flute brushing the side of my jacket. “One more roll? See what fate has in store for you?”

I hold her gaze for a long moment. Then, without breaking eye contact with Pia, I toss the dice again.

They tumble, spinning fast.

“Snake eyes.”

Fuck.

A groan sweeps through the onlookers. I lean over the table, tapping my fingers against the felt as Shellby sweeps a portion of my winnings away.

Pia’s eyes gleam as she pouts her lips. “Looks like the luck’s shifting.”

I pick up the dice again, rolling them between my fingers. “Maybe. Or maybe it was a fluke.”

Serafina’s smile turns sharp. "Or maybe you just need a little extra motivation."

She grabs my ass and squeezes it hard.

Pia gazes toward an older man standing behind us—a silver-haired figure in an impeccably tailored suit, his eyes cold and assessing. A salt-and-pepper goatee frames the lower half of his face. He’s grimacing at us.

My jaw tightens. I’ve seen this man before. He’s a regular at the club.

And something tells me one of the two women clinging to me is his guest.

“Are you with him?” I ask Pia.

“We both are.” She walks her fingers up my arm.

Fuck. Both of them?

I whip my arms out of their grasp. “But you can only bring one guest to Aces. That’s one of the hard and fast rules.”

Serafina giggles. “Rules are meant to be broken. Our friend over there has enough influence with the higher-ups here that he’s allowed a second guest.”

So he’s rich, and probably in bed with Rouge.

Not the kind of guy I want to piss off.

“If you came as his guests,” I say, “you really should be spending time with him.”

Serafina laughs. “We come here for the free booze. Our host knows that, and he respects that. He looks good just having the two of us on his arm when he walks in. That’s all the service we need to provide.”

Pia grins. “Besides, it would appear he’s found some company of his own.”

I look at the older gentleman again, and sure enough, he’s running his hands up and down the arms of one of the waitresses. A tall blond woman, wearing the same skimpy black bikini as the rest of her coworkers. On her left shoulder a red diamond, and on her right the number nine.

The Nine of Diamonds.

From what I can tell, she’s one of the more popular girls here.

I often see her being taken behind the red velvet curtains to a private area.

She started here about five years ago, and the men immediately formed a line to take her behind closed doors.

Last I heard, the suggested “tip” for her private services started at a thousand bucks an hour.

He takes her into one of the private rooms, and the velvet curtain falls, closing them off.

Fuck it. He’s already taken care of for the night.

I turn back to Pia and Serafina.

“Let’s try one more roll.”

* * *

The old man took the Nine of Diamonds—Svetlana—behind those curtains, and that was the last time I saw her.

According to May, her contract ended. Which makes sense. She’d been there for the last five years, as far as I could remember.

Then she disappeared.

Just like May disappeared.

Under different circumstances, though. May was suspended for breaking the rules. Svetlana would have left after five years of service with a shitload of tips saved up from servicing creeps like that lecherous old man with the goatee.

But if something happened to Svetlana—if she met a similar fate to May…

That old man might be the last person to have seen her alive.

Shit.

He could be a lead.

None of the waitstaff will want to talk to us after what happened to May, but if I can find out who this guy is, if I can make him talk…

We might be able to figure out what happened to Svetlana.

And that’ll get us one step closer to figuring out what happened to May.