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MADDOX

Where 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.

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.”

I shrug. “What about the first riddle? Maybe there’s something there.” I pull out the sheet of paper that was placed in my jacket pocket back at the club. “ A figure of black, with points to its rank… ”

Alissa hovers over me, pointing at the third-to-last line. “ Beneath flower and shrub. That’s what we’re looking for. We were told to bring our spades, so I imagine we’re supposed to dig. And we should dig in a place marked by flowers and shrubs.” She shines her flashlight around the grove. “Flowers and shrubs… Flowers and shrubs…”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Look in that back corner, beyond the last picnic table.”

She shines her light in the direction I’ve indicated. A row of rose bushes, alternating in red and white, line the back of the picnic grove.

Alissa kneels and shines her light on the soil beneath the bushes. “We need to find a place that looks like it’s been freshly dug up.”

I lay the shovels down, get on my hands and knees, and crawl up and down the row of bushes. Finally, right in between a white rosebush and a red one, I spy a spot where the soil is looser and more crumbly. A few earthworms are crawling across the surface, and some roots are exposed.

“Alissa,” I call over. “I think this might be where we want to dig.”

“Sounds good,” she says. “Hand me a spade.”

We place the flashlight on the ground pointing at us so that we have a little light, and then we both sink our spades into the earth. Within a few moments we have a square hole about a foot deep. Nothing so far.

Alissa wipes a bead of sweat from her brow. “Digging is harder work than I thought.”

“Yeah, soil is heavier than you’d think.”

“Do you think we’re in the right spot? How deep do you think they could bury something?”

I frown. “If it’s something they don’t want anyone finding, I think it will be pretty deep.”

“Right.” She returns her attention to our hole and continues digging away.

We keep going until we’ve gotten another few feet down.

“We should widen the hole,” I say. “I’ll work on that while you keep going down.”

I place my shovel on the side of the hole and press my foot into it, taking a new sliver of soil out.

“This is getting us nowhere, Maddox,” Alissa finally says. “I think we’re digging in the wrong spot.”

“We can’t be.” I look down at the soil. “This area was clearly dug up recently.”

She presses her lips together. “The original riddle said the evidence was hidden beneath flower and shrub. Not next to it.”

I widen my eyes. “So you think…?”

“It’s under one of these rosebushes. Not in the soil next to them.”

I bite my lip. “But if we dig up a bush, it’ll be a lot clearer that someone was here looking around.”

“All the more reason for them to place a rosebush over what was buried. But we can replant it once we’re done. I’ve done that in my friend Dinah’s garden a few times.” She kneels again, grabbing the flashlight. “It looks like the soil is fresher near the white rosebush, so I’m thinking that’s the one we need to dig up.”

“Well, shit.” I place my shovel at the base of the rosebush and press it into the earth.

Alissa gets to her feet. “Ouch!” she cries out.

“Everything okay?”

She places a finger in her mouth. “The thorns. I wasn’t thinking.” She examines her finger. “Just a little cut. I’ll live.”

“You need a bandage or something?”

She chuckles. “No. It’ll stop bleeding on its own in a bit.” She grabs her shovel and digs in, grimacing slightly. A small line of blood trickles down the wood, but she continues.

Within fifteen minutes or so, we’ve dug underneath the rosebush enough to pull it out by its roots. We each stand on one side, taking care not to get pricked by the thorns of the bush itself, and lift it out of the ground, placing it gently near the picnic tables. We’ll want to replant it once we’re done.

Now we’re cooking. Just digging up the rosebush created a pretty sizeable hole, and, if the riddle isn’t leading us astray, we should be able to just dig straight down.

Several more minutes pass until my shovel hits something solid. It has a little give, so it’s not made of metal. Maybe hard cardboard.

I look up at Alissa, grinning. “Oh my God, I think we found what we’re looking for.”

She grabs the flashlight and peers down. “Whatever it is, it’s red,” she says.

I poke my spade over it, prodding gently until the soil begins to give again. “Looks like it’s about a foot across.” I feel around the perimeter of the object. “Feels like it’s round.”

We dig around the objects until we’ve gone deep enough to pull it out. It’s a box, round in shape like I guessed. I pull it out. It’s heavy. I place it on the nearest picnic table.

It’s an elegant hat box, the kind a sophisticated lady would keep her finest pieces in. Dirt is clinging to it on every side, but it still has an impressive sheen. Hearts line the sides of the box, and a knotted velvet ribbon brings the whole thing together.

“We’ll have to untie the ribbon to see what’s inside,” Alissa says.

“Sounds good. You work on the ribbon, and I’ll work on getting this rosebush replanted,” I say. “I’ll use the big flashlight, and you can use your phone light.”

She nods and starts working at the ribbon.

Meanwhile, I return a few chunks of soil to the hole we’ve made, getting it to about the level it was when we removed the rosebush. I’m about to turn to ask Alissa to help me put the rosebush back in when?—

“Oh my God!”

I look over at Alissa. Her eyes are wide, and under the moonlight she’s pale as a ghost. The lid is still on the box, but the knot is untied and lying in a heap at its side. Her phone, with its tiny flashlight activated, is on the ground next to her.

“Alissa!” I run over to her. “What is it?”

She points to the box, breathing heavily. “It’s… It’s… I opened it, peeked inside… And… And…”

“You need to take a deep breath, Alissa,” I say.

“Inside… Inside…” Her breath comes in rapid puffs until her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses into my arms.

“Alissa!” I lay her down on the ground beside the picnic table, slapping her gently on the cheek. “Alissa, wake up!”

Fuck. She’s fainted. I’ll have to carry her back to the car if she doesn’t come to.

But before that, I have to finish replanting the rosebush. Can’t leave any evidence that someone was here.

I look back at the hatbox. What was so terrible inside that box that it would cause her reaction?

I need to take care of Alissa, but I also need to know what’s inside this box. This could be an important clue as to what happened to May. What kind of trouble Rouge is brewing behind closed doors at the club.

I know—or at least I think I know—of at least one thing she’s done behind closed doors. I’ve always pushed it to the back of my head, but if she was capable of doing what I believe I witnessed all those years ago, she’s certainly capable of doing other awful things.

Alissa is breathing, and I can make out a pulse in her wrist. She’s okay. Just fainted. She’ll regain consciousness in a bit. Thank God. I have to keep her safe.

But I need to know.

I need to know.

I slowly get to my feet and look at the hatbox. I reach my arm across the table to grab the edge of the lid.

Every muscle in my body is stiffening. My gut is telling me to turn around and run as fast as I can away from this place. Never look back and live the rest of my life in peace.

But we’re too far down the rabbit hole at this point.

We’ve got to see it through.

I pry open the case, and immediately a terrible stench hits me.

What the fuck?

I hold my breath and continue, lighting the flashlight on my phone.

My stomach lurches as my mouth falls open, a strangled breath catching in my throat. A cold, creeping numbness spreads through my limbs, rooting me in place. My mind scrambles to process what I’m seeing, but it’s too much—too awful. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else as the scene before me sears itself into my brain. It can’t be.

It can’t fucking be.

I swallow and look again, confirming the horrific thing I just saw. I bend over and heave, but nothing comes out.

I fall to my knees, unable to believe it. Unable to believe that such a terrible fate would befall such an innocent young woman. An innocent young woman who had been through so much, who had her whole life ahead of her.

Alissa was wrong. The crown in the riddle wasn’t referring to Rouge’s tiara.

By crown, it meant head . As in a human head.

A severed human head.

The severed head of May.

The Seven of Spades has been discarded.

The dark adventures continue in Diamonds !