Page 153 of Wicked Minds
A loud, lively room opens before me, dimly lit with antique chandeliers that shine and sparkle beneath the mahogany ceiling, the walls adorned with shimmering gold wallpaper and dark blue paneling. In the center of the room is a spacious dance floor where couples sway to the smooth jazz melody currently being played by a live band in the corner.
Plush, low-slung sofas and velvet-covered armchairs are scattered throughout, providing cozy corners for intimate conversation. Walking further into the room, I notice smaller, private rooms and cramped nooks hidden behind discreetarchways and velvet curtains, offering a more intimate space away from prying eyes. Some have nameplates above the doorway or arch, the closest readingJazz Crypt.
I wander through the numerous rooms and labyrinthine hallways lined with vintage photographs and antique sconces that wind through the speakeasy, leading to secret bars, lounges, and even a hidden cigar room. As I explore, I become more and more impressed with this secret hideaway as I search the crowd for Lydia, and despite the reason for my visit tonight, I make a mental note to bring Ry here. I think she’d really love it.
Not spotting Lydia anywhere, I begin to wonder if this was all a waste of time as I approach one of the various bars and order an Old Fashioned from the dapperly dressed bartender—because you can’t not order a drink in a place like this.
With my drink in hand, I lean against the bar, listening to the hum of hushed conversations, laughter, and clinking of glasses around me. Doing a final scan of the room, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans when my phone vibrates.
Gray
Did she show?
Me
No sign yet.
The phone vibrates again. This time, the notification says I have a photo from Logan. Opening it, I smile into my whiskey glass as I stare down at a selfie of him and Riley tucked up on her sofa beneath a mountain of blankets and nursing hot chocolates topped with cream, marshmallows, and sprinkles.
After staring at Riley’s happy face, I close out of the photo and open the browser to my message thread with Lydia. I perk up at the new comment which was posted thirty minutes ago.
Riches&Glamor:Meet me in the Whispered Hideaway room at 10 pm.
Checking the time at the top of my screen, I realize I only have two minutes. Knocking back the last of my drink, I set the empty glass on the bar top and go in search of the Whispered Hideaway.
I find it tucked off a dead-end hallway, the small room barely big enough to contain a dark green velvet booth and a neat wooden table. The walls are wrapped in that same hunter-green velvet, with brass sconces and accents dotted around the room. Candles flicker on the unoccupied table, and I frown as I turn to face the archway I just walked through.
Checking the time, I slide into one side of the booth, keeping my gaze focused on the door. While I wait, I fire off a text to Gray to appease him so he doesn’t get any crazy ideas about coming in here and blowing our cover.
I hear the clip of heels seconds before a shadow darkens the doorway, Lydia’s sharp gaze landing on mine.
She’s far more appropriately dressed for this high-end establishment, in a slinky, shimmering green dress that clings to her curves and hugs her boobs, the miracle bra she’s wearing doing its job of ensuring those things are shoved in your face and impossible to ignore. It’s a dress intended for someone half her age.
“Ruthless?” she questions with an air of authority.
I merely nod, watching her with suspicion as she sets her wine glass on the table and slides to the opposite end of the booth.
Her eyes slowly take me in, the two of us assessing the other. I obviously don’t see what she does, based on the way her pupils dilate and one side of her lips hitches in a coy smile. She bats her eyes seductively, and it takes effort to keep the cringe off my face.
“You’re after the key?” I grunt, spreading my legs and leaning back on the sofa, making myself appear as intimidating as possible as I flick an unbothered glance her way.
She nods. “Yes. I was told you would be able to help me.”
I stare directly at her, gaze hard and cold. Ruthless—that’s precisely what I am. “I might be able to.”
With a grin touching her lips, she shuffles closer. I tense for a brief second before I manage to force my muscles to relax.
Placing a manicured hand on my forearm, she purrs, “I didn’t think you’d be quite so handsome.”
I force myself to lean into her as my gaze drops over her lithe form blatantly on display. It’s agonizing to wrench my muscles into a seductive smirk. “I can’t say I often get the pleasure of dealing with pretty young women in my line of work.” I lick my lips, zeroing in on her lips. “Maybe we’ll be able to mix business with a little pleasure.”
My insides seize up simply at the suggestion. Except Lydia buys it, shimmying even closer as she drags one nail over my bicep, gaze trailing my tattoos before she smiles up at me through her fake eyelashes. “If you’re able to help me, I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.”
I don't think she'd be on board if she knew just what I wanted to do with her.
Unless she’s not opposed to permanently going to live with the fishes.
Instead of saying any of that, though, I merely chuckle. “Darlin’, you don’t wanna go promising something like that to a man like me. I’m not like your uptight suit-wearing men. I like my sex rough and hard.”
