Page 4 of A Taste like Sin
I turn in time to catch a flash of teeth as he grins. But just as quickly, a frown replaces the expression.
“I’m afraid our entertainment may be cut short.”
“Huh?” I look behind us and find a hostess entering the booth, her teeth clenched.
She crosses to Damien and leans down to murmur something into his ear.
“I see,” he replies, reaching for his cane. Extending his hand toward me, he nods to the door. “I was
correct. After you.”
“What’s going on?” I warily place my hand on his and allow him to pull me along after the hostess,
but he doesn’t offer up an explanation. Near the mouth of the lobby, I deduce the reason for this
unceremonious interruption all on my own.
Two police officers are guarding the door, glaringly out of place. Their twin stern expressions fixate
on me simultaneously and one of them advances, his hand extended. “Miss Thorne?”
“Yes,” I croak. “Can I help you?”
The two share a look. “Have you heard from your father recently?” the first one asks.
My heart falls into my stomach. “Is something wrong? Did something happen—”
“No,” the man says quickly. “But he seems to be…concerned for your welfare.”
“My welfare?” My brows furrow. “He didn’t—”
“As you can see, she is safe and sound,” Damien smoothly says before I can complete my suspicion
out loud. “We apologize for the confusion, officers. Goodnight.”
His careful tone implies the worst-case scenario. Like the fact that these officers didn’t randomly
show up to a sex club for the hell of it. They had been sent here.
For me.
“He called you, didn’t he?” I demand of the nearer officer, who looks back at his partner. “My
father?”
“We’re just doing our duty, ma’am.” A confirmation if there ever was one.
“Well, you can tell myfather…” I grit my teeth over that word and choke it down. “Heyworth
Thorne.You can tell him to stop contacting me. I’m fine.”
“And you feel safe?” the other officer inquires, his eyes darting in Damien’s direction. “Your father
would like you to give him a call if you can. Just to reassure him that you’re okay.”
“Why?” I demand. But then another, more pointed question escapes. “Or what?”
Isn’t the answer obvious?
