Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(40)
Whether it was her dead-serious tone or the look in her eyes that matched, Kellan would never know, but something pushed Danny to say, “There are these parties in one of the penthouse apartment suites at the Metropolitan, you know, over on the south side? Real lush, like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, only more tricked out. It’s exclusive invite only. I had to introduce Rampage to a dozen fucking girls before he’d even think about name dropping me to his boss so I could get in to play, and I still have to pay my way in with merchandise for his guests.”
“Whose does the penthouse belong to?” Moreno asked, but Marcus just huffed out a breath, twisting his hand to not-so-subtly test the strength of the zip tie keeping him anchored to the park bench.
“Beats me. I didn’t ask to see the deed.”
Kellan had closed half the space between his body and the bench before he’d even processed his brain’s command to move. “Marcus—”
Danny’s shoulders slumped into his two-sizes-too-big T-shirt, and he finally called no joy. “Look, I don’t know whose place it is. But the place is full of fancy art shit and there’s more security than most border patrols, so if I had to guess, I’d say it’s Casa de Boss Man. Goes by Mr. DuPree. And before you ask, no, I don’t know his first name.”
Moreno slid a glance at Kellan, stepping forward at the exact moment he orbited back to give the area around them a spot check.
“Sounds like Mr. DuPree knows how to throw a hell of a get-together. Bet he offers his guests some nice party favors to keep them entertained.” Isabella’s words emerged on a thin, soft breath, but they managed to send a pang through Kellan’s gut all the same.
The sensation grew teeth at Marcus’s nod. “Liquor, pharmaceuticals, women. Public or private, one-on-one or four-on-one, it doesn’t matter. There aren’t a whole lot of house rules, but you fuck in public, DuPree gets to watch. Bonus points for banging your girl around while you do it. I don’t know that from firsthand experience,” he added, jerking back against the bench slats again as Kellan’s fingers cranked into hot fists on a step forward. “He just makes it real clear for everybody across the board. Watching is his thing. I told you, he’s goddamn creepy.”
Jesus. “I’m guessing these women aren’t there by choice,” Kellan said, the thought souring as it crossed his lips.
Marcus shrugged, although the flicker of unease traveling through his stare canceled out the nonchalance. “I’m not dumb enough to ask any questions. They get tricked out five, maybe six times a night, and some of the guests can get kind of rough. But none of the girls ever try running for the door. I’m sure they get paid for their trouble.”
“And I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night,” Moreno said, her stare turning subarctic.
Indignation straightened Marcus’s spine. “Hey, I don’t smack my ladies around unless they like it that way. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Yup. There went the last thread of Kellan’s already flimsy tolerance. “No, you’re a jackass who deals heroin and pays for sex with women who are being turned out, most likely against their will.”
Before Marcus could work up a protest or a response of any kind, Isabella said, “But you’re going to start making up for the error of your ways. Right now.”
“How’s that?” Marcus asked, echoing the question in Kellan’s brain. But then the look on her face registered, mouth set and eyes glittering with a brand of determination Kellan was beginning to know all too well, and his blood turned to liquid ice in his veins.
“Because, Danny. I’m going to be your date to the next party Mr. DuPree hosts.”
10
“God dammit, Moreno. Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Isabella scanned the street in front of her, trying like hell and failing just as badly to trap her response between her teeth. “Perfectly sane,” she said, inhaling for a count of three clack-clack-clacks of her boots over the broken pavement of Atlantic Boulevard before adding, “As I’ve told you, what? Four? No, five times now.”
Kellan’s dark and broody scowl marked him as highly doubtful of her self-assessment, not to mention highly pissed off at her new plan. “You can tell me until you’re purple. I’m not going to believe you unless you change your mind about going to this party. How do you even know Marcus will hold up his end of the deal?”
She waited until they’d reached the Mustang and both slid into their respective seats before answering, but somehow, the pause did nothing to slow her irritation. “First of all, I know Marcus will show because I told him that if he doesn’t, I’m going to make an anonymous nine-one-one call that will lead a veritable platoon of law enforcement officials to that penthouse, and I’ll make sure every last one of the people arrested for drug possession knows he was behind the tip-off. A fact you well know because you were standing right next to me when I said it. Secondly”—she paused again, this time to spear him with a don’t-mess-with-my-plan stare—“I’d be out of my fucking mind not to go to this party, Walker. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to prove there’s something illegal going on with these women and get the FBI to open an investigation.”