Page 60 of Dangerous Obsession
“Questions?” Dev asked. When no one spoke, he nodded and stood. “We give Callan his forty-eight to prepare then move in.”
Chairs creaked as bodies rose. Only he and Callan, still working, remained. The images were still up. Three blondesand a petite brunette. Gaby was stepping into the role of every woman on that screen. He didn’t like it. Not because he doubted his team, but because of the risk to someone he’d come to care about. The need to protect hit hard enough to feel physical.
And worse—it reminded him of the one person he most wanted to keep safe, and of the choice he wouldn’t take back.
He pushed to his feet so suddenly that a pen rolled across the table and hit the floor. Callan’s eyes flicked up, questioning. Leland felt the edge of his temper too close to the surface. Before he made a bigger ass of himself than he already had, he stalked out without a word.
Chapter 16
Rhys disliked stagnation. Predators evolved. Adapted. They shifted patterns when pressured. This one had done none of those things, which bothered him far more.
A week at The Underground North, another at Driftwood, now downtown. What did they have to show for it? Nothing. No sightings or approaches. No recognizable patterns beyond women vanishing into the dark spaces between one club and the next.
Either the unsub had gone to ground, or he was watching quietly while they exhausted themselves chasing their tails. Neither possibility sat well with him.
Rhys stood near the edge of the main floor as he surveyed the club. Like the other locations, it wanted desperately to be Devil’s Pointe. He had to admit, The Velvet Room came closest.
Gold drapes concealed most of the building’s industrial bones. Brass sconces cast warm pools of light on the paneled walls designed to imitate old-world luxury. The music remained unmistakably BDSM centric, but lower and more refined than the relentless pounding found at the other locations. Even the staff looked the part, moving through the room in black collared shirts with The Velvet Room embroidered over the breast pocket.
At a glance, it almost worked. Underneath, the flaws showed through for anyone experienced enough to look. Security positioned for appearance instead of coverage. Scene areas without flow. Inexperienced dominants performing with confidence they hadn’t fully earned.
Gilded incompetence. Pretty enough to fool newcomers into lowering their guard.
Rafe had taken up a post by a shadowed column, broad shoulders rigid beneath a black button-down, as his gaze moved steadily through the crowd. Most people would see another dominant watching the floor. Rhys knew better. Rafe missed very little.
Michael worked the front entrance tonight, his size alone discouraging problems before they started, while Boone monitored the secondary hallway leading to the upstairs lounge. Neither man fit naturally into the role of club security, but Pete had accepted their terms after Leland paid him a personal visit. He wouldn’t repeat what was said, but they were in. Rhys suspected the owner still resented it, but no one cared. Women were disappearing from his clubs, and he bore responsibility to help them stop it.
“Movement near the north bar. Male. Mid-thirties. Gray jacket.”
Leland was in his ear yet again. Actually, he was somewhere outside in the surveillance van, for the third straight week, watching all of it unfold through a bank of monitors. A month ago, Rhys would have expected him to be clawing through the walls by now. He surprised him. Not relaxed. Not distracted. Waiting and hopeful for the smallest hint of a lead.
Rhys glanced casually toward the crowded bar area without moving. He found him immediately. Studying the room but not taking part.
He looked down. “Watching anyone specific?”
Several seconds passed.
“Watching reactions.”
His answer triggered a warning inside Rhys. Predatory behavior often revealed itself in absence rather than action.What fascinated a person mattered almost as much as what they pursued directly.
Tonight, he and Gaby intended to become fascinating. The team had finally agreed it was time to escalate. To take a risk with visibility and exposure.
His gaze shifted to the far side of the room. Gaby stood near the bar in a shoulder-baring, electric-blue vinyl dress that skimmed her curves. Her newly styled blonde hair spilled in a smooth, glossy sheet, catching the low light as she moved. One heel tapped lightly against the floor. At a glance, it was in rhythm with the music, but he knew better. It told him how unimpressed she currently was with him.
She disliked the scene he’d selected. Not because of the flogging itself. Because her submission to him had never felt performative before. Tonight, like it or not, they were putting something special on display for strangers to study. That troubled him too, but they’d agreed to do it.
Reminding her of that fact was the reason behind her glare.
He crossed the room, aware of eyes tracking him long before he reached her. A few people might have recognized him from the other Underground locations. More recognized an experienced dominant when they saw him.
Gaby looked up when he stopped beside her.
“That expression usually means trouble,” she said.
“For you, it does,” he clarified.
Her eyes narrowed. “If this goes badly, I’d like it noted for the record that I’m doing this because women are disappearing.”
