SPADES

ACES UNDERGROUND

BOOK 1

HELEN HARDT

CONTENTS

Spades

Praise for Helen Hardt

What sort of people live about here?

1. Alissa

2. Maddox

3. Alissa

4. Maddox

5. Alissa

6. Maddox

7. Alissa

8. Maddox

9. Alissa

10. Maddox

11. Alissa

12. Maddox

13. Alissa

14. Maddox

15. Alissa

16. Maddox

17. Alissa

18. Maddox

19. Alissa

20. Maddox

21. Alissa

22. Maddox

23. Alissa

24. Maddox

25. Alissa

26. Maddox

27. Alissa

28. Maddox

29. Alissa

30. Maddox

31. Alissa

Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?

32. Maddox

Bonus Content

Excerpt from Princess Fallen

Acknowledgments

Also by Helen Hardt

About the Author

SPADES

ACES UNDERGROUND ONE

This book is an original publication of Helen Hardt.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2025 Helen Hardt

Cover Design: Shepard Originals

Edited by Eric J. McConnell

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work that have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-952841-38-5

PRAISE FOR HELEN HARDT

“Literally perfection.”

~Read with Aimee on My Heart Still Beats

“Helen Hardt is a master at making you fall for the bad boy.”

~Words We Love By on Savage Sin 

“Hardt spins erotic gold…”

~Publishers Weekly on Follow Me Darkly

“22 Best Erotic Novels to Read”

~Marie Claire Magazine on Follow Me Darkly

“Intensely erotic and wildly emotional…”

~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones on Follow Me Darkly

“Christian, Gideon, and now…Braden Black.”

~Books, Wine, and Besties on Follow Me Darkly

“This red-hot tale will have readers fanning themselves.”

~Publishers Weekly on Blush

“Scintillating…”

~Publishers Weekly on Bloom

“Helen's intelligent writing style and skills have made this story a must-read.”

~FireSerene Reads on Bloom

“It's hot, it's intense, and the plot starts off thick and had me completely spellbound from page one.”

~The Sassy Nerd Blog on Rebel

“This book was fantastic! It was steamy, funny, romantic, and just about any other emotion you can think of…”

~Steamy Book Mama on Lily and the Duke

“Craving is the jaw-dropping book you need to read!”

~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones on Craving

"Completely raw and addictive."

~#1 New York Times bestselling author Meredith Wild on Craving

“Helen Hardt has some kind of skill I don’t have the words to describe. Her writing is addictive. She sucked in my mind and I just don’t want to read anything but her right now!”

~OMGReads Blog

“Helen Hardt…is a master story teller.”

~Small Town Book Nerd

TUMBLE DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE…

Alissa Maravilla has spent her life playing it safe. She gave up her dream of being a professional musician for the steady, predictable world of nursing at a Chicago hospital. No risks. No chaos. Just straight lines and sensible choices.

Until she meets Maddox Hathaway.

The moment Alissa steps into his enigmatic haberdashery, she feels the shift—his piercing gaze, his effortless charm, his debonair style. Maddox is temptation wrapped in silk and sin, and when he invites her into his world, she can’t resist.

Aces Underground isn’t just a private club. It’s a descent into desire—a place where inhibitions shatter and the air hums with tempting possibilities. With Maddox, Alissa discovers a darker, more intoxicating side of herself—and she’s ready for more.

But beneath the seductive allure, Aces Underground has secrets. Secrets that whisper of danger. Secrets that could consume them both.

And Alissa is about to find out just how deep the rabbit hole goes.

For those who chase the rabbit…

Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. “What sort of people live about here?”

“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw round, “lives a Hatter: and in that direction,” waving the other paw, “lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.”

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.

“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.

“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

1

ALISSA

Straight lines.

Everything in my life is a straight line.

The hallways at St. Charles General Hospital, where I work. The lines on the charts I read. The heart monitors on the sad occasion that we lose a patient.

Even my commute to the hospital is a straight shot down the Red Line. Five blocks east from my apartment in Uptown Chicago. Ten stops from Uptown to the Loop. Five more blocks west—away from Lake Michigan—and I’m there.

All straight lines. All right angles.

My mother would have loved it. She was obsessed with keeping everything in order. Her final descent into her eternal home was a straight shot down, six feet even. Her grave plot was thirty square feet, her coffin a perfect rectangle.

Straight lines, no curves.

Even the people I work with at St. Charles are straight lines. Not literally, of course, but in their personalities. They’re all perfectly nice people, for the most part, but they’re about as interesting as a bowl of paperclips.

And that’s an insult to the paperclips, if I’m being honest.

Today has been a pretty uneventful day. Time itself flows in a straight line, each tick of the clock a direct track toward our own perfectly crafted graves. The mundaneness should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Perhaps Heaven—or wherever we go once we’re done on Earth—has a little variety.

Then again, the pearly gates are always depicted as what? Straight lines. Bars of iron, perfectly vertical up and down to keep sinners from entering.

I have no one to blame but myself. I’ve conducted my own life in a straight line. Childhood to high school to university to grad school. I majored in music, to my mother’s chagrin. My instrument of choice? The flute, of course. The straightest line you can find in the orchestra.

Of course, from there, I assumed my life would continue on the straight path I envisioned. I’d audition for a few orchestras, get some callbacks, and eventually land a full-time position. Probably not with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra—they’re one of the best orchestras in the country, even the world—but certainly with some regional orchestra somewhere. There are dozens of them in the US alone.

But one by one, each audition yielded a big fat nothing. The path I had laid in front of me was broken. And I panicked.

So I ditched my dream and decided to pursue nursing.

This time the line wasn’t broken.

I got my associate’s degree, passed the national exam, and became an RN. Got the job at St. Charles soon after, where I’ve worked for the last five years.

It’s…fine.

I don’t hate it.

I’m making a difference. Probably more of a difference than I’d be making as a flautist, where I’d be playing for the city elites who are only there because they’re expected to frequent places like the symphony and the opera, not because they actually enjoy the music.

And Chicago has all of the hoity-toity fine arts in spades.

I still gig on the weekends every so often. I’ll get a call from a local church for a service or even a wedding. I’m pretty good at the flute—I mean, I do have two degrees in it—and it’s nice to pick it up every so often, even if it’s just for a measly fifty bucks.

But those gigs are getting rarer and rarer. Every year the universities pump more music graduates into the talent pool, and the young ones are always willing to take a gig for less money. The classical music industry idolizes youth. The younger you are, the more likely you’ll be labeled as a prodigy, and people will take more of an interest in you.

I’m nearly thirty now. An old hag by their standards.

Of course, I threw away the dream of working full-time as a musician a long time ago. The path wasn’t straight enough for Alissa Maravilla, the woman who needs everything laid out nice and pretty before she’ll even consider dipping a toe in.

“You okay, Liss?”

I blink. Dinah, my best friend in the hospital, is poking my shoulder.

I look at her, paste a smile on my face. “Yeah, just lost in thought, I guess.”

Dinah furrows her brow. “Concerned about one of your patients?”

“No more concerned than normal.” I rub at the back of my neck. “Just… I guess I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

That’s a lie. I got eight hours. The same I get every night. In bed by ten, wake up at six. Like clockwork. I don’t even have to set an alarm.

Dinah raises an eyebrow. “That’s a rarity for you, Liss. Something on your mind?”

I shake my head. “Nothing at all. I just zoned out.” I bite my lip. “You know how it can be here. It hasn’t been a particularly exciting day.”

Dinah smirks. “I’ll take that as a good thing. No one has died.”

“Well of course I’m happy about that, Di.” I roll my eyes. “But it’s just… Do you ever wonder if you chose the right path? If maybe you should have taken a risk, tried something that wasn’t a guarantee?”

“Nursing is hardly a guarantee,” Dinah says. “You know that just as well as I do. It’s a tough job on the best day. When someone comes here, it might be the worst day of their life. The worst day of their family’s life. And we do what we can to help them. It’s what we do.”

“The doctors help them,” I say. “We just fill out paperwork and give shots.”

Dinah cocks her head. “Nurses are the backbone of any hospital. Without us, the doctors wouldn’t be able to do their jobs.”

I look into Dinah’s eyes, really look into them. “When did you know that this was what you wanted to do? Like, did you receive some kind of sign, have some sort of experience?”

Dinah smiles. “You know I was born in Vietnam. Moved here with my parents when I was three.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“My dad picked up some bug on the journey over. It hit right as we got to the States. He ended up going to the doctor. He had to take me with him because Mom was out looking for a job. I remember seeing all the pretty ladies in nurse uniforms. They gave him medicine and made him better.”

“And you wanted to do that for other people.”

Dinah nods. “I wanted to heal. Breathe life back into people who are racked with pain. Figure out what was wrong with them and give them a magical pill to make them better, just like they did with my dad.”

“Why didn’t you become a doctor, then?”

She chuckles. “Like I said. The nurses do all the real work. When I went to the doctor with Dad, the nurses were the ones who talked to him, administered medication. The doctor just came by for two minutes and looked over all the work they did. Even at just three years old, I could tell who helped my dad the most.”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, and sigh it out. When I open my eyes, Dinah is still smiling. “I’m so glad you found your calling, Dinah.”

She grabs my hand, squeezes it. “And I’m glad you found yours, Liss.”

I smile at her, but I don’t mean it.

Because Dinah… She did find her calling. There’s no doubt about it.

But I’m not so sure I found mine.

* * *

Winters in Chicago are brutal. Especially when you’re close to the lake, which I am. A good blast of frosty wind will find its way through multiple layers of coats, sweaters, and scarves.

I walk five blocks east to the L, take the Red Line north to Uptown. Ten stops. I get off and start to head to my apartment.

And something stops me.

I’ve lived in this neighborhood for a few years now, and I’ve only ever seen what exists between the train stop and my apartment. A few restaurants, a coffee shop, and my hairdresser are all on the straight line I walk on the final stretch of my evening commute. There’s a CVS and a grocery store, too. Everything I need is in this small half-mile walk, and I’ve never seen fit to diverge from it.

But tonight of all nights, despite the chill of the wind and the patches of snow on the ground, I do something different.

A block before I hit the street I live on, I turn left. Then right. Another left. Another left. I zigzag for a mile or so, just seeing what’s in the area.

I pass an Indian restaurant. I love Indian, but I never have it delivered. How have I not noticed that this place is within walking distance of my apartment? I take a deep breath in and enjoy the enchanting aroma of spices coming from inside. If I didn’t already have a chicken breast thawing in my fridge for tonight’s dinner, I’d go in and order take-out.

Next I walk by a small theater, apparently about to mount a production of the musical Cabaret. Produced by a company called the Windy City Players. I love Cabaret—it’s one of my favorites. I stop by the box office and look at the show dates. I don’t buy a ticket, but I take a mental note to buy a ticket online once I get home.

And then I happen upon a shop that makes me squint.

Hathaway Haberdashery.

Haberdashery. I’ve heard that word before, but I never quite knew what it meant. I think it’s some kind of clothing store.

A blast of wind nearly knocks me off my feet. I really should go home.

But haberdashery is such a fun word. A good combination of syllables.

And I’m trying something new.

At the very least, I want to find out what a haberdashery is.

So on a whim, I walk inside.

2

MADDOX

I yawn and stretch my arms over my head.

It’s been a boring day.

Most days are, especially in the winter. I’m lucky to get a baker’s dozen of customers between January and March. I get a pretty big bump in customers right before Christmas—people shopping for their dads or husbands—but other than that, it’s usually just too damned cold in the Midwest for people to venture outside of their homes for anything other than the necessities.

Men’s fashion usually doesn’t make the cut.

But for me, it’s my life.

From the day I first picked up a copy of GQ magazine in the lobby of one of my dad’s many campaign offices, I’ve been hooked.

I was told that an interest in fashion made a man effeminate. I should be interested in football, whiskey, and trucks.

But what could be more masculine than wanting to look good? Wanting to present yourself as a man to be taken seriously, as one who cares how he portrays himself to the rest of the world?

The ladies love it. Every time I go down to my club, they flock to me, oohing and aahing over the perfectly tailored blazer I’m wearing that evening, the cuff links and matching pocket square I’ve paired it with, even the carefully trimmed shape of the stubble on my cheeks.

Compared to Joe Cargo Shorts, I’m definitely the winner.

But this time of year, it’s all I can do to scrape the money together to keep this place running.

I own the building. It already belonged to my family, and I made a deal with the devil—more commonly known as Henry Hathaway, my father—to get my name on the deed. The haberdashery has been in the family for years, but it had fallen into pretty bad disrepair by the time I got my hands on it.

But after years of hard work, I brought it back to life. Kept the same style that my Great-Uncle Stephen—the last person to run the place full-time—had, while adding some modern touches. The shelves and displays are all the original dark cherry wood that Stephen had built, and I polished them all until they were new. I replaced the glass on the displays where I exhibit watches, cuff links, and tie pins, and even managed to refurbish the brass cash register that Stephen used back in the day.

I outfitted the vintage hanging pendant lamps with new eco-friendly lightbulbs. I even found an old phonograph from a nearby antique store, which I use to play jazz vinyl. The music mixes perfectly with the decades-old aroma of leather, wool, and pipe tobacco that permeates every corner of the shop. I did add a few things to bring the place into the twenty-first century. Metallic accents on the walls and some vivid contemporary art that I’ve picked up at shows across the city.

I love the haberdashery.

I just wish it weren’t such a pain in the ass to run this time of year.

I look at my watch. It’s almost seven p.m. I could close a little early. I think it’s safe to say that no one is going to⁠—

Never mind.

A woman just came in.

And good God damn, if she isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s in a light-blue puffy down jacket, but even with that on, I can make out a slender figure. She has perfect blond hair that hangs past her shoulders, and her skin has a light-olive tone to it. Her lips are a gorgeous shade of dark pink, and a light blush graces her cheeks—probably from the cold. Even from the distance between my shop’s entrance and the cashier counter where I’m currently standing, I can see that her eyes match her jacket’s icy shade of blue. The same color as Lake Michigan when it freezes over. A few snowflakes rest on her gorgeous long lashes.

I see hot women all the time. The club has them by the dozen. But not one of them can match the vision that just entered my shop.

I clear my throat. “Hi. Can I help you?”

She looks up at me, and her eyes widen. “Y-Yes. I happened to be wandering by. Took a different path home from work. I saw your shop, and I…”

She pouts her lips, which drives me crazy. Something stirs in me that I haven’t felt since…

Well, let’s just say it’s been a while.

“Are you looking for a gift for someone?”

She scratches the side of her head. “No. It’s silly, to be honest. I was just…” She chuckles nervously. “I saw the sign, and I was wondering what exactly a haberdashery is.”

I laugh. “You’re joking.”

She frowns. “I wish I were. You must take me for a dummy.”

I’m just realizing that she has a British accent, in a light honeyed tone. She could broadcast for the BBC. It’s that clear and articulate. God, as if I weren’t already attracted as hell to her…

I shake my head. “Not at all. It’s not like it’s the most conventional word.” I gesture to the shelves and displays around me. “Haberdashery is basically just a fancy word for a men’s clothing store. We sell suits and jackets here, mostly, but also lots of accessories. Ties, cuff links, watches, even hats.”

She drops her jaw. “Hats? Like top hats?”

I smirk. “Mostly fedoras and bowlers, but we do have a small selection of top hats, too.”

She pouts her lips again—God, I love it—and looks around the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen a man wearing a hat—besides a Cubs cap—since I got to Chicago.”

I shrug and lean toward her from behind the counter. “Well, you’ve just met one.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You?”

I reach under the counter and grab a dark-gray fedora. “This is the one I’m wearing today. Never go outside without it.”

She frowns. “You’re not one of those fedora-wearing, terminally online incels, are you?”

I let out a loud laugh at that. “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that, I’d have a good seventy-five cents.”

She giggles. It’s bright and airy, almost like birdsong.

I attempt to stay nonchalant. “The difference between those kinds of guys and me is that when I wear a men’s hat outside, I treat it as an extension of me, not some kind of decoration or costume. I wear the hat. The hat doesn’t wear me.”

She narrows her eyes. Can’t blame her. What I just said sounds like some kind of fortune-cookie nonsense.

I chuckle. “I guess that was a weird thing to say.”

She cocks her head and rakes her gaze up and down my body. “Not a weird thing to say at all. What I said was weird.” Her cheeks flush. “Obviously you’re not a guy like that. I mean, look at how⁠—”

She shuts her mouth. But I think she was about to pay me a compliment on my appearance.

I bow my head slightly. “You’re very kind, Miss…”

“Alissa. Alissa Maravilla.”

I reach my right hand out. “Pleasure, Ms. Maravilla. I’m Maddox Hathaway.”

She takes my hand, which sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

Damn.

When I say jolt, I mean thunderbolt. Fuck.

She shakes my hand before letting it go. “Maddox Hathaway. Why does that sound familiar?”

I hold back a sigh.

The Hathaways are an old family in this city. We’re commonly referred to as the Kennedys of Chicago. My father, Henry Hathaway, served as mayor for several years, and my ancestry beyond him is riddled with state senators and representatives, even a few stints in Congress. We can trace our lineage all the way back to pilgrims on the Mayflower. The Hathaways were among the first settlers in Chicago, and they built their fortune on the railroads before turning their sights to politics. Nearly every man in my family, and several of the women, have served in government on the local, state, or federal level.

Except me.

I have no interest in politics. Never did. Not since that fateful day when I picked up my first copy of GQ. From that moment on, I wanted to work in men’s fashion. The day I found out that my great-uncle owned a haberdashery that was still in the family was the greatest day of my life.

Until I broke the news to my father that I wasn’t following in his footsteps.

Suffice to say he was less than thrilled. I was his extension, his ticket to immortality. The handsome son who would take the reins from his father, take the torch and lead the city into the new generation while maintaining a shadow of the policies he laid out.

And then when his term as mayor ended with record-low approval ratings, I, his only son, was his one shot at restoring his legacy. We never made peace after that. He died shortly thereafter. Heart attack, according to the coroners.

But I shake the thoughts out of my head.

“Hathaway is a pretty common name,” I say.

She furrows her eyebrows. “But Maddox isn’t. I could swear I’ve heard your name before.”

“The shop has been on the news every so often. It’s a historic building. Maybe you saw me featured there.”

She presses her lips together. “Maybe.”

I’d better change the subject before she figures it out. “Are you looking for a gift? Perhaps for a husband or boyfriend?”

She shakes her head, another small patch of blush creeping into her cheeks. “No. I’m single. Like I told you, I literally walked in on a whim.”

Single.

Awesome.

Not only is this beautiful woman available, but she walked into my shop almost randomly. I’ve never been one to believe in fate, or the will of the universe or anything, but it does seem like the gods rolled the dice in my favor this evening.

I’m in my thirties now, and the hookup life isn’t for me anymore. In a big city like Chicago, there are endless options for sex. I could find any number of attractive women to take to bed. I know what I look like, and I know the weight my name carries. It’s almost too easy.

But this woman… She’s a little closed off. A little demure. A little enigmatic.

A challenge.

And I could never resist a challenge.

“Well, Ms. Maravilla⁠—”

“Alissa, please.”

I smile. “Well, Alissa”—God, her name rolls off my tongue like a freaking prayer—“if you’re not shopping for a boyfriend or husband, do you have a father or brother who might be looking for something nice?”

“I’m an only child.” She swallows. “And…I don’t have much of a relationship with my father since my mother died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” she says a little quickly. “We weren’t exactly close. My mother and I… It’s a complicated history.” She closes her eyes, rubs at her forehead. “I’m sorry. This isn’t something I should be discussing with someone I hardly know. You’ve got a shop to run.” She turns toward the exit.

I hold out a hand. “Not at all. As you can see, I have no other customers. This is a slow time of the year.” I gesture toward a couple of leather armchairs on the opposite side of the shop with a small table in between them. “Would you like to talk a little more? I have some tea in the back. I can put a pot on. You must be chilled to the bone in this weather.”

She opens her mouth, looking me up and down. “Are you assuming from my accent alone that I enjoy tea?”

I chuckle. “I’m assuming nothing of the sort, Alissa. I was craving a cup myself and figured it would be rude not to offer some to my guest.”

She smirks. “I’m hardly a guest. I’m just a woman who took a different way home and walked into your shop.”

I grin. “And am I glad you did.”

She looks toward the door. “I really should be getting home. I have…a chicken breast thawing in the fridge.”

“Just a cup,” I say. “I’ve got an electric kettle. It only takes a minute to get going. I can bring it out, prepare everything in front of you. I’m not going to try to roofie you or anything.”

She laughs at that. “I didn’t think that was the case, Mr. Hathaway.”

“Maddox, please.”

“Maddox, yes.” The blush on her cheeks grows. “You know what? A spot of tea sounds lovely. Just one cup, and then I’d better head home.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from that chicken breast of yours.” I wink at her.

I go into the back and gather an electric kettle, a Polish teapot with intricate floral designs—another score from the antique shop—a couple of teabags, and two delicate cups. I fill the kettle with water from the tap and place everything on a silver tray, which I bring back out to Alissa. She’s taken off her jacket to reveal a pair of blue scrubs patterned with tiny flowers.

Damn. Never has such a practical outfit looked so sexy.

“Earl Grey all right?” I place the tray on the small table between the armchairs.

“All right?” She smiles. “It’s my favorite.”

“Really? Mine too.” I kneel and plug in the electric kettle.

“It’s the perfect evening tea. English Breakfast in the mornings, of course.” She eyes the teapot. “And what a gorgeous teapot. Where did you find it?”

“There’s an antique shop down the street,” I say. “Wanda’s Wonders. A lot of great treasures in there.” I point to the phonograph in the corner, still playing soft jazz music. “I got that beauty there as well.”

“Goodness, look at that.” She returns her gaze to me. “I must admit, Maddox, you have me leaning in.”

“Do I?” I grin at her, holding my gaze on her silently for just a few seconds too long before I turn my head to the sound of the kettle hissing. “Water is ready.”

She widens her eyes. “That was quick.”

“The kettle must have heard about your chicken breast.” I place three teabags in the pot and pour the water over it. “It’ll need just a minute to steep.” I look back into her gorgeous eyes. “In the meantime, Alissa, tell me where you grew up.”

“As you may have guessed from my accent, London.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows in mock shock. “I assumed Norway, or perhaps Bulgaria.”

She exhales sharply through her nose. “Very funny.”

“Maravilla, though… That’s a Spanish name.”

She nods. “My father was born in Spain. He moved to London for work, which is where he met my mother. They had me and raised me there. I came to the United States on a student visa and have been here since.”

“Student visa?” I ask. “Where did you go to school?”

“Northwestern,” she says. “I got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees there.”

“In what?”

She eyes the teapot. “The tea is probably ready by now.”

“Of course.” I pour two cups, handing one to her. “You were about to tell me what you went to school for.”

She looks down, straight into her teacup. “I went there for…flute performance.”

I drop my jaw. “You’re a musician?”

She takes a sip of tea. “I was. I tried to do the audition circuit, got to the final round with a couple of regional orchestras, but I never landed a seat. So I decided to try nursing instead. I went back to school and got my associate’s degree. Now I work at St. Charles General, near the Loop. Been there five years or so.”

I take a sip from my own cup of tea. The liquid is nearly scalding. But it keeps my dick at bay. I’m damned uncomfortable.

“Do you still play? The flute, I mean?”

She sighs. “Not as often as I’d like. I’ll occasionally get a gig playing a wedding or church service. Not much to show for six years of university.”

“It’s got to be a tough industry to break into. Especially in an artsy city like Chicago.”

She nods. “It is. I just… Sometimes I wonder if I should have tried to make it work just a bit longer. I gave it barely a year before giving it up.”

“Do you enjoy nursing?”

She blinks. “Yes. For the most part, I suppose. It’s a steady paycheck, and I’m making a difference in people’s lives.”

I’m not convinced. She sounds the way I would have sounded if I had followed in my family’s footsteps into politics. But I won’t press further. I just met the woman, after all.

“It’s a very noble calling, nursing,” I say. “I hear you guys do all the work while the doctors get all the credit.”

She smiles. “It’s not quite that cut and dried. The doctors do contribute.” She takes another sip of tea. “As much as a solid ten percent on a good day.”

I laugh at that. Alissa is funny, in the dry, British sort of way.

She finishes her cup of tea. “Thank you so much for the cup of tea, Maddox. I should really be getting home.” She looks out the window of the shop. “Goodness. It’s dark outside already.”

“You have to love winter in Chicago,” I say. “Cold, dark, and icy. Makes you wonder why any of us choose to brave it year after year.”

She places her teacup back on the tray and looks at me with warm eyes. “I suppose it’s the people, Maddox.”

And in that moment, it takes everything in my body not to grab her, strip her naked, and fuck her silly right on the floor of the shop. Customers be damned, passersby be damned, my family name—if it’s even worth anything now—certainly be damned…

But I don’t. I can tell that Alissa isn’t that type of girl. At least, not on the first meeting.

I can get her there.

“May I offer you a ride home?” I ask. “It’s past closing time anyway.”

She grabs her jacket from the back of the armchair she was sitting in and puts it on. “I couldn’t ask that of you, Maddox.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And it’s no problem. Do you live around here?”

“Off of Wilson and Clark, but I really⁠—”

I hold up my hand. “Please. I couldn’t in good conscience allow a young woman to walk home alone in the dark. Wilson and Clark is a five-minute drive from here tops.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “And you promise you won’t try to abduct me and keep me tied up to a bed in your basement?”

I flash her a smile. “I’ll try my best.”

3

ALISSA

Goodness, this man is charming. And so ruggedly handsome, ruggedly beautiful even. Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, a sculpted jawline…and the slightest air of danger, but not in a way that makes me feel unsafe.

And of course he’s impeccably dressed.

All I did was walk into his shop. I didn’t even buy anything, and he made me tea and is now offering me a ride home.

I look out the window. It is dark. “It’s very kind of you to offer. If you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble…”

He shakes his head. “No trouble at all, Alissa.” He grabs his fedora from under the cash register, puts on a Burberry scarf and an olive overcoat, walks to the front door, and opens it for me. “After you. My car is parked behind the building.”

I walk out, bracing my body as the chill hits me.

Maddox closes the door behind me and locks up. He turns to me. “I realize asking you to follow me down the alleyway to where my car is parked might seem a bit sketchy, so if you’re more comfortable waiting out front for me to pull out, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Nothing about this man makes me uncomfortable, but it is probably prudent not to follow him down an alley after dark. “Thank you. I’ll wait out front.” I shiver slightly. “Please be quick.”

He nods. “Of course, Alissa.” He disappears down the alleyway and a moment later pulls out in a car that I can only describe as something that would belong to a Rockefeller. It has a long, elegant body with a polished black exterior. At its front, a chrome-accented grille and a hood ornament resembling an angel catch the light from the nearby streetlamps. Narrow tailfins frame the rear of the vehicle.

He parks the car in front of the shop, gets out, and wordlessly opens the passenger-side door for me.

I stare up at him. “Where on earth did you get this car?”

He flashes me a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Family heirloom. I inherited it when my father passed away. It’s a Rolls-Royce Phantom V. Built in the sixties. It’s been passed down since then. I have a guy who works magic on vintage cars like this. He’s kept it in great shape.”

I narrow my eyes. He owns a haberdashery filled to the brim with fine antiques, never goes outside without wearing a hat, and now he pulls up in a vintage Rolls-Royce. I’ve never been so intrigued by a man before.

Part of me—the straight-line part of me—wants to turn and run in the other direction. This is the kind of man who could throw a wrench into my five- and ten-year plans.

But the part of me that took a different route home today wants to get in. See where this man takes me.

So I get inside the car. He smiles at me, closes the door, and gets in the driver side. He places the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life almost majestically.

The drive to my flat is far too short for this vehicle. Within four minutes, he’s pulled up in front of my building.

“This it?” he asks.

“It is.” I turn to him. “Thank you so much. You’ve truly been a perfect gentleman, giving me a ride home like this.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it wouldn’t be right for me to let you walk home after dark when I can easily give you a ride.”

I chuckle. “Did you just want to show off your fancy car?”

“Hardly.” He smirks. “Maybe.”

He puts the car into park and then walks over to my side, opening the door for me again. I look up at him, marveling at his chivalry.

He reaches a hand out. “Careful, Alissa. It’s slippery.”

My God, I love hearing him speak my name. There’s something almost musical to it, like the warm whisper of a cello’s lower register.

I get out, thankful for his steady hand as I try to establish some traction on the icy sidewalk.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he says.

I feel a rush of warmth to my cheeks. “You really don’t have to.”

He offers his arm. “I insist.”

I take his arm, and he escorts me to the front door of my building. I reach into my pocket and grab my keys, but they slip through the thick mittens I’m wearing.

He reaches down, grabs my keys, and hands them back to me. “Here you go.”

I can’t help it, I beam up at him. “Did you pop right out of a fairy tale? You’re like my knight in shining armor tonight.” I run my hand up the arm of his overcoat. “Or rather, my knight in woolen armor.”

“It’s a wool-cashmere blend, actually.” He grins.

I giggle. “Silly me.” I turn toward my door and place the key in the lock. “Well, good night. Thank you so much for an unexpectedly lovely evening.”

He looks at me, his beautiful eyes smoldering, and for a moment, I think—I hope—he’s going to kiss me.

Instead, he places a hand over mine. “Alissa, I want to see you again.”

I blink. “What did you have in mind?”

He smiles. “I belong to an exclusive club downtown. An underground speakeasy. I’d love to take you there for a drink, maybe a dance or two.”

“Drinks and dancing?” I ask. “I haven’t been to a club like that since I was in college.”

He holds up a hand. “This place isn’t like that. It’s not the type of place where people bump and grind to EDM while druggies shoot up in the corner. It’s very classy. The kind of place where people get dressed up. Live music, crafted cocktails. I think you’d like it.”

I’m not really one for dancing. And I don’t drink terribly often.

But this man—this generous, mysterious, and completely gorgeous man—has me leaning in. There’s something so utterly fascinating about him, and I want to know more.

“Uh…sure. I’d be delighted to join you for drinks, Maddox.”

He nods, his eyes bright. “Then it’s a date. Are you free tomorrow evening?”

I close my eyes, thinking over my work schedule. “I work until five tomorrow. But I could join you for the evening. It’ll be Friday, after all. I’m sure I’ll be ready for a drink.”

“Perfect. Meet me downtown around six. Randolph and State. Shouldn’t be too far from your hospital.”

“All right.”

“In the meantime”—he grabs my mittened hand and kisses it chastely—“have a wonderful evening, Alissa.”

Even through my mitten, I feel the warmth of his lips. It takes everything in me to not invite him up to my flat right now.

But Maddox seems to be the type who enjoys courting a woman, getting to know her before bedding her.

I look into his eyes. Such a magnificent shade of hazel, and even in the darkness of the Chicago winter’s night, they almost glow.

“You too, Maddox.”

I turn and open the door, giving him one final wave before closing it behind me.

I immediately look through the peephole. He turns around and walks back to his car, starts it, and drives away.

I turn back around, walk up the stairs to my apartment, and enter. The second I close the door, I place my back against it and slide to the ground.

Who is this man? And what has he awoken inside me?

I haven’t felt a flutter in my stomach like this since… Since…

I felt something similar right before my final recital at Northwestern. My last real performance, where I felt like an artist. Not just a girl who plays the flute for a couple of bucks here and there.

I’ve never felt this way because of a man.

He’s so well-dressed. Well-groomed. Most of the men I’ve dated would live in athletic shorts and hoodies if given the chance.

Tonight, he was wearing a magnificent cream cable-knit sweater over tailored navy slacks. When he completed the look with the scarf, olive overcoat, and that dark-gray fedora, it was all I could do to not lick my lips.

I noticed a pile of GQ magazines strewn across a coffee table near the chairs where we had tea. He probably keeps up with all the latest fashions. Makes sure that he presents the best possible version of himself to the world.

Then a brick hits my gut.

What if he’s too preoccupied with his appearance? With appearances in general?

What if that’s all he cares about?

My mother… She was like that.

And she was awful.

* * *

I love being outside. The backyard of our family’s townhome in Brixton is small, but I love to spend the spring afternoons out here, soaking up the sun as I read a book.

It rained this morning. I love the smell it leaves behind. It’s the smell of earth, the smell of life.

Mummy is inside cleaning. She cleans every day. Daddy says that cleaning makes her happy. That dirt makes her sad.

I just want her to be happy.

I’ve been outside playing for a little while now. The sun is getting warm, almost too warm. I need a drink of water.

I walk inside. Our back door leads straight into our kitchen. I grab a step stool and get a cup, take it to the freezer for some ice, and then fill it from the sink.

I take my cup of water, careful not to spill any, and take it back outside, where I sit on the concrete stoop and sip it slowly, letting the cool water wash away the heat of the sun from my skin.

A few minutes later, I hear my mother shouting. “Alissa!”

I rush back into the kitchen and place my glass of water on the table. “What is it, Mummy?”

Her face is dark pink, and her eyes so wide it’s scary. She points to the floor, where muddy footprints lead from the back door to the kitchen. “Alissa, did you do this?”

My lips tremble. “I’m sorry, Mummy. I didn’t think⁠—”

“It rained last night, Alissa.” She takes a step toward me, eyeing my shoes. “You should have wiped your feet before coming back in the house. Better yet, you should have taken your shoes off completely.”

I start crying. “I’m sorry, Mummy. It was an accident.”

Her eyes begin to twitch. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, Alissa. You know how much Mummy hates a dirty house.”

“I was so thirsty. I wasn’t thinking.”

Mummy stares at me. “Did you at least place your drink on a coaster?”

I take a step back, widening my eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Mummy rushes past me to the kitchen table, where my half-empty glass of water is still sitting. She picks it up, staring at the circle of water that has formed at its bottom. “A ring, Alissa! Are you trying to ruin Mummy’s nice kitchen table?”

“You can just wipe it off with a towel, Mummy.”

“That isn’t the point, Alissa.” She grabs my arm, holding so tight it hurts. “You need to learn to be clean. Mummy hates a dirty house, and she can’t keep it clean if you don’t start thinking about things like muddy footprints.” She leads me to the back door. “Dirty girls belong outside.”

“But Mummy, it’s hot out there. The sun is too bright. That’s why I came inside, to get a drink of water.”

She opens the back door, flinging me outside. “You should have thought about that before bringing in mud, Alissa.”

“Can I at least bring my water outside?”

“And have you dirty up a perfectly good glass? I think not.”

She leads me to the lemon tree in our backyard and grabs a long piece of rope that Daddy left out when he was restringing our clothesline.

“Stand against the tree, Alissa,” she says calmly.

“Why, Mummy?”

“Because Mummy can’t trust you not to track mud inside while she’s cleaning. So from now on, when she’s cleaning, Mummy is going to tie you to the tree for your own security.”

I start crying again. “Mummy, please don’t tie me up. I promise I’ll take my shoes off next time.”

“Promises mean nothing unless they’re backed up with actions.” Mummy wraps the rope around my waist. “This is for your own good, Alissa. Cleanliness is next to godliness. You won’t get into heaven if you’re not a clean girl.”

I continue sobbing, but I nod. “Okay, Mummy, if you say so.”

She smiles. “There’s a good girl.” She ties the rest of the rope around the trunk of the lemon tree, knotting it tightly. The rope squeezes against my belly, making it a little hard to breathe.

“Once Mummy is done cleaning, she’ll come get you. We’ll scrub your shoes clean and then you’ll be allowed back inside. Okay, darling?”

Tears are falling down my cheeks, but I can’t wipe them away because my hands are tied down, too. “Yes, Mummy.”

And she leaves me in the hot sun.

4

MADDOX

The sun streams in through the window in the one-bedroom apartment I keep above the haberdashery. I fell asleep on the couch last night—there’s a fifty-fifty chance of that happening any time I watch TV in the living room after ten. I yawn, stretch my arms over my head, and meander to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on.

Funny that Alissa is British. I’ve always felt like I should have been born British. I love a cup of tea in the afternoon.

God, Alissa…

She crossed my dreams several times, and I woke up with a hell of a boner.

I grab my phone and check the time. Seven thirty. I have an hour and a half before opening time. Good.

Coffee’s done. I grab a mug from my cupboard—my favorite, the one that looks like an upside-down top hat; a gift from my mom for my eighteenth birthday—and pour myself a cup. I flip the TV from the streaming channels to a news network just to have a little white noise in the background. I couldn’t possibly pay attention to the news right now, just like I couldn’t pay attention to the TV show I was binging last night.

For the last fourteen hours or so, my mind has only been able to wrap itself around one thing.

Alissa Maravilla. The girl who entered my shop on a whim last evening.

The girl who I’m taking to the club tonight.

There’s something about her that intrigues me. She has an air of innocence, but I also sensed a curiosity, a hunger almost, for something a little dark. She’s grown tired of routine and is looking for something a little spontaneous, a little dangerous, even.

I think she’ll like my club.

I’ve never taken a woman there.

I usually go there to meet women. Occasionally I’ll bring my best friend, Harrison, as my wingman. He’s an attending physician at a hospital downtown.

Wait a minute. He might work at the same hospital as Alissa, come to think of it. I don’t know the name of his hospital, but I know it’s downtown, near the Loop. Alissa said she works at St. Charles.

But before she got into nursing, she got two degrees in flute performance from Northwestern.

Not a bad school at all.

I go up there every few months or so. Sometimes I’ll go to the university library to find a book not available at Harold Washington downtown. The music school is built right on Lake Michigan, and it looks like a giant glass cruise ship pulled up to the shore. I’ve never been inside, but it’s hard not to notice it when walking through the university’s campus.

Every so often when I’ve been up there, I’ve managed to attract a co-ed. The Rolls-Royce is good for that. I’ll invite her to my place, fuck her brains out, and then call her an Uber back up to Evanston.

But not once have I taken any of them to the club.

I’m always allowed to bring a single guest. All members are. But Harrison is the only person I’ve ever brought, and that’s always to serve as my wingman.

I pay for his drinks, so I think it’s a fair trade-off. And Harrison occasionally will take a woman home himself. He’s a good-looking dude. People often ask if we’re brothers.

Maybe if this thing with Alissa pans out, she can come up with me to visit her alma mater. We can walk along the lake, take in the sights. She can tell me stories about her six years there. Maybe we could catch a performance of the music school’s symphony orchestra.

Classical music has always interested me, but I know next to nothing about it. My understanding of it begins and ends with old Bugs Bunny cartoons.

And yet she abandoned her chosen field, switched to nursing. Turned right back around and got a third degree in a completely unrelated profession.

What is her story?

One thing is for sure. There is more to Alissa Maravilla than meets the eye. I can’t wait to get to know her better.

I can’t wait to get inside her tight little body, either.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We have our first real date tonight. Last night was a chance meeting. Doesn’t count.

She perked her ears up at my name. But she wasn’t quite able to figure out where she had heard it before.

She’s either a fantastic actress or she actually has no idea who I am. Who my family is.

A lot of the women I’ve dated over the years have come to me solely because of my last name. They know that the Hathaways are a local political dynasty, and one of the first things they ask me is if my father was Henry Hathaway, the former mayor.

I usually sigh and say yes.

It’s the truth. The truth I can’t escape.

Once they learn, however, that I have no political ambition, they usually run for the hills. If that doesn’t get them, once they find out that I’ve been cut off from my family’s riches, they’re history.

But Alissa seems to be interested in me despite not having any of that information. She’s from England, after all—God, that accent of hers makes me insane—and would have no reason to know much about my family’s political connections. Only people who grew up in and around Chicago would know anything about us.

Those who do know are aware that my father’s final term ended fifteen years ago, right before I turned twenty. He was dead within a year.

Some say the stress killed him. While his twelve years in office were mostly successful, his approval ratings plummeted in his final year, and he left the mayorship in disgrace.

I was his one shot at continuing his legacy, and later, redeeming it.

And I refused.

* * *

Dad has really pulled out all the stops for my eighteenth birthday. We’re in the Wrigley Mansion ballroom downtown, and he hired a decorator to outfit the entire place in my favorite colors, cobalt blue and mint green. A giant birthday cake stands on a small table at the room’s center directly under the grand chandelier, and everybody who’s anybody in the Chicago political scene is here. City councilmembers, party donors, and even several Illinois state senators are present.

We are the Hathaways, after all.

Dad is celebrating ten years of being mayor, and he’s been very popular. He’ll run for a fourth term in two years, and he’s a shoo-in to win.

I’m slated to go to Yale in the fall to study political science. I doubt they even looked at my application. They probably saw the name “Maddox Hathaway” on the top and admitted me right then and there. I spent a lot of time studying for the SAT and ACT, painstakingly wrote the perfect admissions essay, and did years of community service and extracurricular activities to pad my résumé, but my name alone is all I needed.

I didn’t earn my place there.

So I’m not going.

I’m going to tell them all tonight.

And it’s not going to be pretty.

I spend the cocktail hour shaking hands and receiving checks from family friends. I haven’t looked at any of them yet, but I know each one is good for at least a grand, if not more.

After I make my announcement, I’ll offer to give the money back.

Dinner is served—first a wedge salad, and then New York strip with garlic mashed potatoes as the main course, all my favorites—and then I’m expected to make a speech before they cut the birthday cake.

I slowly walk to the podium in front of my cake, which has been placed at a perfect height to frame my head and shoulders as I speak. Everything in this room has been intricately tailored to be a damned photo op. The photographer diligently takes his place in front of me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my father and the Hathaway family at large, I want to thank you all for attending my birthday party.”

My speech has been written for me, and a teleprompter is there to make sure I get it all right, of freaking course.

But fuck it. I’m going off script.

“Eighteen is a weird age. You’re legally an adult, but there are days when I still feel like a scared little kid. My brain isn’t even fully developed, but I’m supposed to decide right now how I’m going to spend the rest of my life.”

A few nervous chuckles resonate through the audience. My father narrows his eyes. He wrote my speech himself, and he knows I’m already straying.

“As you all know, I’ve been accepted to Yale, my own father’s alma mater, this fall, to study political science, continue the family’s legacy in the city of Chicago and the state of Illinois.”

Several people nod as murmurs fill the room.

“But…after weeks of thought, I’ve realized that I have no desire to go into politics.”

Gasps. Various women clutch at their necklaces.

Dad gets to his feet. “Friends, you all know my son is a bit of a joker sometimes…”

“No, Dad,” I interrupt, speaking clearly over his voice. “This isn’t a joke. I appreciate the work you’ve put in to lay a straight path in front of me, but it’s not a path I want to follow.”

Dad walks up behind the podium, pushing me out of the way. He nervously chuckles into the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, clearly I need to have a word in private with my son. In the meantime, we’ll cut the birthday cake. Please enjoy it, and we’ll be back shortly.”

Dad grabs my arm and yanks me out of the ballroom into the mansion’s foyer.

He glares daggers into me. “You want to tell me what the hell that was about, Maddox?”

I whip my arm out of his grasp. “Dad, you never once asked me what I want to do with my life. You just assumed I was going to follow in your footsteps because I’m a Hathaway. Because that’s what we do.”

“Yes, Maddox. It is.” He gestures around the lavish decorations. “Do you like all the bells and whistles? The pomp and circumstance? That doesn’t come for free, son. Our name commands respect, power even. It’s our duty to use that for the common good.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dad. You don’t care about the common good. You care about collecting checks and paying for your luxurious lifestyle.”

“A luxurious lifestyle that has kept you in the best clothes, the best schools, the best upbringing that money can buy, Maddox,” Dad says. “I’m afraid this choice is out of your hands.” He grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “Now you are going to march right back in there and tell the invited guests that you were making a joke, one that fell flat on its ass.”

I turn back around, glaring at him. “No, Dad. I don’t want this life.”

Dad scoffs. “Then what the hell are you planning on making of yourself?”

“I’ve thought it over, Dad. And I want to take over Uncle Stephen’s old shop. The haberdashery in Uptown.”

Dad drops his jaw. “You want to spurn politics…for men’s fashion?”

“The shop has been abandoned for nearly a decade. It’s just sitting there, gathering dust. The family already owns the property. I want to bring it back to life.”

Dad runs his hands through his hair. “You realize your Uncle Stephen was a bitter old queen, right? The black sheep of the family?”

“I don’t care about that. I share his love for menswear, for looking good. Is that so awful?”

Dad takes a deep breath in. “Maddox, are you…like him?”

I scoff. “No, Dad. Not that it should matter either way. But you don’t have to be gay to care about how you present yourself to the world.” I eye the Armani suit he’s wearing. “You certainly dress nicely.”

“I dress this way because that’s how I’m expected to dress, Maddox.” He runs his hands up and down the label of his jacket, scowling. “Believe me, I’d spend every day in a T-shirt and sweatpants if I weren’t the goddamned mayor.”

“Regardless, Dad, this is what I want.” I grab the lapels of my own jacket. “This is my passion. Not politics. I’m sorry.” I turn back toward the ballroom. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a slice of birthday cake with my name on it.”

And a gin and tonic, even though I’m underage. I’ve been drinking all night. It’s my party, after all.

Dad grabs my shoulder. “Maddox. You’re eighteen now. I’m no longer legally obligated to provide you food and shelter.”

“I never asked you for a damned thing.”

“Good. I’ll happily sign over the deed to that old haberdashery to you in exchange for half of your profits, if you make any. But that will be it. If you want to throw away your future, I certainly won’t be financing it.”

I jerk, nearly stumbling, but I catch myself. I won’t let the old bastard see that he got to me. “So you’re cutting me off?”

He sears his gaze into mine. “Yes, Maddox. I’ll cut you off. If you need seed money for the new business, you’ll have to take a small-business loan, which you’ll be responsible for. You’ll be responsible for all your own expenses, and I wouldn’t expect any inheritance to come your way when your mother and I die.”

“Dad…”

“Or…you can go back in there, tell the guests it was all a joke. You’ll go to Yale. Tuition is already covered because of your legacy status, but I’ll cover your room and board for four years. And then three years of law school. You’ll leave school debt-free and ready to pursue your own political career. Carve your niche in the Hathaway family legacy.” He narrows his eyes sternly. “It’s not too late to fix this, son.”

Defiance flares through me. “You’re right, Dad. It’s not too late.”

* * *

And I did it. I fucking did it.

My old man stayed true to his word. He signed the building over to me in exchange for half of my profits. He gave me a one-week grace period to get the hell out of his house. Luckily, there was a small loft over the shop itself that I could use as an apartment. Most of the family friends who gave me money canceled my birthday checks before I could cash them, but I was able to hold onto a few of them, just enough to furnish the small apartment. I went to several banks and finally secured a loan of a hundred grand to fix up the shop and buy my first round of inventory. Within a few months, I was open for business.

And I couldn’t be fucking prouder of myself.

It was pretty scant there for a while, especially since my father was eating up fifty percent of my profits. I lived mostly off ramen noodles those first few years—so I guess I got a little bit of the college experience after all—but I slowly but surely eked out a living.

Meanwhile, my dad’s political career went south. A few sexual scandals came to light after he passed some highly unpopular legislation, and he lost his reelection bid in a landslide. He divorced my mother shortly after, leaving her with next to nothing. They, of course, had a prenup—no one in my family gets married without one. And then he dropped dead of a sudden heart attack within twelve months of his loss. I didn’t see a penny of the fortune he had amassed. Nearly all of his assets went to the various charities he supported, but he did leave me two things.

His car. The Rolls-Royce that I drove Alissa home in just last night.

And the membership to his club.

Why he did that is anybody’s guess. I sure wasn’t going to question it. Aces Underground is the most exclusive club in the city, and my father’s estate is paying my membership fees in perpetuity.

Maybe he wanted to give me one last taste of the high life, convince me to turn back to the dark side, follow his footsteps, restore the Hathaway legacy.

It’s tempting. Not because I want to undo what my father did—it’s his own damned fault that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or his brain in his skull—but because he left a small fortune in a trust, available to me on the sole condition that I go back to Yale, pursue the political career he always wanted for me.

But I won’t do it.

I won’t fucking do it.

The seedy underbelly that is the Chicago political sphere is not one where I imagine myself.

But I enjoy Aces. It’s a great club.

And I can’t wait for my first date with Alissa.

5

ALISSA

Another boring day at the hospital. Big shocker there.

Of course, boring is a good thing for the patients in my ward. None of them are dying, none of them are in intensive care.

The clock is ticking slowly. I know it’s awful, but I wish something would happen. Something dramatic to distract me from this boring day. I don’t want anyone to die, but maybe someone could flatline for just a second, make me rush into their room to help revive them.

Medical shows should have better prepared me for the agonizing tedium that entails ninety percent of this job.

The day is going slower than usual for another reason. I have something to look forward to.

My heart races when I think about my date with Maddox tonight.

I brought a change of clothes with me to the hospital. They’re in a garment bag hanging in my locker in the nurse’s break room. I wasn’t exactly sure what I should wear to a speakeasy. When Maddox first described the place we’re going tonight, my first thought was a 1920’s jazz club, complete with feather-covered flappers. I don’t have any dresses that match that vibe, but I finally decided on a light-blue dress that I typically reserve for all my first dates. It brings out the color of my eyes, accentuates my blond hair, and shows just enough skin to keep a man’s attention.

Finally, my shift ends. I walk over to where Dinah is sitting, give her a squeeze on the shoulder. “Bye, Di. I’ll see you later.”

She grins at me. “Have fun on your date, babe.”

I bite my lip. “I will. He seems like an interesting guy.”

I told Dinah all about my little encounter with Maddox last night. She was shocked that I took a different route home—I’m wed to routine—but thought the story of how we met was cute. A story we could tell our grandkids one day, she said.

I’m not counting on grandkids quite yet. Maddox could end up like every other man I’ve dated since moving to Chicago. Creepy, sex-starved, or—perhaps the gravest offense of all—just plain boring.

Maddox doesn’t seem to be creepy. Certainly not boring. As for sex-starved? Hell, I was disappointed I didn’t get a kiss last night.

But I barely know the man. He could show his true colors tonight.

I’m just glad we’re meeting in a public place. I’ll be able to discreetly excuse myself if things go south.

I go into the break room and grab the dress out of my locker. I head into the women’s restroom and put it on.

I look good. Light blue has always been my color. It pops perfectly over my ivory skin and light hair. Truth be told, I really love what it does for my boobs. I’m a B-cup, but this dress pushes them up to a C-level appearance. Two slim straps hold the dress over my shoulders, showing off my arms, which I’m pretty proud of. I try to hit the gym twice a week to keep them toned. I usually only make it once a week during the winter, but so far my arms still look good.

I put on some stockings—it is winter, after all—and a pair of glossy black pumps to bring the look together. Sexy, but not slutty. The perfect balance for my first outing with the mysterious Maddox.

My hair was in a ponytail during my shift. I take my scrunchie out and let my hair flow down my bare shoulders. I grab a brush out of my locker and spend a few minutes working at it until it’s soft, silky, and shiny.

I can’t lie. I look pretty damned good.

I check my phone. It’s almost six. Maddox told me to meet him at the corner of Randolph and State. That’s maybe a ten-minute walk from where I am.

I grab my coat and scarf and head outside. The Chicago wind sneaks up my coat and hits every exposed piece of flesh that the dress fails to cover, but I grit my teeth against it. We’ll be someplace warm soon.

Actually, I don’t need any heat. Seeing Maddox sends a rush of blood through my entire body, warming me from head to toe.

He looks amazing. He’s in a dark-blue suit, a crisp white button-down with sapphire cufflinks peeking out from his sleeves, and a matching bowtie and dark bowler hat pulling the whole ensemble together.

Funny. Normally I don’t go for the bowtie look on a guy. It makes me think of Bill Nye the Science Guy. But on Maddox, it just works.

He’s not wearing an overcoat, so he must be freezing.

If that’s the case, I have no time to swoon over how delicious he looks. I walk up to him, smiling.

“Hey, Maddox.”

He grins at me. “Hey there, Alissa. How was work?”

I shrug. “Pretty boring. How about your day at the shop?”

“About the same. Not many customers this time of year.” He rakes his gaze over me. “You look beautiful.”

Another rush of warmth floods my body. “Thank you. So do you…” I frown. “I mean… You look very handsome. That’s a gorgeous suit.”

“Thanks. One of my favorites.” He offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

I place my hand on his bicep—God, even through his suit jacket I can tell it’s huge—and smile again at him. “We shall.”

He escorts me into a snow-covered alleyway to an unassuming black door. On it are carved four symbols. A spade, a diamond, a club, and a heart—the four playing card suits. Interesting.

My pulse pounds. I’m kind of freaked out. Maddox just led me down an abandoned alley and is about to take me through this strangely marked door. Is he going to abduct me, sell me into a human trafficking ring?

No. Maddox is a genuine guy. I have a pretty good radar about these things, and as sketchy as this door is, I don’t think Maddox would do anything to hurt me.

I hope I’m right.

Worst case, I have a small can of pepper spray in my bag.

Maddox knocks three times on the door, and it opens automatically. He steps back to let me enter ahead of him, but I don’t move.

“You coming?” he asks.

I’m still standing in the alleyway. I want to go in, but this isn’t me. I don’t go into strange places with men I’ve just met. The place doesn’t seem dangerous, but I can’t shake the feeling that something lifechanging lies within its walls. I’ve never been to an exclusive club before, and I have no idea what to expect.

And that feeling of uncertainty, of chance, even a slight hint of menace, is something I would normally turn away from.

But tonight, I’m enticed by it. Drawn to it.

I walk inside.

We enter a small room with a green shag carpet and several couches upholstered in what looks like white fur. A single black door, matching the one from the alleyway, is on the opposite wall.

At the rear of the room is a man sitting behind a pink desk. He’s bald, with a dark handlebar mustache. He’s wearing a purple pinstripe suit with no shirt on underneath, and I can’t tell how old he is. He could be twenty or he could be sixty—he has one of those preserved-looking, almost artificial faces.

The man looks up at us and grins. It’s the kind of grin that pierces your soul, a knowing, toothy smile that makes you feel like he can read your mind.

The door already weirded me out, and now I’m starting to get a little more freaked.

Part of me is screaming to grab my pepper spray, discharge it directly into the eyes of both Maddox and this odd man, and turn tail and run.

But another part of me wants to see how far this rabbit hole goes.

And that part is in control tonight.

6

MADDOX

Alissa’s eyes are wide.

She looks nervous, but at the same time unyielding.

I realize how this place must look to a newcomer.

Chet, the club bouncer, is a weird-looking guy. A weird guy in general, if I’m being honest. But he’s harmless.

The sofas and chairs lined in rabbit fur are also an odd choice. The whole place gives off casting-couch vibes, for sure.

I squeeze her shoulder gently, look into her eyes. “It’s okay, Alissa. You’re safe here with me.”

She seems to relax.

I gesture to Chet. “This is Chet. He’ll be checking us in.”

Chet leers at Alissa. “Is this your first time, young lady?” His voice is smooth, almost playful, with a slight rasp.

She swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Chet’s eyes widen. “No need to call me sir. I’m Chester Tabbit, the club bouncer. You can call me Chet. I’m responsible for checking members in.”

He reaches out with a bony hand, which Alissa tentatively shakes.

Chet turns to me. “ID?”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, Chet. You know who I am. I’ve been coming here for years now.”

Chet’s perpetual grin doesn’t falter. “And as I have told you before, Mr. Hathaway, the only person who gets in without ID is Rouge. Club policy. Everyone else, no matter who they are—politicians, businessmen, even the President of the United States himself—has to show ID at the front door and be checked against the list.”

I nod and grab my wallet out of the inner pocket of my suit jacket. I pull out my driver’s license and hand it to Chet.

“You too, miss.” Chet nods toward Alissa.

She uneasily reaches into her bag, pulls out her wallet, and hands her license to Chet.

He looks at both of the ID’s, pausing on Alissa’s.

“Maravilla. A beautiful name. Spanish, I assume?”

She nods. “Yes. My father was born in Spain.”

“It means wonder, doesn’t it?”

Her lip twitches. “Yes. I don’t speak much Spanish myself. I was raised in London, moved to Chicago to go to school at Northwestern.”

“An excellent school, Ms. Wonder,” Chet says. “And I could tell from your accent that you were from overseas. Are you here as a guest of Mr. Hathaway?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Excellent.” Chet grabs a large dusty book from behind him and slams it on top of his pink desk. He opens it, looking back at my ID.

He traces a yellow fingernail up and down the page. “Hathaway… Hathaway… Hathaway. Here you are, Mr. Hathaway.”

Alissa looks up at me. “Does he check this list manually every time?”

I nod. “It’s the rules.”

Chet looks back up at me, his eyes shiny. “Mr. Hathaway, you are allowed one guest for the evening. If she leaves, you will not be permitted to bring another person into the club for the rest of the night. Is Ms. Maravilla here your chosen guest?”

“Yep. Just as she said.”

Chet closes the book. “It’s important that both parties confirm.”

Chet stands, reaches into his suit jacket, and produces a brass skeleton key. He walks over to the black door at the rear of the room and places the key in the lock, turning it.

Chet opens the door slowly, staring at us both with the same grin he’s kept on his face since we walked into the room.

“Welcome, my friends, to Aces Underground.”

7

ALISSA

Oh, my God.

Fuck this.

The door Chet opened leads to a dark staircase that looks like it’s descending into the bowels of the Earth itself.

I’m definitely being sold off into human slavery. Aces Underground is some kind of sex dungeon, and I’m about to be put on the market like a piece of meat.

I look up at Maddox, my eyes wide as my heart thrums.

He smirks. “I realize this looks weird.” He turns to Chet. “Can you switch on the lights? It’s her first time.”

Chet nods slowly, reaching under his desk.

A few sconces along the sides of the staircase flicker on. I look down again. The walls of the staircase are lined with mirrors, allowing the limited light from the sconces to bounce all the way down the stairs.

I look down, swallowing. “How long is it?”

Maddox raises an eyebrow. “The staircase?”

I nod.

“It’s two or three stories total.” He shrugs. “Aces was built during the Prohibition era. The Montrose family—the people who own it—made a deal with the city to purchase this underground space that was originally dug up for an additional subway system. The city never used it, and the Montroses got a great deal on it. They turned it into a speakeasy—a secret bar where people could drink and gamble without fear that the cops would show up.”

I bite my lip. This is feeling a little bit sketchy, I can’t lie.

But something about this staircase is beckoning me in.

This is a place designed to not be found.

And maybe…I don’t want to be found either.

I want to know what’s beyond these mirrored stairs.

Maddox takes a few steps down and then looks up at me, offering his hand. “Shall we?”

I look around the foyer, at the fur-lined couches, the wall lined in muted green wallpaper, and the ever-grinning Chet sitting behind his pink desk.

I could still make a run for it.

I could go home, heat myself up a frozen dinner, and go back to my life of straight lines and right angles. It’s boring, but at least I know what I’m getting.

It’s safe, secure. Comfortable.

But that’s the life I’ve grown to hate. Maddox is offering me something new, something fresh, something even terrifying perhaps, yet exhilarating at the same time.

I place my hand in his. “You lead the way, Maddox.”

We slowly descend the long staircase. We’re about halfway down when Chet closes the door above us, and I hear the lock reengage.

I squeeze Maddox’s hand. “Are we trapped in here?”

He chuckles. “Of course not. You can leave the same way you came. You just have to knock three times on the door and Chet will let you out.”

“What if Chet is away from the door? What if he needs to use the bathroom or something?”

Maddox scratches his chin with his free hand. “I don’t think Chet uses the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I mean, clearly he does. He’s a guy. But he must hold it when he’s on duty. He’s not allowed to leave his post except in the event of an emergency.”

“And what if there’s an emergency?”

Maddox looks into my eyes. “Then I’ll take care of you, Alissa. You’re safe with me, I promise you.”

And I do feel safe with him.

Which makes absolutely no sense at all.

We reach the bottom of the staircase, and another door, this one emerald green, marked with the same playing-card symbols that were on the door in the back alley that led us into the foyer.

Maddox grins as he grabs the doorknob. “You ready?”

I gulp. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Maddox opens the door, gestures to me.

I take a step inside.

And I drop my jaw.

Aces Underground is an expansive wonderland the likes of which I’ve never seen. It’s a huge square-shaped room with a black-and-white tiled floor, like a checkerboard. I’m surrounded by patrons dressed in elegant gowns and tuxedos, drinking flutes of champagne and socializing. Around them, waitstaff walk about, holding trays of drinks. They’re mostly women, but I spy a few men among their numbers as well. They’re scantily clad, the women in lacy black bikinis and the men in tight-fitting dark shorts with no shirt. They’re all in excellent shape. The men all have six packs, and the women are toned with curves in all the right places. The uniforms—if you can call them that—are flecked with white symbols. Each of the waitstaff has something tattooed on either shoulder, though I can’t quite tell what it is from a distance. I’ll have to get a closer look.

The club is divided into four quadrants, each one matching a card suit. Directly across from us is the Spades section, lined with light-blue wallpaper. At its center is a bar manned by two heavy-set people in striped sweaters, surrounded by sleek unlabeled bottles of spirits that catch the cerulean lights bouncing off them. Several small metal tables speckle the section, populated by patrons enjoying their drinks.

Adjacent to the bar is the golden and glamorous Diamonds section, which appears to be reserved for gambling. Several tables lined with yellow felt provide the surfaces for poker, blackjack, and roulette. The clinking sound of chips being stacked and moved about dominates the space, punctuated only by the occasional cheer or groan by a gambler.

Across from Diamonds is the Clubs section, shrouded in murky greens. The section is full of plush emerald armchairs forming intimate clusters, where patrons are smoking and mingling. A table to the side is lined with stylish glass hookahs, matching the section’s colors, along with vases of exquisite tropical flowers. The stale and musty fog of cigarette and marijuana smoke condenses into a cloud hovering over the section, which thankfully doesn’t bleed into where we’re standing. They must have some kind of special filtration system to keep it contained.

Finally, across from Spades is the Hearts section, awash in soft pink lighting. A small stage framed by rosy velvet curtains dominates the space and is populated by a live band and a beautiful female singer—platinum blond hair and light-pink lips—dressed in a gorgeous white gown trimmed with pearls. She’s singing jazz standards into a vintage 1920s microphone and is accompanied by a group of instrumentalists, including a pianist—playing a pink baby grand, of course—a saxophonist, an upright bassist, and a drummer. Right now she’s singing a soulful rendition of “Stormy Weather.” Couples sway in each other’s arms on the dance floor to the singer’s tunes, illumined only by suave floor-length candelabras sporting blush-colored candles.

The four sections of the club are surrounded by red velvet curtains cordoning off what I assume are privately reserved areas. Between the Hearts and Diamonds sections is a red door emblazoned with the word “Rouge,” and next to the stage where the singer is performing is a white door marked “Bianca.”

This place is enchanting, intriguing, and, if I’m being honest, stupefying.

I turn to Maddox, my eyes wide.

He smiles at me. “What do you think?”

For the first time this evening, I throw caution to the wind and allow myself to smile.

“Maddox, it’s wonderful.”

8

MADDOX

Alissa’s eyes have been wide as saucers ever since I took her through the Green Door. She has what we at Aces call “newbie eyes.” Most people have the same reaction the first time they see the club. I certainly did when I first came here. When Rouge Montrose, the current owner, took over fifteen years ago, she really leaned into the theming and made this club the most unique gathering space in Chicago, if not the country.

I try not to think about Rouge too much, but I can call a spade a spade. She does a great job running this place.

Alissa is the first woman I’ve brought as my guest, and I’m so glad that I get to introduce this place to her. The entryway is a little bizarre—Chet does us no favors on that front—but it’s worth it to descend the mirrored staircase to see this place.

“My I take your coat?”

She blinks. “My coat?”

I nod. “I’ll take it over to the coat check.”

“Oh, of course.” She slips off her jacket and hands it to me. Underneath, she’s wearing a gorgeous light-blue number that matches her eyes. Her tits are spilling out of it, and I discreetly place the coat over my crotch to cover my reaction.

I quickly check Alissa’s coat and then cross back to her. “Would you like to dance?” I ask “Smoke? Maybe a game in the Diamonds section? Or just a drink?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not much of a smoker or a gambler.” She looks over at the Hearts section. “I wouldn’t mind a dance. But first I’d like a drink, if you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Of course not, Alissa.”

God, her name. It’s so melodic. Her name would fit perfectly into a verse of poetry or a classic song by one of the great rockers of the seventies.

It would sound even better being moaned out of my mouth while she sucks the life out of my dick.

All in good time, Maddox. All in good time.

I grab Alissa’s hand and lead her to the Spades section. We each take a stool at the bar.

The two bartenders, DeeDee and Dudley, look up at me. They always wear the same matching outfits here at Aces—blue-and-white-striped sweaters, creamy khaki pants, and white sensible shoes.

“Gin and tonic for me,” I say to them both before turning to Alissa. “And what’s your drink of choice, Alissa?”

She smiles at the bartenders. “I’ll have a dirty vodka martini, please.”

DeeDee and Dudley both nod and begin to work on the drinks.

Alissa lifts a hand. “Wait. What kind of vodka do you have here? The bottles aren’t labeled.”

Dudley looks up at her and then looks to me, his eyebrows raised.

“She’s new,” I tell Dudley. I look at Alissa. “They’re not allowed to talk to us.”

Alissa widens her eyes. “What?”

“It’s part of the club dynamic. Bartenders and waitstaff aren’t allowed to speak while serving. It’s to encourage patrons to socialize with each other rather than with the staff.”

“But how am I supposed to know what kind of vodka they have here?” Alissa asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “They only use the top-shelf stuff. Any drink you get here will be a hundred times better than a drink you’ll get anywhere”—I point to the ceiling—“in the mainland.”

She chuckles at that. “The mainland?”

“That’s what club members call the space outside of Aces. The place where everything is normal, rigidly focused. A city of rational business.”

She nods, her eyes narrowing. “Interesting. You guys have your own little culture here, don’t you?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Indeed we do.”

Dudley places a martini in front of Alissa and DeeDee gives me my gin and tonic.

“I have to ask.” I lean in. “What makes a martini dirty?”

Alissa blushes. “You take a regular martini—gin or vodka with vermouth and garnished with an olive—but you add in a splash of olive juice.”

I smirk. “Sounds dirty indeed.”

Alissa shrugs. “I like them.” She takes a sip. “Oh, that’s lovely.” She swallows her sip and then purses her lips. “There’s something…distinctive about this.” She looks up at Dudley. “Is there something special in the vodka?”

Dudley squints at Alissa, cocking his head.

“Oh, sorry, right. You’re not allowed to speak.” She turns to me. “There’s an element of something…perfumelike in this.”

I smile. “That’s the other catch. All the drinks here have some kind of floral component.” I take a sip of my gin and tonic. “This, for instance, has a hint of elderflower liqueur, which really brings out the juniper taste of the gin.” I look at her martini. “May I?”

She pushes the drink toward me. “Have at it.”

I take a sip of her martini. I’m not a big fan of olives, but the splash of olive juice does add a little complexity to this normally simple drink. I try to ignore it and focus on the vodka.

I place the martini back down on the bar. “Yeah. It’s rose petals, I think. They’ve infused the vodka with rose petals.” I look up at DeeDee. “Am I right?”

DeeDee nods slowly before turning away and focusing on another patron.

Alissa takes another sip. “Rose and olive.” She chuckles. “That sounds like the name of a pub back home. The Rose and Olive.”

“Do you like it?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “The drink? Or the fictitious pub?”

I chuckle. “The former.”

She nods. “It’s quite tasty. Not a combination you’d think of on your own.”

I grin. “That’s kind of the whole thing here at Aces. They think outside of the box.”

Alissa wrinkles her forehead and looks around. “I’m not even sure if we’re on the same planet as the box here.” She turns back to me. “How did you find this place?”

I press my lips together. “I inherited the membership. From my father.”

“Your father must have been quite an important person to have gotten a membership here.” She takes another sip of her martini.

I scratch the side of my arm. “He was.”

But I don’t want to talk about my father right now. I’ll change the subject.

“So, first impressions of the place?”

She looks around once more. “It’s certainly matchless. I’ve never seen a place like this before.” She looks uneasily at DeeDee and Dudley. “I’m not sure how I feel about the no-speaking thing.”

“It’s a little odd,” I admit, “but you’ll get used to it.”

Alissa removes the olive from her drink and pops it in her mouth. “Oh, so you’re planning on bringing me here a second time? Long enough for me to get used to it?”

I lean in, inches from her gorgeous lips. “Yes, if you’d like that.”

She finishes off her martini and smiles at me.

“I guess we’ll just have to see.”

9

ALISSA

What is it with this place? I’m not usually this much of a brazen flirt this early on a first date.

Of course, I’ve never had a first date quite like this.

I’ve been in the Chicago dating scene for over ten years now. I’ve seen it all. Usually they take me out to a fancy dinner—or to deep-dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s, my guilty pleasure—or occasionally we’ll frequent a bar. One time a guy drove me all the way out to the Medieval Times in Schaumburg, which was actually a lot of fun. Up to this point, that was my most unique first date.

Maddox just shattered that record, and we’re only ten minutes in.

But it’s not just this place, as bizarre as it is. It’s Maddox himself.

He’s not only easy on the eyes. He’s really easy to talk to.

I mean, we chatted quite some time in his haberdashery yesterday when I walked in on a whim. He has a sort of effortless charm about him, along with a slight edge. He changed the subject pretty quickly when I asked about his father. I didn’t pry. I of all people know what it’s like to have a complicated relationship with a parent.

But even beyond that, there’s an almost unhinged element to Maddox. Taking me here on a first date, knowing full well how weird it must look to first-timers, is a bold move for sure. And there’s the way he dresses, the fact that he wears a hat anytime he’s outside. Not to mention his bloody Rolls-Royce and his cozy haberdashery only a few blocks away from where I live.

Maddox is a man who is completely comfortable with embracing his eccentric side. The side that is open to trying new things, to stepping out of his comfort zone.

A side I’ve recently discovered exists in myself as well.

“Another drink?” Maddox asks, eyeing my empty martini glass.

I usually limit myself to one drink. But I’m taking the train home, and I’m sure Maddox will escort me to the station. So what the hell?

“Sure, one more.” I turn to Dudley. “Can I try the elderflower gin and tonic this time?”

Dudley nods and begins preparing the drink.

I turn back to Maddox. “So tell me more about yourself, Maddox. How did you end up with that gorgeous little shop in Uptown?”

Maddox takes a sip of his gin and tonic, frowning slightly as he places the glass back on the bar. “The shop belonged to my great-uncle. When I finished high school, I had a choice. Join the…family business or strike out on my own and pursue my own interests.”

“And you chose the family business? The shop?”

He shakes his head. “The shop had fallen into disrepair at that point. The building belonged to my family, but we hadn’t done anything with it in years. I struck a deal with… I struck a deal to get the shop in my name.”

Dudley places my gin and tonic on the bar. I grab the small straw it was served with and stir it gently. “So what was the family business?”

Maddox points at my drink. “First try that and tell me it isn’t the best gin and tonic you’ve ever had.”

I take a sip. I’m not normally one for gin—I know, sacrilege for a woman from the UK—but Maddox was right. The elderflower liqueur really brings out the floral quality in the gin quite nicely. It’s like springtime in a glass. The slightly bitter edge of the tonic water rounds it out brilliantly.

“It’s marvelous, Maddox.”

He smiles. “I’ve been ruined forever by this place. Can’t get a gin and tonic anywhere else.” He points at the bartenders. “DeeDee and Dudley are masters at their craft. Rouge hired them herself, apparently searched all over the world looking for the perfect bartenders for her club.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Rouge? That’s a person’s name?”

Maddox nods. “She’s the owner. Rouge Montrose.”

“And the Monstroses built the club.”

“Exactly.” Maddox takes another sip of his drink. “Let’s grab one of those tables. That way I can actually look at you.” He offers his arm and escorts me to one of the small tables surrounding the bar. He pulls out the chair for me and I take a seat.

He snags the seat opposite of me, taking another sip of his drink. “Anyway, Rouge is the granddaughter of the original owner, Ruskin Montrose. She took over around fifteen years ago when her father, Robinson Montrose, died. She really revamped the place. It always had the playing-card theming, but she took it to the next level, hired all new staff. She even brought her sister, Bianca, from Broadway to be the singer.”

I look over toward the Hearts section, where the beautiful blonde singer is still crooning away. “The singer is the sister of the owner?”

Maddox shrugs. “Guess it helps to be well connected.”

I clear my throat. “So…the haberdashery.”

He leans in. “Yes, to answer your question… I’ve always loved men’s fashion. Ever since I first got my hands on a copy of GQ. I thought about designing, but I’m about as creative as a box of rocks. So selling was the logical choice. I got the haberdashery in my name and, with the help of a bunch of small business loans, managed to get it up and running.”

I press my lips together. That isn’t the question I asked. I asked what his family business was. But he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, so I’ll let him steer the conversation.

“I learned everything I needed to know from those magazines. When it came time to buy inventory for the store, I knew which brands were the best, which ones I could get a good deal on wholesale, which ones were the bestsellers.”

I look him up and down. “Though, clearly, you kept some of the best clothes for yourself.”

Maddox fiddles with the lapel of his jacket, grinning. “Like I said, it helps to be well connected.”

“I had no idea there was so much to know about men’s fashion.”

“Oh, there is.” He stretches out his right arm. “For example, you see here how the cuff of my shirt peeks out just a little bit from under the cuff of my suit jacket?”

I nod.

“When my arm is straightened out, about a half inch of the shirt cuff should be visible. That way, when I bend my elbow”—he does so—“I expose a little bit more, including the cuff link.”

I take a closer look at his cufflink. It’s a gorgeous blue gemstone laid in gold.

“Is that a real sapphire?” I ask.

He nods. “Like I said, wholesale.”

“Even wholesale, those must have been terribly expensive.”

I shut my mouth. Look at me, talking about money on the first date. Good heavens, could I be more bloody gauche?

Maddox clearly does all right for himself. His car is evidence enough of that.

He adjusts his cuff link. “The shop has done well the last couple of years. I’m very fortunate. Besides the building, I started with basically nothing.”

“Very impressive.” I take another sip of my drink. “I must say, I’ve never met a man who takes such care of his appearance.”

Maddox frowns. “I sort of grew up in the spotlight. Every so often I would catch a photo of myself in a newspaper. And the photos were not always flattering. So I sat down with those GQ magazines and learned everything I could about how to present myself to the rest of the world. It shouldn’t matter, of course, but it does, and I wanted to put out a good impression. I learned all the rules—cuff length, for example, as you now know. Which patterns and colors go together. How to match a pocket square with a tie. The correct fit for a shirt collar. And there was personal grooming as well.” He runs his hands up and down his stubble. “A well-maintained neckline and jawline can mark the difference between scruffy and smart.”

I smile at Maddox. He just nerded out a bit on me, and I love it.

He mentioned growing up in the public eye. That’s interesting. So his “family business” must have been something in local politics, or maybe sports. He certainly has the build to be a good athlete. Broad shoulders, toned muscles. Not to mention his diamond-cutting jaw, highlighted by his meticulously groomed scruff.

Maddox continues talking, but I can’t help staring at him. How gorgeous he is, how perfectly presented every aspect of his appearance is.

And… Oh no.

Someone else in my life was like that. So into appearances.

I’m thinking back to my mother.

The day she really went off the rails.

* * *

Now that I’m ten, Mum expects me to help with the work around the house. I do my own laundry, clean my own bathroom, and am in charge of washing the dishes after dinner.

We have a dishwasher. I don’t know why Mum insists on washing everything by hand.

I guess that’s how she grew up doing it, and she doesn’t trust the dishwasher to get rid of all the germs and food crumbs that are left behind every time we have a meal.

We had spaghetti tonight. Mum made the meatballs herself. They’re way better than any meatballs you can get in a restaurant, which all taste like they’re made of dog food.

Mum is a great cook. She uses lots of spices to accentuate the mix of ground beef and pork that she uses.

But, of course, spaghetti is a messy meal. So I have my work cut out for me while I’m on dish duty tonight.

Mum has a multi-step process for dishes. The first thing you do is put a big pot full of water on the stove to bring to a boil. Then you scrape any leftover food into the trash before organizing the dishes by type. Glasses first, and then plates, followed by silverware, leaving pots and pans for last. I don’t know why that’s the order, but Mum says it’s the way it has to be, and she doesn’t like it when I diverge from her methods.

After you scrape, you rinse the dish in the sink. Then you get out the dish soap and scrub it hard. All surfaces must be scrubbed. Front, back, edges, and undersides, paying special attention to hard-to-reach areas like rims and handles. Then the second rinse to remove the soap.

Then we sanitize. Remember that big pot of water? Every dish, once it’s been rinsed, scrubbed, and rinsed again, goes into the pot of water. I have special gloves that let me reach into the pot without burning myself. Each dish goes in for ten seconds before we pull it out, dry it with a lint-free towel, and put it back in the cupboard.

I’ve been doing dishes for a couple of months now. When I first started, Mum would look over my shoulder, guiding me through the process. But tonight she is letting me do the dishes on my own.

I go through the process with each dish. It’s become pretty routine at this point. I sing little songs in my head to pass the time. Pretty soon I’m on autopilot, and before I know it, an hour has passed and all the dishes are clean and in the cupboard.

Mum walks in the kitchen, smiling. “This was your first time washing the dishes on your own, sweetness. How did it go?”

I gesture to the cupboard, beaming proudly. “They’re all put away.”

“Wonderful.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Mummy is just going to do a little inspection, okay? Check to make sure that you did a good job.”

“Of course, Mum.”

Mum looks into the big pot where I sanitize the dishes in boiling water. She squints her eyes. “Alissa, honey, come over here and look.”

I peer over the pot of water. It’s no longer boiling, but the water is still hot. “Yes, Mum?”

Mum grabs a slotted spoon from a drawer next to the stove and plunges it into the pot, stirring it around. She pulls it out.

There’s a teeny-tiny piece of tomato skin on the slotted spoon.

I take a few steps away. “Mum, I swear, I made sure every single dish was cleaned fully before I boiled it. There’s no way the water got any food in it.”

“Alissa, my angel, I knew it was too soon for you to wash the dishes unsupervised.” She regards the slotted spoon, her eyes narrowed. She looks back at me. “You’ll have to wash all the dishes again. In fact, to be safe, we should assume that every dish in the cupboard is now contaminated. You’ll have to wash all of them, not just the ones we used for dinner this evening.”

I fight back tears. I thought I did such a good job. “But Mum, that’ll take all night. I’ve got homework I need to do.”

She slowly turns her head toward me, twisting her lips into a smile.

I don’t like when Mum smiles like that. It means that another side of her personality is taking over. The side of her personality that tied me to the lemon tree all those years ago when I trudged mud inside.

“I’m being silly. Of course you don’t have to wash the dishes, darling.” She walks over to the cupboard, grabs a plate. “We’ll just buy new dishes.”

I raise my eyebrows. “We will?”

Mum, her smile not wavering a millimeter, throws the plate on the kitchen tiles, shattering it. I jump back, my heart beginning to race.

“Mum, what are you doing?”

She looks at me, her eyes wild. “You were the one who didn’t have time to wash the dishes tonight, Alissa. So we have no other choice.”

She grabs another three plates and throws them against the wall. She turns around and clears the entire cupboard with her arms, bringing them all to the unforgiving hard surface of the counters and floor, all while I stand there, too shocked to react. Pretty soon, the entire kitchen is covered in shards of ceramic and glass.

Mum then opens the silverware drawer and tosses all the forks and spoons on top of the mess. They don’t break, of course, but she’s tossing them to the floor so violently that they are bending a little out of shape as they hit the floor. She then grabs the pot of still-hot water and throws it on top of everything.

A little bit of the hot water splashes up at me, hitting my belly. It’s not boiling, but it still burns, and I cry out in pain.

Mum tosses the empty boiling pot on top of the mess, her body hunched over almost animalistically.

She slowly straightens up and pastes that same sweet-and-sour smile on her face. “Alissa, honey. Tomorrow we’ll go to the store and buy new dishes. We’ll take the money out of your university fund. In the meantime, you need to clean up this mess you made. After that, you may work on your homework.”

With that, she turns and exits the kitchen, leaving me breathing heavily in the kitchen.

I fall to my knees, not even noticing the shards of glass that are poking into me, and let out a heaving sob.

10

MADDOX

Alissa’s been staring off into space for a good ninety seconds now, delicately nursing her drink.

“You okay, Alissa?”

She blinks a few times, returns her gaze to me. “Yes, sorry. I just got a little lost in thought.”

I smile. “Does that happen often?”

She presses her lips together. “Increasingly so.”

I nod. “I get it. This place takes a little getting used to.” I lean in. “To tell you the truth, Alissa, you’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here.”

She lays a hand over her heart. “I am?”

“Yeah. The only other person I’ve brought here is my best friend. And he’s a guy.”

She narrows her eyes. “You brought him as a wingman?”

I take another sip of my gin and tonic—it’s nearly gone. “Perhaps.”

She chuckles. “You don’t have to hide it, Maddox. You’re a perfectly handsome man. I don’t see any reason why you’d need to have a wingman, but I know how the male of our species works. You’re allowed to have dated in the past. You’re not going to find that I’m a jealous bitch when it comes to things like that.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation”—I reach my hand across the table and barely touch my fingers to hers—“you are more enchanting, more intriguing, not to mention more beautiful, than any other woman I’ve ever dated.”

Sounds like a line, but it’s the truth. Alissa is gorgeous, after all. She has an innocent-looking façade, but I can see underneath that—a hunger. A hunger for the unknown.

I can see it because I know the feeling. I live with it every day.

It’s why I ditched my family’s political ambitions, pursued the haberdashery.

Maybe that’s why Dad left his membership to me. Despite the fact that we never made nice before his untimely death, he at least recognized that I had a taste for the bizarre.

And Aces Underground certainly fits that bill.

Alissa blushes. “You’re very kind, Maddox. I’ve certainly never met a man so ruggedly handsome, yet so tidily kempt. Nor a man with such charm.”

My cheeks warm at her words. “Thank you, Alissa.”

She takes another sip of her gin and tonic. “Thank you.” She looks around the club. “You know, I’ve gone out to other bars and clubs in the past. Chicago is full of them. My friend Dinah—she works at the hospital with me—drags me out every so often when our off-work schedules align. She’s always telling me I have to get a life outside of the hospital.” She chuckles. “If she could only see where I am now.”

I grin. “Sounds like I’d like this friend of yours.”

“I’m sure you would. Just last weekend, I was helping her with her garden—she has a little co-op greenhouse in the condo complex where she lives, so she can garden year-round—and she was whining at me that helping her plant tomatoes was the most I’d done in months outside of the hospital.”

“I’m sure it’s easy to let a job like that consume you.”

She nods. “It takes up quite a bit of energy, not to mention my time. Sometimes I’m on twelve-hour shifts. After that, all I want to do is melt into a puddle of goo in front of the TV before passing out on my couch.”

I creep my hand across the table until I can lay it over Alissa’s.

Sparks. Fireworks. A goddamned rainbow of emotions exploding into multicolored confetti in my brain. Just from touching her soft skin.

I almost draw my hand back at the physical reaction from our touch, but I keep myself steadily in position.

Alissa’s eyes widen. Does she feel it too?

“I understand what you mean,” I say after my heart has slowed down a bit. “Of course, I don’t work in a hospital. I’m not working to heal the sick and wounded. I can’t imagine what kind of energy that takes. But running the haberdashery on my own—all the up-front business as well as the paperwork behind the scenes—it’s enough to drain the life out of you.”

“I’m sure that’s true. I could never imagine running my own business, Maddox. You don’t have any employees at all?”

“No one full time. I hire an accountant to go over my books every tax season, and I’ll usually find a temp to man the shop if I ever have to go out of town for an extended period of time, but that’s about it. I inherited the building, but everything else in that shop, from the inventory to the décor, is all me.”

She smiles at me. “Absolutely fascinating. At the hospital, I’m told when to show up, where to go, who to attend to. I realize it comes at a price, but having the kind of freedom and flexibility you get from running your own business must be wonderful.”

I nod. “It is wonderful.”

And I’m not lying. I love that shop. It’s a pain in my ass ninety percent of the time, but being able to work in my chosen field and stay out of the polluted swamp that is the Chicago political sphere is worth the extra time and toil.

But the joy I get from running the haberdashery—seeing a young man smile at himself in the mirror as his parents buy him his first suit, fitting a set of groomsmen into matching outfits to support their best friend as he walks down the aisle, even renting tuxedos at a steep discount to at-risk kids for prom night—none of it compares to the feeling I got when Alissa and I touched hands.

I’d sell the shop—hell, I’d burn it to the goddamned ground—for just ten seconds of that feeling.

Fuck.

I’m in trouble.

11

ALISSA

I’m glad Maddox grabbed my hand. I set it on the table on purpose and hoped he’d take the bait. Electricity pulsed through me when our fingers touched.

If this is what it feels like just to hold his hand, I can’t even begin to imagine what it will feel like when he kisses me. On my cheek, on my lips, on the most intimate parts of my body.

And then, when we finally go to bed together.

Maddox’s pants are tight-fitting and leave very little to the imagination. I can tell that he’s well-endowed, and that’s when he’s at rest. I can’t even begin to imagine what he’ll look like at full mast.

Of course, it’s only our first date. He’s already proved himself to be a gentleman, which normally I’d appreciate.

At the moment, though, I kind of wish he’d get on with it.

I’ve had two drinks. I usually stop at one. But something in me wanted to lower my inhibitions tonight. Maybe it’s this club. The colorful lights, the oddly dressed servers, the jazzy tunes lofting over from the Hearts section.

Or maybe it’s Maddox.

Most likely a bit of both.

I lean toward Maddox and squeeze his hand gently. “What kind of music do you like, Maddox?”

He chuckles. “I have something of an eclectic taste. I play a lot of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin on that old phonograph in the shop, but that’s more to match the vibe of the haberdashery. I listen to a lot of stuff. Alternative rock sometimes, occasionally I get the country bug. But my go-to choices are the music of the sixties and the seventies.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Like disco?”

He laughs. “I enjoy a good disco song here and there. One of my favorite bands is Earth, Wind and Fire. ‘Boogie Wonderland’ is a masterpiece and I’m not afraid to say it.”

I giggle. “I would not have pegged you for a disco guy.”

“Because I’m not covered in gold chains and big hair?” He finishes off his gin and tonic, grinning slightly. “I can’t deny the feeling those grooves put into my body. Something about them just scratches my brain the right way. But it’s not just disco. I also love The Beatles. Especially the stuff they wrote during their acid phase.”

I cock my head. “Oh, you mean their weird stuff. ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.’ ‘I Am the Walrus.’”

“And The Carpenters, too.” He absentmindedly stirs the ice in his now-empty drink. “Something about their music just lulls me into a sense of comfort, of safety.”

“I’ll have to put them on my playlist the next time I go running,” I say.

I don’t run. God knows I don’t have the time for that. But I do want to listen to some of the music Maddox is talking about. These are all bona fide classics, after all. And I’ve found the best way to get to know a man is to listen to the music he likes. Maybe it’s the flute performance major in me, but a man who doesn’t have good taste in music usually doesn’t last long with me.

“Do you ever go to the symphony?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to. Chicago has a world-class symphony orchestra.”

“I’ll have to take you sometime. I have a few friends who work in the box office, colleagues of mine from school. They can get us discounted tickets. I catch a performance now and then, when my schedule allows. I usually drag Dinah along. But it would be much nicer to have a handsome man on my arm.”

He leans in. “I’d love to accompany you to a concert of theirs sometime. Who’s your favorite composer?”

Oh, God. Here we go. He’s expecting me to say Mozart or Beethoven. A household name.

I chuckle nervously. “Shostakovich.”

He widens his eyes. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s a Russian composer. Soviet, technically. He composed some fantastic music, mostly while living under the rule of Stalin.”

He narrows his eyes. “A communist composer?”

I raise a hand. “He was actually against the regime, but of course he couldn’t say anything directly about it. Stalin would have had him executed. But music scholars have decrypted his music ever since the Soviet Union fell, and they’ve found lots of musical codes and clues depicting his true feelings.”

“Really? That’s fascinating.”

I’ve heard men say those exact words before. That’s fascinating. Usually I can tell that they’re humoring me, just staying interested enough to keep my attention until they can get me into bed.

But Maddox seems genuinely absorbed in what I have to say.

“Do you have a favorite work of his?”

I smile. “I’m partial to his fifth symphony. Not only because there is a magnificent flute solo in the first movement, but also because of the way he composed the ending of the piece. It’s this big, booming, patriotic march, which Stalin of course interpreted as his love of the motherland.”

“But there’s a code in it?” he asks.

I nod. “In a way. He chose a very specific tempo. Just slow enough to imply that he’s being forced to put on a happy face. To rejoice the glorious rule. He threads the needle perfectly, just enough for the party leaders to be pleased, but to also get a message of defiance out to people who were listening carefully enough.”

“Let me look up the CSO’s calendar.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls for a minute. “Looks like they’re playing Shostakovich’s eleventh symphony next week. Maybe we can get tickets.”

I widen my eyes. “I’d love to. The eleventh is another favorite. It’s very dark, and another deliberate critique of the regime.”

God, I sound like a nerd. Maddox seems to be into it, but I’d better curb this for now. I could talk about Shostakovich all night, but that’s not what this date is about.

Maddox isn’t the first man who’s suggested the symphony as a date after I jabber on about my musical tastes. I’ve had at least three or four men do exactly what he’s doing—pull out their phone and suggest a concert we could attend. None of them ever followed up.

But there’s something different about Maddox. My gut tells me that he would actually buy the tickets, get all dressed up—he’s got the bloody clothes for it—and escort me to Symphony Center on Michigan Avenue.

I guess we’ll see.

“You really don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Maddox.”

He shakes his head. “Nonsense. Seems very romantic. A date to see a symphony by your favorite composer. I like to listen to music someone else likes. No better way to get to know a person.”

I almost spit out my sip of gin and tonic. I was thinking the exact same thing just a few minutes ago.

This man is inside my mind.

And I kind of like it.

“That’s very sweet of you, Maddox.” I give his hand another gentle squeeze. “Obviously I don’t play as much anymore, but I still enjoy listening to classical music. I hope we’re still seeing each other by the time the concert rolls around.”

He smiles at me, his eyes narrowed. “Alissa, I think that is very much in the cards.”

I go to take another sip of my gin and tonic, and I realize that I’ve finished it. My second drink, already. And Maddox has barely finished his first.

“Another drink?” Maddox asks.

I purse my lips. “I really shouldn’t. Have to get home tonight.”

“I’m happy to give you a lift home,” he says. “In fact, even if you didn’t have a drop of liquor tonight, I’d insist on it. I won’t have a woman taking the train home this late at night. Not when my car is parked in a garage just a block away.”

I eye my empty glass. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

He chuckles. “Alissa, you live five minutes away from me. It’s not any trouble at all.”

I bite my lip, but my gut is telling me that it’s okay. I nod to Maddox, smiling. “All right. One more drink. But that’s it.”

He raises his hand to flag down a waitress.

Immediately a young woman comes to us carrying a serving tray. She’s beautiful, with long black hair and warm olive skin. She’s wearing the same uniform as the rest of the female waitstaff, a lacey black bikini with white polka dots, which upon closer examination are actually small spade symbols. She has a tattoo on either shoulder—another spade on her left, and the number seven on her right.

She doesn’t speak, of course, merely bowing her head toward Maddox.

He gestures to her. “When they bow their head, it means they’re asking what we would like. They’re not allowed to speak, as I told you.” He turns to the young girl. “Thank you, Seven. I’ll have another gin and tonic, and my lady friend here will have…” He turns to me, his gaze questioning.

I swallow. “I’ll have a dirty vodka martini, please.”

The waitress nods and her eyes meet mine for a moment.

They’re a beautiful deep brown. But there’s a trace of something in them, something that makes me shift in my seat.

But before I can get a good look, Seven—I guess that’s what she’s called here—whisks away to the bar.

“She’ll be back soon,” Maddox says. “They’re very quick here.”

“She didn’t write our order down,” I reply.

“They don’t do that here. They memorize the orders and take them straight to the bar, where they write them down for DeeDee and Dudley to fill.” He looks at my empty glass, still on the table. “But they normally bus our dirty glasses. She must have forgotten it this time. Maybe she’s new. Sorry about that.”

I blink. “It’s no trouble. I’m sure she’ll grab it when she brings the drinks.”

I hold up my gin and tonic, studying the glass. The same four playing-card symbols as the club doors, laser-engraved with intricate precision. A faint reflection stares back at me, blurred and distorted. I check my makeup, an old habit.

Then I’m in my mother’s kitchen. A broken shard in my hand. Dishes shattered across the tile, jagged edges catching the light. My reflection stares up at me from the wreckage, eyes wide, unblinking.

I saw it again. In Seven’s eyes.

Recognition slams into me. That look. The same one I had as I peered into the broken glass on my mother’s kitchen floor.

Fear.

12

MADDOX

Alissa has zoned out. She didn’t even notice when Seven dropped our drink order off, but she’s been absentmindedly sipping her martini for the last several minutes, and it’s nearly empty now.

I clear my throat. She blinks a few times and redirects her gaze back to me.

“Sorry,” she says. “Just taking in the club again, I suppose.”

I wrinkle my forehead. I don’t think that was what she was freaked out about.

She’s had three drinks. Maybe they’re hitting her all at once. She’s got a very slender build. She could be a lightweight.

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water from the bar? Or an Irish coffee, hold the Irish?”

She swallows, shakes her head. “No, no. It’s not the booze. It’s…”

She presses her lips together, darts her eyes back and forth subtly.

“It’s what, Alissa?” I reach across the table and give her hand a light squeeze again.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” she says. “Lots going on at the hospital.” She shakes her head, grabs her drink, takes a long sip. “But never mind that. What were we talking about?”

I smile. “Music. The symphony.”

“Right.” She runs her hands through her long blond hair. “You’ve never gone.”

“Right. But I’d love to take you to that performance we talked about next week.”

She cocks her head. “You really mean that? I’ve had dates offer to take me to the symphony before. It’s usually a line.”

I let go of her hand, trail my fingers up her arm a few inches—God, her skin is like the finest Mulberry silk—looking straight into her eyes. “It’s not with me, Alissa. You can take that to the bank.” I pull out my phone. “I can get us tickets right now.”

She widens her eyes. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’ll have to check my calendar first. And I left it at home.”

“You don’t keep your calendar on your phone?”

She chuckles lightly. “No. I’m a weirdo in that way. I’ve always needed to keep my schedule in a physical book. Not sure why. It’s a pain in the arse to have to constantly check it when I could just pull up an app on my phone and see.”

“I don’t think that’s weird, Alissa. I think it’s charming.” I laugh. “You’ve seen my shop. My car. I live for vintage. It’s nice to have a world that exists outside of a screen.”

She looks at me, really looks at me, as if I’m an ancient hieroglyph she’s trying to decipher.

“You’re something, Maddox.” She finishes her martini, looks around, and raises a hand in the air.

Immediately a server comes. This one is male, with shaggy dark hair and piercing brown eyes, his bare shoulders revealing him as the Four of Spades. He bows his head at Alissa.

“One more of those delicious gin and tonics, please.” She turns to me. “Maddox, would you like something?”

This is her fourth drink. That’s a lot, even for me. Good thing I’m driving her home. “I’ll just have a sparkling water, Four. Twist of lemon. Thank you.”

Four nods, whisking away silently.

It’s only our first date. It’s not my place to ask Alissa if she should stop drinking. I don’t know her that well yet—for all I know, she could have the tolerance of a forty-year-old lumberjack.

“You like those elderflower gin and tonics?” I ask.

She nods. “They’re really fabulous.” She bites her lip. “You must think I’m being reckless. I just ordered my fourth drink, and you’ve only had two.”

“I’d join you for a third, but I want to get you safely home.” I flash her a smile. “But you are more than welcome to drink to your heart’s content. It’s on me.”

She reaches into her bag, grabs her purse. “No, I can throw you some cash if you⁠—”

I hold up a hand. “Your money is no good here, Alissa. Besides, it’s charged directly to my account. When I bring my best friend to the club, he’ll occasionally insist that he put a credit card down, but unless they’re told otherwise, they know to charge everything directly to me.”

“And they just recognize you?”

I nod. “Club membership here is very exclusive. Only a couple dozen people in the entire city are allowed within these walls. They only have fifty or so faces to memorize.”

“Fascinating.” She scrunches her eyebrows. “It must cost you a fortune to pay the membership fee, then.”

“It’s not cheap. But I inherited the membership from my father. And his estate is paying my membership fees in perpetuity.”

“So your father is paying for these drinks?”

I chuckle. “No. I pay for any incidentals. Drinks are on me, Alissa. And you can have as many as you like.”

She fans herself. “Mr. Hathaway, you’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?”

“Of course not. I trust a woman to know when to cut herself off.”

Four comes by and hands off Alissa’s gin and tonic and my sparkling water.

“Thank you, Four.” Alissa bows her head to the server.

He blinks for a moment but then nods to her and turns away, heading to another table to take their order.

Alissa takes a sip of her drink. “I hope I didn’t offend him.”

“I don’t think you could offend anyone, Alissa.” I bring my own glass of sparkling water to my lips. The comforting sting of the carbonation pricks at my tongue, laced with the gentle acidity of the lemon twist.

“Very European of you to order a sparkling water,” Alissa says. “Most of the Americans I meet only enjoy soda if it’s pumped full of corn syrup and artificial coloring.”

I shrug. “I’ve always had a taste for it, I suppose. Something about the bubbles, I don’t know. I have a SodaStream at home. Every so often, when I’m thirsty but regular water just isn’t enough, I power it up.”

She laughs lightly and takes another sip of her drink.

“This drink will be my last.” She pouts her lips out and narrows her eyes at me. “Unless, of course, I can convince you to come in for a nightcap once you’ve dropped me off at my place.”

13

ALISSA

I clap my hand over my mouth.

I can’t believe I just said that.

Who is this woman who’s taken over my body? Because it certainly isn’t Alissa Maravilla.

The straight-edged Alissa—the Alissa who quit a promising flute career for the more stable career of nursing—would have cut herself off after two drinks maximum, would be much more reserved in her flirtation, if she flirted at all.

Perhaps it’s my peculiar surroundings, or perhaps it’s the charming, mysterious man across the table from me.

More than likely it’s the nearly four drinks I’ve had tonight. Twice my normal limit.

My gin and tonic is already half spent.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say. “I just realized what I may have accidentally implied when I said that.”

Maddox smiles. “I read nothing into it, Alissa. I’d love to join you for a drink at your place after we’re done here. However”—he checks his watch, a Michael Kors in glimmering silvers and golds—“it’s getting kind of late.”

I cock my head. “Is it?”

He nods. “Nearly ten. Traffic won’t be too terrible along Lake Shore Drive at this hour, but it’ll likely be close to half past the hour by the time we arrive, and that’s if we head out right now.” He eyes my half-full glass. “You’re not quite finished with your drink yet.”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath in. Three and a half drinks is a lot for me. When I was back in school, I could party with the best of them. Three shots of Fireball was the beginning of my night. Now that I’m approaching my thirties, my tolerance has gone to shit. I can barely keep my eyes open if I have a glass of red wine while watching TV at home.

Though Maddox has energized me something fierce. An electric current has been surging through me from the moment our hands touched. His touch wired me from my fingertips directly to my heart, which pumped it all through my body, landing most powerfully between my legs.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to finish that last drink, Maddox.” I sigh. “If I do, I’ll simply melt into a puddle and you’ll have to carry me home in a bucket.”

He chuckles. “That can be arranged.”

My cheeks warm. There is nothing sexy about the idea of being brought home in a bucket, but—damn!—Maddox Hathaway could charm a nun out of her habit with his silver tongue.

I frown. “I hate to see a perfectly good gin and tonic go to waste.”

He smirks. “No problem there. May I?” He reaches for my glass.

“By all means.”

He brings the glass to his lips and pours it down his throat. Something sexy about a man who enjoys a cocktail.

All the men I’ve dated in the past have been beer drinkers.

Not that I don’t enjoy beer. I’m from the UK, after all. I can put down a pint anytime, especially if it’s with a burger or pizza.

But Maddox has such a refinement about him. I’m sure he has a beer every now and then, and there’s nothing wrong with that if he does, but he clearly has a taste for the finer things. This club, he told me, only uses top-shelf liquor in its drinks, and watching him relish every drop of my half-finished drink is almost…sensual.

Yes, sensual. The way his lips wrap around the rim, the way his breath fogs up the glass’s interior, even the way the ice cubes bump up against his stubbly lower lip.

In this moment, I’m jealous of a bloody glass.

Good God, I have it bad for this man.

He finishes the drink and sets the glass down on the table almost wildly, like a Viking throwing a stein onto the dirt floor of a tavern after quenching his thirst on a pint of mead. His eyes are fiery, lusty, as he looks me up and down.

“Ready to go?”

I almost wince at his words. His voice has changed. The words came out almost on a growl.

And my God, the rumble of his baritone sends goosebumps all over my body.

I swallow. “I’ll just run to the ladies’ room and powder my nose real quick.”

He smiles and leans back in his chair. “Take your time. The ladies’ room is by the Hearts section, near the door for Bianca’s dressing room.”

“Thank you. Be back in a second.”

He grins. “I’ll count on that, Alissa.”

I get to my feet, using the backside of my chair as support. Standing drunk is a lot different from sitting drunk, but so far I feel okay. Definitely buzzed.

I walk through the club, around couples in locked arms on the dance floor, a few of them making out like teenagers. Normally, I’d be a bit annoyed by such a display of public affection, but in this moment, all I can think of is being in Maddox’s arms, swaying with him, tangling my tongue with his to Bianca’s sultry tunes. Maybe we can slate the public make-out session into our second date.

Next to the door labeled Bianca, I see a light-pink door with a small sign reading Ladies. I open the door. It’s overwhelmingly pink, as if a Valentine’s Day card puked over the entire area. The floor is surfaced in red and white tiles with pink hearts at the center, and a fuchsia chaise lies at the bathroom’s entrance. Standing sinks and stall walls the shade of bubblegum dominate the space. But I don’t go to a toilet—which I’m sure is the same color as everything else in here, including my cheeks—but rather the mirror. I want to check my makeup.

Something about looking in a mirror by yourself makes you understand exactly how drunk you are. There’s no hiding it from the world in here. Every ounce of liquor in your system is exposed when only the fluorescent lights and the sink are your company.

And in this moment, I’m realizing I’m pretty drunk.

I was able to act normally around Maddox, minus my shameless flirtations. I don’t want him to think I’m a lush or anything. And I’m not exactly wasted, but I absolutely would not be driving if given the option. I don’t think going on public transit would be a good move for me right now, either. Thank God Maddox is driving me home.

My makeup looks all right—my lipstick is just a bit smeared. I fix it up. Best for my lips to look luscious and kissable.

I always clean my apartment, shave my legs and other areas before a date, just in case I end up bringing a man back to my place. I’ve invited Maddox for a drink, and he told me that he didn’t read anything into that invitation, but who am I kidding?

He’s a man. A gorgeous one at that.

If I said so, he’d plunder me completely, taking everything he needs from my body to sate his sexual appetite.

God, I bet he has a gorgeous cock. Long and thick and probably nicely groomed, like the rest of his appearance. He’ll fill me in the most perfect way.

I shake the thought out of my head.

Cart before the horse, Alissa, cart before the horse.

It’s our first date. He’ll think I’m easy if I put out on the first date.

Normally it’s simple to control myself. Even when I’m extremely attracted to a guy, I’m able to keep myself in check until at least our third time going out.

With Maddox I’m not sure I’ll be able to.

I press my lips together to even out my lipstick. I chose a bold purplish-red tonight—so not my normal style, but it felt like the appropriate shade for an evening out. It perfectly matches the vibe at this club, though. I’ve been assaulted by vivid colors all evening. My lips are pale in comparison.

My eyeliner and mascara looks all right. I’m not wearing any foundation—I hate how it makes me feel plugged up, and my skin is even-toned on its own—but I did apply just a hint of blush on my cheeks. That still looks good, too.

I’m ready to take Maddox home.

I mean… I’m ready for Maddox to escort me to my flat.

Maybe have a drink.

If I can even stomach a fifth drink. I suppose I didn’t really drink much of the fourth.

I walk back out of the blushing bathroom and cross the club to the table. Maddox is standing, holding my coat. “I took the liberty of grabbing this from the coat check. I assume you’re still ready to go home.”

I nod. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you. Can I at least pay you back for the tip?”

He shakes his head. “Like I said before, your money is no good here.”

He holds out my coat and I shimmy my arms through. I struggle just a bit—my coordination is not at its peak right now—but soon I have it on. I reach into the pockets and pull out a pair of sleek red leather gloves and slide them onto my hands.

I look up at Maddox. “You didn’t bring a coat, did you?”

“It’s a short walk from the club entrance to where I parked. Seemed excessive.” He looks me up and down. “Did you need to pick anything up from the hospital before we go?”

“No. I changed out of my scrubs at the hospital, which I sent to the laundry. Everything else I need is in my bag.” I pat my purse.

We leave the club, up the mirrored staircase. Maddox knocks three times on the door leading to the foyer, which Chet opens immediately. He watches us, grinning, as we go out the black door into the alleyway.

Night has fallen, of course, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky—a rare occurrence this time of year—and I can see the few stars that the Chicago lights allow through. They’re twinkling fiercely, almost with a gentle madness.

Maddox leads me through the alleyway to his car that’s parked in a garage a few blocks down. It’s a brisk walk, and I have to move double-time to keep up with his long legs. Soon we’re in his Rolls-Royce.

I rub my hands together. “Blast the heat, if you can. I’m freezing.”

“Of course.” Maddox starts the car and the heater comes on. “It’ll take a second for the heater to warm up. But I also had the seats outfitted with warmers when I refurbished the car. I’ll turn yours on.” He flicks another switch.

“Oh, thank God.” I sit back. “It should be illegal for a car not to have these.”

He chuckles. “I’ll call my contacts at the mayor’s office.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your contacts where?”

He blinks for a minute. “Just a joke.” He puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking spot. He then drives us out of the garage, fiddling with the stereo buttons.

“Is there a classical station you like?” he asks.

I widen my eyes. “No man has ever changed the station in his car for me.”

He laughs. “Then you haven’t dated any good men.”

Good grief. If that isn’t the truth…

“Ninety-eight point seven. WFMT. A very good station. Though they sometimes play some weird shit this late in the evening.”

“I like weird.” Maddox tunes the radio, and some atonal chamber music starts playing. He winces. “Okay, maybe that’s too weird.”

I chuckle. “The classical composers went a little off the rails in the early twentieth century, especially the twenties and thirties. I think this is a string quartet by Schoenberg.”

“Well, I suppose cats being butchered alive need musical representation as well.”

I can’t help it. I let out a guffaw at that.

He chuckles. “Glad you found that amusing.”

“I did.” I reach over, place my hand on his elbow. “I find you wholly amusing, Maddox.”

“Likewise, Alissa.”

We drive the rest of the way in silence, listening to Schoenberg’s scraping strings.

The drive isn’t long—after all, it’s pretty late—and within fifteen minutes, Maddox is pulling up in front of my apartment building.

He stops the car, looks over at me. “I had a wonderful evening, Alissa.”

“Me too. That’s a remarkable place you belong to.”

He cracks a small smile.

I reach for my car handle, but he holds up a hand. “Absolutely not. One sec.”

He unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the driver-side door, and walks to the other side of the car to open the door for me.

I look up at him. “Do you make a habit out of opening doors for ladies?”

He smiles. “Alissa, if you stick with me, you’ll never open another door again.”

A chill runs down my spine, and it’s not from the icy wind rushing through the air.

He walks me into my building, up the stairs to my door on the third floor.

Moment of truth.

And I…

I lose my nerve.

“I’d invite you in for that drink, but I’m worried I’d just pass out if I allowed another drop of booze into my system.”

He narrows his eyes, looking down slightly. “Of course, Alissa.”

“But I had a wonderful time tonight, Maddox.”

His eyes brighten. “I did too. I’d love to take you back to the club. Now that you know what it’s like, you’ll be able to enjoy it more. Live in it, soak it all up.”

“I’d love that.”

“Wonderful.” He looks into my eyes. “Well… Good night, Alissa.”

“Good night,” I say, keeping my gaze fixed to his.

He crinkles his eyes playfully, keeping our shared stare unbroken. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“I won’t,” I chuckle, but then I gather my courage and wrap my arms around him. “No promises for me, though.”

His eyes erupt into dark pools of fire again, the same fire I saw in them when he finished off my drink. “I hope not.”

He finally leans in and touches his lips to mine.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost chaste. We stand there, allowing our mouths to overlap with one another. His lips are softer than I imagined, like two puffy clouds.

But from clouds, lightning forms.

And within a few seconds, he’s probing the seam of my lips with his tongue.

I open instantly, sliding my tongue against his. I tighten my hold around his waist as he wraps his own arms around me, digging his fingernails through my coat and into my flesh.

“Alissa,” he moans into my mouth.

The deep timbre of his voice vibrates into me, reaching my heart.

I catch on fire. All lips, teeth, and tongues. He tastes of the elderflower liqueur, of leather and musk. And of something solely unique. God, this kiss. I move my arms away from his waist up to his head, tangling my fingers in his soft hair.

He breaks the kiss and heads to my neck. Jolts of pleasure spike through me, sending sparks that ricochet everywhere and land between my legs.

He’s sucking at my neck but never stays in one place too long—thank God, I don’t need to arrive to work tomorrow with a neck full of hickeys. He finally lands at my ear, nibbling first at my lobe and then sinking his tongue inside.

“Maddox!” I cry out. My body gives way and I fall backward.

His strong hands catch me. “I love kissing you, Alissa,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

His words make me melt. I want to return the sentiment, but the words don’t come. My entire body is one huge wave of pleasure.

He cups my breast. Somehow he got my coat open.

Oh, God…

I’m wearing a bra, but he finds my nipple through the layers of fabric and pinches my nipple. A current rips through me, and I let out a soft sigh.

I want to touch him, feel him, crawl inside his perfection.

He’s back at my neck, licking and kissing up and down, up and down. Trails of warm kisses, hot kisses.

When he stops and meets my gaze…

God…

He’s smoldering. His eyes, his lips, his hair now a mess.

This isn’t the Maddox Hathaway I met in the haberdashery. The man who listens to vinyl records, drives a Rolls-Royce, and wears meticulously tailored suits to his club downtown.

This is a man who wants a woman.

And I’m that woman.

He kisses me again, this time harder, more raw. Our tongues and teeth clash as I reach for him, desperate to touch every part of him. He presses against me, and I can feel the hard bulge beneath his pants.

What the hell? He grabbed my tit.

I grab the bulge and lightly squeeze it. He groans but doesn’t stop kissing me.

His bulge, as I predicted, is huge. There’s a monster in there, and I can’t wait to unleash it.

I’m tempted to unbuckle his belt and let it out⁠—

But then a creaking sound.

Oh, my God. We’re not even inside my apartment. I’m ready to fuck him in the hallway.

My neighbor opens the door. Mrs. Tulgey. A middle-aged divorcée who lives alone. I don’t run into her very often, so that’s pretty much all I know about her. She’s wearing a dingy bathrobe and has on some kind of facial mask.

She widens her eyes when she sees us. “Oh, good evening, Alissa. You’re out late.”

I nod, dropping my arms from Maddox’s waist. “Hello, Mrs. Tulgey.”

She blinks several times. “Sorry if I interrupted. Just putting the milk bottles out.”

“Not interrupting anything,” I say. “This is my…friend, Maddox.”

Maddox discreetly adjusts himself before turning around and shaking Mrs. Tulgey’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

She looks him up and down. “Hello.”

“I was seeing Alissa up to her apartment.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Mrs. Tulgey says. “Make sure to put your milk bottles out, Alissa.”

I don’t get milk delivered, but if this gets Mrs. Tulgey out of the hallway, I’ll humor her. “Thanks for the reminder. Good night.”

“Good night.” She looks back at Maddox, her eyes narrowed. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Just one of those faces,” Maddox says quickly. “Have a good evening.”

“I will.” She smiles at Maddox and then wags a finger at me. “Don’t forget the milk bottles.” She finally closes her door.

I let out a breath. “Sorry about that,” I say.

Maddox grins. “Probably for the best. We were about to… Well, who knows what we would have done out here in the hall if she hadn’t interrupted us.”

I swallow. “I can still bring you inside, if you’d like that drink.”

He blinks several times, scratching at the side of his head. “You know what? It’s late. And as much as I’d love to have a drink”—he winks—“I’d rather save it for the next time. Anticipation and all. I’ll text you.”

I hope I’m successful at keeping a look of disappointment off my face.

But Maddox is right. It’s only our first date. And I’m still pretty buzzed. He probably doesn’t want me to think he’s taking advantage of me.

Damn that Mrs. Tulgey.

Oh well. The moment is over.

He wraps his arm around me again. “I had a great time tonight, Alissa. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Neither can I,” I breathe.

He gives me one last kiss. “Good night, Alissa.”

“Good night, Maddox.”

He lingers over my lips for a second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five.

He wants to. I can feel the electricity vibrating between our lips.

He wants to take me into my bedroom, strip me naked, and fuck me into next week.

But finally, after several more seconds have passed, he breaks away from me and takes a few steps down the stairs.

I reach for my keys inside my coat pocket. I place them in the door and unlatch the lock. Maddox stands on the landing, watching me until I finally close the door.

My God, what a night.

And what a kiss.

His lips on mine, his hands all over my body, his tongue on my neck and my ear.

I hang my coat up, chills running up and down my body.

I get undressed and toss my sopping wet panties into the hamper.

Damn.

14

MADDOX

Holy fuck.

Holy ever-living God-almighty fuck.

Not even the cold of winter’s night can soothe the rock-hard ache in my pants.

Mad Maddox came out tonight.

The untethered, savage side of my personality. The animal inside the man, the predator stalking its prey, the tiger on the prowl…

The man on the hunt.

I had every intention of going into Alissa’s apartment, having that drink. Maybe make out a little, but nothing more.

But then Mad Maddox came out. And I knew that if I went inside that apartment, I would fuck the living daylights out of Alissa. Spread her out naked on the bed, dive in between her legs, first with my tongue, and then with my cock.

My cock, which is still hard under my pants.

Part of me wants to turn back around, pound on her door, and take her to bed right fucking now.

From the moment she walked into my shop yesterday—God, was that only yesterday?—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. It’s like I’m obsessed.

Only a few women unleash the side of me I call Mad Maddox.

The first woman… I don’t think about her anymore. She broke my heart when I was at my lowest point.

And the second… Fuck.

But I won’t go back to Alissa’s. It’s our first date. I don’t want her to think that I’m only after her pussy.

I mean… I am after her for her pussy. What man wouldn’t be? She’s fucking gorgeous. But I’m also after her. I want to get to know her better.

I could even…

God, could I love her?

How fucked up is that? Why am I even thinking it when I just fucking met her?

Could she love me?

Because she has to love all of me. Not just the well-dressed haberdashery owner, but also Mad Maddox. The guy who would have fucked her into oblivion in her apartment hallway right then and there if the neighbor hadn’t interrupted. And the guy who turned away his family’s millions in favor of a fucking clothes store.

The neighbor almost recognized me. She’s middle-aged. She would have been a young adult when my dad first got elected to office. And I almost let it slip on the car ride home that I have connections to the Chicago political scene.

I’ll tell Alissa. I will. All in good time. I want to make sure that she likes me for me, not for who my family is…or was.

I get into my car—I’m still fucking hard, damn it—and make the short drive back to my apartment over the haberdashery. I park in my spot behind the old building and walk up the flight of stairs to my place.

How long is a guy supposed to wait before he asks for a second date?

I think the rule is three days. Don’t want to appear desperate. Chicks smell that shit a mile away and then run for the hills.

It’s Friday. Three days would be Saturday, Sunday, Monday.

The club’s only open on weekends. Friday through Sunday. I’d end up waiting a whole-ass week before I could take her there again.

And I really want to take her there a second time. The first time a person goes to Aces, all they can focus on is their surroundings. Newbie eyes. People are so enamored with what they’re seeing that they can’t actually enjoy themselves, allow themselves to fall into the allure of Aces Underground.

We didn’t even leave the Spades section. We could have danced in the Hearts section, played a game in the Diamonds section. I doubt Alissa smokes, so the Clubs section wouldn’t have a lot for her to do, but you don’t have to smoke to enjoy the soft leather chairs there, take in the stale, oddly comforting smell of lingering tobacco.

Alissa had a lot to drink, too. I’ve seen that happen before, too. First-timers need a little something to get them to let go, not be too weirded out by the surroundings. Especially the card waiters with their shoulder tattoos and their vows of silence.

It almost has a cult vibe, now that I think of it.

But it’s just a club.

A club I want to take Alissa back to.

So fuck the three-days rule.

I grab my phone. Write out a quick text.

Thanks again for a great time tonight. Loved getting to know you. I realize it’s soon, but is there any chance you’d like to go back to Aces tomorrow?

I send the text and then watch to see if she’s typing.

No little three-dot bubble. But it’s late. She’s probably getting ready for bed. Maybe she’s the kind of girl who keeps her phone in another room when she’s asleep. It wouldn’t surprise me. She still keeps a physical calendar instead of relying on her phone.

I strip off my suit and dress shirt, hang them up in my walk-in closet. I place the bowler hat I wore tonight on a rack I built myself that hangs off my closet door.

Once I’m naked, I get in the shower and turn on the water. Let it pelt my face.

And I grab my dick, running my hands up and down it as I think about Alissa.

How soft her lips were, how she moaned when I was working her neck and ears.

How good her breast felt when I grabbed it, squeezed it. Pillowy, but with just the right amount of firmness.

I imagine what would have happened if the neighbor hadn’t interrupted us. She would have undone my belt, unzipped my fly, and let my dick out of my pants right then and there. She would have gotten down on her knees and sucked it.

Those lips felt so good on mine. I can’t imagine what they’d feel like on my cock. Sucking it up and down, up and down. Her warm tongue gliding across my shaft, encircling my head.

Fuck…

And I’m coming. In my mind’s eye, I’m coming down her throat, and she’s swallowing every drop.

My next release won’t be into the shower drain. It won’t even be into Alissa’s throat.

It’ll be into her sweet pussy. I’ll come inside her, claim her as my own after I’ve fucked her hard and fast.

I get out of the shower, towel myself dry, and grab a clean pair of boxer briefs out of my dresser to wear to bed.

My phone sits on my night table. Maybe Alissa has texted back.

I pick up the phone.

I’d love to, Maddox. I’ll see you tomorrow. Can’t wait!

15

ALISSA

I hate working Saturdays. This one is particularly painful because it’s an unseasonally beautiful day in the city of Chicago. The sun is out, gleaming over the iced-over Lake Michigan. It’s rare for the Midwest to experience a sunny day this time of year. Usually it’s clouded over from October to March. But the sun has burned through the clouds today, and I’m of course stuck in the hospital.

I keep telling myself that I love what I do. I’m making a difference in people’s lives.

But all I’ve been able to think about the entire day is that kiss with Maddox. How beastlike he became in that moment. And I’m seeing him again tonight.

Who knows what side of his personality will pop out on the second date?

I have an outfit chosen specially for the occasion, with an added twist I think he’ll like. Will we make it past my apartment door tonight?

I like that Maddox didn’t wait to text me. I hate the waiting game. It’s all rubbish. None of us are getting any younger, and I’ve always believed in striking while the iron is hot.

And God, is my iron hot.

If I don’t get ahold of myself, I’ll have to walk outside and plunge myself into a snowbank.

Get a grip, Liss.

I’m attending to two of my favorites today. Carol and Lou, two elderly patients who are sharing a room. They both have good enough insurance to have private rooms, but they checked in when we were nearing capacity from a flu that was spreading like wildfire, and we placed them together temporarily. When space cleared up, we offered to move one of them out, but they had hit it off at that point and apparently enjoy each other’s company.

They’re both waiting for transplants. Lou needs a heart, and Carol needs lungs. They’re both widowed and had never met before they were sharing a room, but they’re adorable together and have fallen for each other. Lou likes to say that he needs a transplant because Carol stole his heart, and Carol says Lou has taken her breath away.

Okay, maybe it’s a touch morbid, but it’s mostly cute.

I walk in. They’re watching TV together—a rerun of The Golden Girls, of course—and Lou is yapping on about seeing Bea Arthur in Mame years ago.

Carol’s silver hair is pulled back into a bun, and she put on a little blush and eye makeup today.

Lou was clearly handsome in his younger days. He has a strong jaw, a good head of white hair, and thick—but not bushy—eyebrows. He smiles when I walk in.

“Miss Alissa! Wonderful to see you,” he says.

“It’s great to see you two as well.” I take a look at Lou’s chart. “How are you feeling today? Any pain, on a level of one to ten?”

Lou shrugs. “I mean, when you get to be as old as we are, you’re never without a little bit of aches and pains. But nothing too bad.”

I nod, marking a box on Lou’s chart. I turn to Carol. “Same for you, Carol?”

She nods.

Because of her trouble breathing, Carol doesn’t speak much. Doesn’t seem to be an issue. Lou talks enough for the both of them.

“Any word on that heart?” Lou asks. “Carol and I just learned that we’re the same blood type. Wouldn’t it be charming if the same donor covered for both of us?”

I smile. “Charming if not a bit macabre, Lou.” I frown. “Unfortunately, nothing yet. But you never know.”

“I never loved the idea of a young person having to die for me to live,” Lou says. “But I’ll hold out a bit longer.” He sits up and leans toward me. “Carol and I have a pact. We’re going to give it another month. If no hearts or lungs have arrived by the beginning of March, we’re going to refuse further treatment and enter hospice together.”

Carol nods. “It’s true.”

I gasp. “You can’t do that! Organs take time. Some people wait months, even years, for the right match.”

Lou holds up a hand. “We’ve lived long lives and we’ve thought a lot about the decision.”

My lips quiver, but I hold back any tears for Lou and Carol’s sake. “I’ll inform Dr. O’Rourke of your decision. You can always change your mind.”

I turn toward the door. I’m usually pretty good about separating my feelings from my patients—after all, this is a hospital, and people dying is a common occurrence—but Carol and Lou are special. I was really hoping they’d make it.

They still could.

A miracle could happen.

They’ve been waiting so long.

After I find Dr. O’Rourke, I’ll go into the employee bathroom and have a good cry.

At least I’m no longer turned on.

I go to the nurses station. Dinah is there, typing something on the computer.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Alissa! Have you been ignoring your phone? I’ve been texting you all morning.”

I blink. I haven’t looked at my phone since last night. Maddox has been on my mind. I had to fish it out of my purse this morning on my way out the door.

In fact—shit. I didn’t charge it last night. I meant to plug it in once I got to the hospital, but I tossed it in my locker like I always do. It’s probably dead, or about to die.

Oh, God. Like Carol and Lou.

I swallow the emotions down.

“Sorry. I’ve been preoccupied.”

Dinah narrows her eyes. “Did you have a good date last night?”

The clouds covering my brain part a bit, allowing a little sunlight to come through. I smile at Dinah. “Yeah, actually. He’s a great guy. I’m seeing him again tonight.”

Dinah drops her jaw. “A second date less than twenty-four hours later? Damn, Alissa, he must have it bad.”

I chuckle lightly. “Yeah. I might have it bad too.”

Dinah raises her eyebrows. “Did you…?”

I shake my head. “No. But we snogged pretty fiercely outside my apartment door. It was…” I lean down closer to Dinah’s ear, lowering my voice. “It was bloody amazing. Like, I’ve never been kissed by a man like that. I could hardly sleep, I was so turned on.”

Dinah grins. “Love that for you.” She turns her gaze to the computer. “If one of us gets to escape the perilous land of Chicago singlehood, I’m glad it could be you.”

I roll my eyes. “Dinah, you’re gorgeous. When a man comes along who deserves you, you’ll know it. And who knows. It was a great first date, but I’ve had a lot of great first dates. Men don’t usually start showing their true colors until later in the process. Maddox could be a creep, for all I know.”

But deep in my heart, I know he’s not. Maddox is different from any man I’ve ever met. If his appearance and dedication to men’s fashion didn’t already confirm it, that searing kiss last night certainly did.

I return my gaze to my clipboard. “Anyway, I’m looking for Dr. O’Rourke. I need to talk to him about a few patients of mine. Have you seen him?”

Dinah looks up, her face flushing. “Looks like he just walked in.”

Whenever Dr. O’Rourke enters a room, every female in the area—and some of the males—take notice. He’s got a granite jaw framed by a tightly trimmed beard, dark piercing eyes, and a broad body that could melt any woman into a puddle. Even from under his white doctor’s coat, you can see the muscles of his pecs and biceps straining to break free from the tight V-neck he wears underneath.

Of course, he’s nothing compared to Maddox, even though the two of them share a lot of physical qualities.

“Dr. O’Rourke.” I walk up to him, clutching my clipboard. “I need to talk to you about a few of my patients.”

“Alissa.” Dr. O’Rourke smiles at me. “Did you have a pleasant evening?”

I swallow. Far more than pleasant, but Dr. O’Rourke doesn’t need to hear that.

But Dinah can always be counted on to speak for me.

“Alissa had a great evening. She had a date with a tall, dark stranger.”

Dr. O’Rourke raises an eyebrow. “Did you?”

I glare at Dinah. “Yes. We went to this bizarre club, not too far from here, actually.”

Dr. O’Rourke narrows his eyes. “How bizarre?”

I bite my lip. “Pretty bizarre. It was underground, a speakeasy. Themed after playing cards. Spades, diamonds, clubs, you get the idea.”

“Aces Underground?”

I widen my eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”

“My best friend takes me there every so often as a wingman,” Dr. O’Rourke says. “It’s not a place you easily forget. Do they still have those two in the matching sweaters heading up the bar?”

“DeeDee and Dudley. Yes! And the waitstaff’s uniforms…”

He nods. “I’m aware. Definitely a unique spot, for sure.”

“That’s what I told Maddox⁠—”

Dr. O’Rourke widens his eyes. “Maddox? You went with Maddox? Maddox Hathaway?”

I furrow my brow. “Don’t tell me you know him.”

“He’s my friend. The one who takes me there.”

Dinah drops her jaw. “As his wingman.”

Dr. O’Rourke presses his lips together. He’s stepped in it now, revealed his best friend as a player.

But it’s okay. Maddox told me about him last night. So he’s dated other people casually before. Who hasn’t?

Dr. O’Rourke runs his fingers through his dark hair, mussing it a bit. “He’s a great guy, Alissa. I swear.”

I hold up a hand, chuckling. “It’s okay. He told me about you, Dr. O’Rourke. Didn’t mention your name, though, so I didn’t make the connection.”

“Maddox and I grew up together.” Dr. O’Rourke smiles. “Went our separate ways when I went to college and then med school, but once I returned to Chicago for my residency, we picked up right where we left off.” He looks at me, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t think Maddox has ever taken a woman to Aces before, though. How did you meet?”

I laugh. “On a whim, honestly. I took a different route home from work two nights ago and happened upon his shop. We got to talking, and we hit it off.”

Dr. O’Rourke scratches the side of his head. “He’s pretty secretive about his membership there. He inherited it from his father, you know, and as I’m sure you’re aware, they didn’t exactly have the best relationship when he died. If he took you there, on a first date no less, he must think you’re pretty special.”

My cheeks warm.

“Awwww!” Dinah groans, her hand over her heart. “I’m maid of honor for your wedding, right?”

“Well, I have no sisters, and you’re my only female friend in the city, so I guess so.” I chuckle. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We’ve had one date. It’s not quite time to pick out china patterns.”

Dr. O’Rourke makes some notes on his iPad. “You wanted to talk to me about a patient.”

“Right.” I close my eyes, take in a deep breath. “Lou Chambers and Carol Lutwidge.”

He smiles. “The lovebirds. How are they?”

I sigh. “Not great. They say they want to discontinue treatment and enter hospice if they can’t get their respective transplants within the next month.”

Dr. O’Rourke’s eyes soften. “I see.”

Dinah gasps. “But they’ve got to hold on. We get organs all the time. Odds are one of them will be a match.”

“They may change their minds,” Dr. O’Rourke says. “But I’ll have the forms sent up from legal, just in case.”

“Doctor,” I say, “shouldn’t we try to talk them out of it? A month is such a short time span. What if one day later we receive the organs they need?”

Dr. O’Rourke frowns. “Then they will go to the next person on the list. You know how informed consent works, Alissa. We can’t force people to take treatment they don’t want. This is a hospital, not a prison. People are allowed to leave whenever they want.”

“But—”

He holds up a hand. “I know you like them, Alissa. We all do. But part of respecting a patient includes respecting the decisions they make. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll go and see them right away.” He pats me on the shoulder. “And you never know. A miracle could happen.”

I sigh. Carol and Lou have been waiting for a miracle for several months at this point.

At least they have each other. Their families live outside of Illinois.

There’s something romantic about the idea of them facing death together, holding hands almost in defiance of it.

And I can’t help but wonder… Is Maddox the man I’ll grow old with?

Will he watch me as time takes my youth, carves wrinkles in my face, steals the color out of my hair? And will he say that he can’t see any difference, that the woman he loves looks the same as the day she walked into his shop on a whim?

Oh my God…

We’ve been on one date. What is wrong with me?

Crazy that Dr. O’Rourke is friends with Maddox, though.

Chicago is a big city. It’s quite a coincidence.

Dr. O’Rourke told me I’m the first woman Maddox has taken to the club.

That he keeps his cards—pardon the pun—close to his chest, because he inherited the membership from his father.

Wait.

How did Dr. O’Rourke put it?

He inherited it from his father, you know, and as I’m sure you’re aware, they didn’t exactly have the best relationship when he died.

As I’m sure you’re aware, he said.

People don’t typically talk about their strained relationships with their parents on the first date. I certainly would never bring up my mother. You talk about music, your interests.

So why would Dr. O’Rourke put it like that? As I’m sure you’re aware?

Why would I know?

And more importantly…

What should I know?

16

MADDOX

I’m back at Randolph and State. It’s about ten minutes before Alissa said she’d meet me here.

So much for being fashionably late.

But Alissa is worth showing up early for. I still can’t get that kiss outside her apartment door out of my mind. I’ve jacked off three times since the date just thinking about it.

Normally I’d abstain before a date. But with Alissa in mind, I couldn’t help myself.

She brings Mad Maddox out even when she’s not in the room.

My phone buzzes. A text from Harrison, my best friend.

Hey. Super random, but I think the woman you’re seeing tonight works at my hospital.

No way. I mean, Harrison is a cardiothoracic attending surgeon at a hospital downtown. But this is Chicago. There are lots of hospitals, lots of doctors. What are the odds?

Alissa Maravilla?

She’s the one. She’s a nurse in the transplant wing. You’ve never taken a woman to the club before, have you?

Nope. Until yesterday, you were the only person I’d brought as my guest.

An honor. Hope you know that I’m not putting out.

Very funny.

Anyway, I hope I didn’t fuck you over. I mentioned that you have brought me there in the past as your wingman. This was before I connected the dots and realized it was you she was seeing.

Fuck.

I hope Alissa didn’t get the wrong impression. I’ve dated and hooked up casually in the past, but that doesn’t mean my feelings for her aren’t real. Hell, I shared Aces with her on the first date.

Did you tell her she’s the first woman I’ve taken to the club?

I mentioned that, yes.

Alissa and I talked about Harrison last night. She guessed that I brought him as a wingman. She said that it wasn’t a big deal.

I hope she knows that this date with her is a big deal. I’m not just hoping to get into her pants—though I certainly won’t say no if she offers—I want to get to know this woman.

Good. I’ll talk to you later. Meeting Alissa for our second date in a few minutes.

I put my phone back in my pocket.

I look around the corner.

It’s not as cold tonight because the sun was out all day. I chose a light-gray suit for tonight over a black shirt and a blood-red tie. And of course a gray fedora, the same one I wore the night I first met Alissa.

Only two days ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. From this point forward, I’ll measure my life in years of BA and AA.

Before Alissa and After Alissa.

I check my watch. A few minutes past six.

Where is she?

I’ve always prided myself on being punctual, perhaps to a fault. If I’m ever running late for an appointment, I call ahead. And I’m usually more upset about it than the person I was supposed to meet. That was something my father drilled into my head. Time is finite, son, and you show respect to your colleagues by respecting their time. Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable. No exceptions.

But Alissa isn’t meeting me for a dental appointment or for a work meeting. She’s meeting me for a date. She’s allowed to have a few minutes to herself.

Five minutes past the hour now.

My heart takes a dive into my stomach. What if Harrison fucked me over?

Or—oh God—what if he told Alissa who my father is?

He wouldn’t think anything of it. Most people in the city have heard my name, at least in passing.

Alissa doesn’t know who I am.

And I like that.

I’m sick to death of women who are after my family’s money. They lose all interest once they find out I turned away my family’s riches in favor of an old haberdashery.

I don’t want to live in the cesspool of Chicago politics. Politics in general, if I’m being honest. Screw my family’s money. There would always be a new condition attached to it. The dominos would keep lining up. That’s how my father worked his entire life.

It's part of the reason for his downfall, too.

All those deals made behind closed doors, all the working the media like puppets, all the flashing cameras and hot mics. My dad was a master at it, until his luck ran out.

It never sat well in my gut. I don’t want to live like that.

Better to die a pauper than a prince of politics.

All Alissa has to do is a Google search, and she’ll know everything.

I thought she was different. I knew she was different.

It’s ten past the hour.

Fuck.

She hasn’t texted me, either. If she were running late, she’d at least let me know.

I’m being stood up.

Since I’m already here, I can go inside and grab a drink. Drown my sorrows in another gin and tonic.

I’m turning toward the alleyway where the club’s entrance is located when⁠—

“Maddox!”

I turn. And there she is.

And I drop my jaw.

Alissa isn’t wearing her coat this evening—after all, it’s unseasonably warm—and she’s wearing a tight strapless black dress that pushes up her gorgeous tits. Her gorgeous blond hair is flowing over her bare shoulders.

But as hot as the dress is, it’s not what made my jaw drop.

Alissa is wearing a black fedora to complete the ensemble. I don’t normally care for a woman in a hat—makes me think of the Easter brunches my family would have to attend as a kid—but on her, it fucking works.

Fuck.

She walks quickly to me—she’s wearing black stilettos, so she can’t exactly run—her eyes wide and apologetic. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I got held up at the hospital right at the end of my shift. I would have texted, but my phone died.”

I caress her cheek, bring her in for a quick kiss.

“It’s no problem, Alissa,” I say after breaking away. “You look magnificent.”

She smiles. “Do you like the hat? I picked it up at a thrift store on the way to work this morning.”

“I love it.” I tip my own hat at her. “Glad to see I’ve made an impression.”

“You certainly have.” She takes the hat off. “I know it’s silly, but I figured this matched the vibe of the club a bit more.”

“It does.” I trail a finger over her jawline. “But what you wear doesn’t matter, Alissa. There’s a reason I brought you here two nights in a row. You match the vibe all on your own.”

She shakes her head. “Not in what I wore last night. That light-blue number. I must have looked like the Virgin Mary compared to most woman you meet there.”

I chuckle. “It doesn’t matter what you wear, Alissa.” I place a hand over her heart. “You match the vibe here.”

She scrunches her forehead. “What do you mean?”

“Aces Underground is a place for testing your limits, for trying new things,” I say. “It’s a place that encourages its members to embrace their darker side and take the road less traveled. And you, Alissa, are a woman who exhibits all of those qualities.”

She widens her eyes. “I am?”

I nod. “You showed it to me that night you walked into my shop. You didn’t even know what a haberdashery was. You were curious, and you walked in.” I rake my gaze over her, narrowing my eyes. “And then that kiss last night outside your apartment door. You reached down, grabbed my cock. I think we both know what you would have done if your neighbor hadn’t interrupted us.”

She swallows. “Something took over me, Maddox. I… I’m not sure what it was.”

“Something took over me as well—something raw, untamed.” I offer my arm. “Let’s descend into the depths again, embrace that darkness, and see just how far it goes.”

17

ALISSA

Chet raises his eyebrows—which I’m now realizing are white as snow—when he sees us.

“Miss Wonder,” he says. “Great to have you back so soon.”

My cheeks warm. “Guess you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t want that either.” His eyes sparkle. “IDs, please.”

Maddox and I both hand over our IDs, and Chet lugs out the big book of member names.

“I assume, Miss Wonder, that you are again a guest of Mr. Hathaway.”

I nod. “That is correct.”

He hands back our IDs, grinning. “Everything appears to be in order.”

“Thank you, Chet.” Maddox puts his driver’s license back in his wallet.

Chet gets to his feet and takes out his ring of skeleton keys. He opens the door to the mirrored staircase. “Welcome to Aces Underground.”

This time I don’t hesitate. I start walking down the stairs.

“Wait for me,” Maddox calls.

I stop on the fifth or sixth step. What’s taken over me? Just twenty-four hours ago I was sure that this staircase was going to lead me to some sex dungeon where I’d be kidnapped and sold into slavery. Now I can’t wait to go down.

Something about the heavily perfumed air is pulling at me. Guiding me like the wafting aroma of a pie in a windowsill to a cartoon dog.

“Sorry.” I bite my lower lip. “Just excited, I guess.”

Maddox smiles. “I’m glad you are. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to the place yesterday. It’s…unique.”

I chuckle. “Understatement of the century. But I’ve liked it so far. I want to explore a bit more. We didn’t really go past the Spades section yesterday.”

He nods. “True. It can be sensory overload at first. That’s why we stayed in Spades.”

I turn ahead and continue descending the staircase, holding myself in check to make sure I don’t run ahead of Maddox again. Weird how excited I am. And slightly frightened, as well.

Once we reach the green door marked with the four card-suit symbols, I turn the doorknob and open the door, holding it for Maddox.

He raises an eyebrow. “The gentleman is supposed to hold the door for the lady.”

I bite my lip, offering him my arm. “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises tonight.”

God, do they pump pheromones into the air here? There’s something about this place that brings out the siren in me.

But I don’t hate it.

In fact…

I walk Maddox over to the bar where DeeDee and Dudley are standing, wiping glasses down. They look up—again, not speaking a word—and widen their eyes in inquiry.

Maddox opens his mouth, but I speak first.

“Vodka martini for me, dry and dirty.” I look over at Maddox, narrowing my eyes. “And the gentleman will have another gin and tonic, I presume.”

Maddox’s cheeks flush a light pink. Damn, he’s gorgeous as hell.

“Yes, he will.”

I whip my gaze back to DeeDee and Dudley. “There you have it.” I reach into my purse and grab my credit card, sliding it across the counter. “Open a tab. Both our drinks are on me tonight.”

Maddox places his hand over my card. “That I won’t allow, Alissa.”

I turn to him, my lips pouted. “I don’t believe I gave you a choice, Mr. Hathaway.”

He drops his jaw slightly, darts his gaze around the room, and removes his hand from my card. “Are you sure? I’m happy to pay.”

“You paid for my drinks last night. And you drove me home.” I run my hand slowly up and down his upper arm—damn, I can feel those corded muscles through his jacket. “And I hope it’s not presumptive of me to assume you’ll be doing me the same service this evening.”

Maddox swallows, eyeing my breasts, which are fully on display in this tight black dress. “I’ll gladly service you in any way you choose.”

I sear my gaze into his. “Good.” I turn back to the counter and push the card forward. “So there it is. All of my drinks tonight, as well as anything Mr. Hathaway orders, are on this tab. Thank you.”

Dudley grabs my credit card and brings it to a vintage-looking computer in the back of the bar while DeeDee prepares our drinks.

Maddox grabs my hands. “While we’re waiting on those drinks, how about I show you the Hearts section for a dance?”

I bat my eyes at him, fanning myself like a debutante. “Maddox, I thought you’d never ask.”

He smiles, those tiny flames in his eyes beginning to erupt. “Just one rule. On the dance floor, I lead. Non-negotiable.”

God, this man takes my breath away. This little game of back-and-forth we’ve established tonight is so hot. I squeeze my thighs against the tingle between them.

Maddox guides me to the Hearts section. The dance floor, in front of the stage where the singer and instrumentalists are playing, is already populated by a few couples. The floor itself is laid in a gorgeous cherry-red hardwood, lit up by a pink disco ball that catches the lights off the floor-length candelabras that line the perimeter of the area. The singer—Bianca, I think her name is—is framed radiantly by a pink spotlight, its blushing beam also bouncing off the disco ball, giving the section its rosy hue.

Maddox grins at me, his dark eyes cutting through the soft pinks. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

Bianca’s voice fills the room, smooth and rich, carrying the melody of the old Rodgers and Hart classic “My Funny Valentine.” The song is slow, intimate, a quiet confession set to music.

Maddox wraps his arm around my waist, his hand resting just above my hip, firm and possessive. I settle mine on his shoulder, and together, we move—our steps unhurried, in sync, as if we’ve been doing this forever.

The lyrics describe someone imperfect but adored beyond reason. I bite back a laugh. Maddox’s physique is far from imperfect. His broad shoulders command attention, and his presence cuts through the dance floor like a blade. And his mouth? After last night’s kiss, I know for a fact there’s nothing weak about it.

He dips me just enough to steal my breath, his grip steady, his confidence unshaken. Then, with a smooth pull, he guides me into a spin before bringing me back, our bodies flush, not a whisper of space between us.

The song’s final plea echoes around us—stay just as you are. Don’t change.

My heart stumbles. That, I understand completely. There isn’t a single thing about Maddox I’d alter, not even the smallest detail. He’s determined, magnetic, breathtaking. And, God help me, if he kisses me again, I might just let him do a lot more.

I feel a twinge—not just in between my legs, but in my heart.

I look into Maddox’s eyes, but I see through them into his soul.

And I think I might be falling in love.

That’s crazy, though, right? It’s our second date. Third if you count our impromptu tea in his haberdashery two nights ago.

Yet…I feel something for him I’ve never felt for any other man.

Bianca wraps up the song with a jazzy flourish from the band. People on the dance floor applaud. I would join them if my hands weren’t still glued to Maddox.

He looks at me, his eyes flaming again. He reels me in for a kiss.

And everything in me shatters.

This kiss is far more chaste than what we experienced outside my apartment last night, but the emotion behind it is palpable. My lips meet his in a gentle whisper.

For a moment, his tongue slips between my lips, and I delicately tangle mine with his. I get lost in the pink lights of the Hearts section, rising into the rosy clouds of a sunset overlooking all of Chicago while wrapped in the bliss of Maddox’s embrace.

Then I open my eyes. Oh, God… We’ve been kissing on the dance floor, in full view of everyone in the club, for several minutes now. A warmth of blood rushes to my cheeks as I break the kiss.

Maddox opens his eyes, catching the looks we’re getting as well. “Sorry about that.”

I place a finger on his lower lip. “Don’t ever apologize for kissing me, Maddox Hathaway.”

He grabs my upper arms, sinking his grip into them. “I’m not apologizing for the kiss. What do you say we get out of here?”

I’d like nothing more—my pussy is more than ready after this dance and kiss—but out of the corner of my eye, I spy Seven holding a tray, looking at us.

“Our drinks,” I say. “We should at least finish them. I don’t want that good booze to go to waste.”

He grins. “I can respect that.”

I nod to Seven, indicating that we’re coming over.

Goodness. Seven.

I haven’t thought of her since last night. I had a few too many drinks, and Maddox has dominated my headspace ever since that ardent kiss last night.

But I thought I caught something in her eyes. A fleeting look of fear.

Maybe I was just seeing things. I was pretty weirded out for the first hour we were here last night. It took a while for me to adjust.

But now I know that Aces Underground is just a regular club with a bizarre coat of paint. Completely harmless and a lot of fun.

I walk over to Seven. “We’ll grab a table back at the Spades section.”

Seven nods and follows Maddox and me as we cross toward the bar and grab a small table in the corner.

She sets down our drinks and whisks away to attend to another table. Maddox grabs his gin and tonic, and I take a sip of my martini. It’s delicious, perhaps even better than the one I had last night. I ordered this one dry, meaning that it has much less vermouth than a regular martini. That allows the rose-petal infusion in the vodka to really shine and blend with the earthy and acidic flavor of the olive juice. It’s delicious.

I take another sip when I notice something at the base of my glass. A tiny blue sticky note affixed to the bottom.

It’s handwritten, in a language other than English. Roman letters, but lots of marks that I don’t recognize.

Maddox raises his eyebrows as he puts his glass down. “What’s that?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. It’s a small note, handwritten.”

“Let me see it.”

I hand it to Maddox.

He looks it over and strokes his chin. “Interesting. I’m not sure what language this is. But the letters are the same letters we use in English, so we can rule out a Slavic language and most Asian languages. Which is odd, because most of the servers here are from Eastern Europe or Southern Asia.” He hands the note back to me. “Probably just a note from the bar. Someone wrote down an order from a patron and it accidentally got stuck to your glass. You can probably toss it.”

I blink. Odd that a note would be attached to my glass. “It could be important. I’ll flag Seven down and give it back to her.”

Maddox looks up. “I think she’s preoccupied.”

Indeed, the middle-aged man at the table Seven served after us is getting to his feet, his gaze lingering on the curve of Seven’s waist and the sway of her hips. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

I swallow. “What do you mean, preoccupied?”

Maddox discreetly gestures to Seven and the older man. “Watch.”

Seven dips her shoulders just a fraction before she turns to follow the man. Her steps are measured, controlled, but I see a flicker of something in her eyes—resignation? She follows the man to one of the private areas that is cordoned off with velvet rope, and they disappear behind the curtains.

My heart races as I keep my eyes focused on the curtains. “What… What are they doing back there?”

“Could be anything. They could be talking. He could be paying her for a lap dance…or more.”

I whip my gaze back to Maddox. “Or more?”

He shrugs. “Aces has a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy when it comes to what happens in the private spaces. But rest assured that Seven is being tipped well for any service she may provide.”

I drop my jaw. “You mean the patrons can…solicit the waitstaff?”

Maddox nods. “Yeah. Part of the deal. You have to pay extra, of course. But Rouge encourages it. It’s part of the experience. ‘Pick a card, any card,’ she usually says.”

“But that’s prostitution!”

Maddox frowns. “No, it’s not. The waitstaff are allowed to refuse services of any nature to any patrons. It’s all consensual. Of course, if they refuse a proposition, they won’t get the tip.”

He’s really all right with this? “How can you think this is okay? These people probably came to this country with nothing.”

“And Rouge is giving them the opportunity to make something of themselves. Start fresh. The American dream.”

“Whoring yourself out to the Chicago upper crust is hardly the American dream.”

Maddox scoffs. “You have two degrees in music. You were hoping to monetize your natural gifts and talents. What’s so bad about them doing the same?”

I stand quickly. “You can rationalize it whichever way you want, Maddox. But these people are being used for sex.”

“No one’s forcing them. They probably enjoy it.”

I gasp at his words, and before I know it, I’ve picked up my martini glass and thrown its contents in his face.

“What the fuck, Alissa?”

“What the fuck yourself, Maddox.” I grab my purse, along with the note Seven left behind. I can’t believe I thought I was falling in love with this jerk. “I’m out of here.” I take a few steps away but then turn back to Maddox. “I thought you were different. But no, you’re just like every other creep I’ve dated in this godforsaken city.”

“Alissa, wait⁠—”

But I’m already storming out. I ascend the staircase and knock three times at the door.

Chet opens the door. “Ah, Miss Wonder. Leaving so soon?”

“You bet your pinstriped arse I am.”

Chet cocks his head. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” I place a hand on the knob of the black door that leads to the alleyway and look back at Chet. “Or maybe you do. Whatever the hell kind of a business you’re running here, I won’t have anything more to do with it.”

“Miss Wonder⁠—”

But already I’ve slammed the door behind me. I walk into the brisk Chicago night.

More than brisk. The sun has been down for a few hours now, and even though it was a nice day, it’s gotten much colder.

And I’m wearing nothing but this tight little dress and fedora.

God, this fucking fedora, which I bought to please Maddox. There’s fifty bucks I’ll never see again. The thrift shop where I purchased it has a strict no-return policy.

I’ll get out onto Randolph and hail a cab.

Except…

Damn it all. My credit card is back at the bar. I insisted on paying for Maddox’s drinks tonight. More money I’ll never see again.

But I can’t go back in there, not after the scene I just made.

I’ll call the credit card company and get a new card tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll just use Apple Pay on my phone, and I’ll order an Uber home.

Except.

Damn it all again. My phone is dead.

Guess I’m taking the L. I can just jump the turnstile. People do it all the time, often in full view of the police. I’ll just pay twice the next time I use it. That’ll even things out.

At least I have my keys in my purse. I’ll be able to get into my apartment, to my warm bed, and I can charge my phone.

All that matters right now is that I get the fuck away from Maddox Hathaway and Aces Underground.

Which way to the nearest Red Line stop?

Normally, I’d get out my phone and check, but I don’t have that luxury.

Christ. I’ve lived here for years now. How have I not memorized the lay of the land?

I guess I’ll just walk along main streets until I see something. Hopefully I’ll find a stop before I freeze my⁠—

“Lost, pretty lady?”

My heart drops in my gut. A gritty voice just whispered into my ear. I turn around and see a ratty-looking man wearing a leather jacket.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mouse.” He gestures toward the shadows. “Come on, Dodo, Eaglet.” Two other men, also wearing leather jackets, emerge.

Dodo is heavyset with a large nose, and Eaglet is tall with long limbs.

I swallow. “I was just leaving. Nice to meet you all.”

Mouse grabs my arm. “I don’t think you were.”

“Let go of me!” I try to pull my arm out of Mouse’s grasp, but he’s holding tightly.

“I don’t think so,” Mouse says. He cuts a glance toward Dodo and Eaglet, the corner of his mouth twitching as a glint of darkness flickers in his eyes. “Can I interest you two in a race?”

18

MADDOX

Fuck. I really screwed this up.

I always knew Aces had a slimy side. Any kind of place like this would. Hell, it started off as an illegal speakeasy during Prohibition. They’ve always skirted outside the limits of the law.

Honestly, I never thought much of it. I once took a waitress to the private areas, and we both had a pretty good time. I’m not exactly proud of it, and I never did it again, but it wasn’t an inherently evil thing to do. Nowadays, I come to Aces to have a good drink, to meet people. Women, mostly. Do I look the other way when someone takes a server behind one of the velvet curtains? Yeah. I also buy produce that was likely pumped full of pesticides and picked by underpaid workers.

There is no way to be morally pure in this complex world.

I like this club. I love the mystery, the meticulously detailed theming that Rouge put into it after she took over. And it’s the best damn gin and tonic I’ve ever had. I’ve tried to replicate it at home, but it’s impossible. I swear to God, they must pick and ferment the elderflowers themselves. No one knows which brands of liquor they use, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make it all in-house.

I’ve never brought a woman here before. All the women I’ve socialized with here have been members in their own right. They all know what goes on behind closed doors here, so I’ve never had to rationalize it for them in real time.

But if any of those women stormed out for any reason, I’d let them go. If they can’t handle the dark side of the world, they certainly won’t last with me.

I guess the same is true about Alissa.

Except… Shit. Her phone is dead. And I don’t think she closed her tab at the bar, so she doesn’t have a credit card.

Maybe she has other credit cards. Or cash in her purse.

But I don’t know that for sure.

She may never want to see me again, but damn it, I promised her a ride home. And for all his faults, Maddox Hathaway follows up on his promises.

I stand and walk across the club, swinging open the Green Door to the mirrored staircase. I ascend and knock three times.

Chet opens it, his eyes wide. “I thought I might be seeing you soon, Mr. Hathaway.”

I swallow. “Did Alissa come through here?”

He nods slowly. “Yes. Miss Wonder just passed through. You two didn’t have a spat, did you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, we did.”

Chet’s grin has been pasted on his face since he saw me, but the edges of it waver slightly—maybe his version of a frown.

He lifts his eyebrows. “In a false quarrel there is no true valor.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He gazes toward the door. “I don’t think Miss Wonder will have gone far. You should go after her.”

“Right. Thanks, Chet.”

I open the door, look out the alleyway. The coast is clear, but a bone-chilling shriek pierces the air.

“Let go of me!”

Alissa’s voice.

Fuck.

Every muscle in my body coils like a loaded spring. I bolt toward her voice, my pulse hammering in my ears. I round the corner and skid to a stop in the alley behind the building.

Alissa.

She’s trapped in a circle of three men, their matching leather jackets stamped with crude nicknames. Their stances are relaxed, too confident, like they’ve already decided how this ends.

They have no idea what’s coming. The man holding her arm in his grip has the word “Mouse” written on the back of his jacket. To his right is a guy marked “Dodo,” and to his left is “Eaglet.”

What the hell? Were all the good nicknames taken?

But I don’t have time to think about that. I race in front of Alissa and swing my fist down on Mouse’s arm, forcing him to let go. “Leave her alone, asshole.”

Mouse cocks his head, narrowing his eyes. “Nice hat.”

“Fuck off,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You’re dead,” Mouse growls.

Dodo and Eaglet seize my arms, but I jam my foot into Dodo’s crotch. A strangled scream rips from his throat as he doubles over. I wrench my arm free from Eaglet’s grasp and then grab his wrist, twisting it behind him and then kneeing him in his chest.

Mouse moves in like a shadow, his arms locking around me in a crushing bear hug. I slam my elbow into his side—once, twice, three times—but he doesn’t budge. His grip tightens, a vise squeezing the breath from my lungs. Desperation fuels me. I plant my feet against the brick wall of the building, every muscle coiling as I shove off with everything I have. The momentum sends us lurching backward. Mouse falls on his ass.

I scramble off him, turn around, and punch him.

God, it feels fucking good.

Once. Twice. Three times. Once more.

Blood trickles out of his nose and he closes his eyes. I think he’s out, but I don’t have time to make sure because Dodo is advancing on me, fury in his eyes. He throws a punch, but I block it easily. He lands a second one to my gut, but I ignore it and take advantage of the closeness of our bodies and sweep his legs. He falls to his knees, and I kick him in the chin, knocking him back.

But shit, I’ve lost track of Eaglet. He’s behind me, and before I can react, he throws his arm around my neck, yanking me into a headlock. My air cuts off in an instant, panic spiking through me as his grip tightens.

I slam my elbows back, aiming for his ribs, but he’s not stupid—he’s positioned himself just right, his body flush against mine, leaving me no angle to strike. My vision blurs at the edges.

I have seconds. Maybe less.

I twist, thrash, anything to break free, but his grip only tightens, his breath hot against my ear. My lungs burn. My body screams for oxygen.

Fuck. I can’t let this degenerate take me⁠—

Crash!

Breaking glass. Eaglet's grip slackens just enough for me to rip myself free. I drag in a desperate gulp of air. I turn around to see Alissa standing there, her fingers clenched around the jagged neck of a broken liquor bottle. Shards glisten at her feet, and blood drips from a fresh gash on Eaglet’s forehead.

He sways, blinking like he’s trying to piece together what just happened.

I don’t give him the chance.

I drive a brutal side kick straight into his chest.

He stumbles backward, gasping, and falls against the wall with a dull thud.

I’m not sure if any of them are out cold, so I grab Alissa’s arm. “Come on, I’ll get you to my car.”

She says nothing, just nods, gulping, her eyes wide with fear.

I guide her to the garage where I’m parked and open the door of the Rolls-Royce for her. She looks up at me, trembling. “I suppose I should thank you for that.”

I shake my head. “No need. I just did what any decent man would do. How’d you end up cornered by those creeps anyway?”

She frowns. “I was trying to figure out where the nearest L station was. I guess I wasn’t paying any attention.”

“Don’t let that happen again, Alissa.”

My voice is terser than I intend. But what the hell, I’ll probably never see this woman again.

We don’t talk at all as we make the drive uptown to Alissa’s apartment.

I park in front of her building, and I get out and open the door for her.

“I’ll walk you up.”

Hesitation flickers in her eyes, and for a moment, I think she’s going to reject my offer, but then her face softens and she gently nods.

She unlocks the front door, and I walk behind her as she walks up the three flights to her apartment door. She turns around.

“I know you said I don’t have to thank you, Maddox. But I’d like to.”

I smile slightly. “I mean, I won’t reject it if you do.”

She grabs my hand. “Thank you, Maddox.”

I tip my hat to her. “Of course. Good night, Alissa.” I turn.

“Wait.”

I look over my shoulder. “Yes?”

She runs her hand through her gorgeous blond hair. “Would you like a drink? We didn’t get to finish ours at the club, and I have a bottle of wine I’ve been meaning to try. It’s the least I can do to thank you for your bravery. God knows what those men would have done to me.”

I know exactly what those men were going to do to her, and the idea makes me sick to my stomach.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

She swallows, nodding. “Yes. Please come in.”

“All right.”

She opens the door and I follow her in.

Her place is clutter-free. A brown leather loveseat sits opposite a flat-screen TV, in between them a coffee table with neat stacks of magazines and pastel-colored coasters. Across from the living room is a kitchenette with gleaming stainless-steel appliances. Next to it is a small round table with two matching chairs. A red wingback chair sits in another corner, framed by a vintage floor lamp with a fringed mossy-green lampshade on one side and a bookshelf on the other. From there I can see two doors, one of which I imagine leads to Alissa’s bathroom, and the other…

To her bedroom.

Fuck. My cock shouldn’t be hardening given the circumstances…

“It’s a nice apartment,” I say.

“Thanks. It’s cozy.” She reaches into a cupboard and pulls out two glasses and a bottle of wine. She uncorks the bottle, pours two glasses, and hands one to me. “It’s a new brand I just found at the liquor store. It’s an independent label. Drink Me Vineyards.”

I chuckle. “Very to the point.”

Her lips twitch upward. “I guess so.” She examines the label. “It’s a red blend from California. Should be pretty nice. Not too complex.” She eyes the loveseat. “Please, sit down.”

The loveseat is comfortable, and she slides next to me and takes a sip of wine. “It’s not bad,” she says. “Goes down easy. Try it.”

I take a drink. She’s right. It’s wine that tastes like wine. Robust, a little bit earthy, but very tasty. On the dry side, which is my preference.

“You’re right. Not too complex.”

Unlike the woman sitting next to me. She’s a layered, multifaceted individual. Thirty minutes ago, she was leaving Aces in a huff, probably planning to never see me again. Now I’m cozied up next to her in her apartment with Drink Me wine.

I draw in a breath. Time to face the music. “Alissa…”

“Yeah?”

“I want to apologize for how insensitive I was back at Aces. You had every right to be appalled by some of their practices, and I’m sorry for trying to sweep them under the rug.”

She shakes her head. “No. I wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise. I certainly won’t say I approve of what they’re doing behind those velvet curtains and ropes, but as long as what you say is true and that it’s one hundred percent consensual… To each his own, I guess. I was just shocked. I’m sorry I threw my drink at you.”

I chuckle. “Not my preferred method of ingesting alcohol, but it still tasted pretty good.”

She bites her lip. “At any rate, you saved me from those thugs. Thank you.”

She leans in and brushes her lips against mine. My cock immediately reacts. It was already hard—just being near Alissa does that—but now it’s fully engorged, desperate for a sweet pussy.

I kiss her back, gently at first. After all, she just avoided being raped in an alleyway. She’s probably in no mood to⁠—

Her tongue probes my lips.

Perhaps I’m wrong.

I open and let her in—not just into my mouth, but into my heart, my soul.

I hold her tight, clamping my mouth down on hers and deepening the kiss. We kiss and kiss and kiss. She pulls me down as she lies back on the loveseat. I grind into her. God, I want her. Fuck. Too many clothes. Can’t get close enough. I move forward, try to⁠—

Damn. I knock my glass of wine off the coffee table. The purple liquid slides over the wood and onto her floor.

“Shit, sorry.”

She grabs my head, forcing my gaze into hers. “Who bloody cares? Leave it.”

We make out on the couch for a few more minutes before she pulls at my jacket and begins unbuttoning my shirt. She gets three or four buttons down and places her hand on my bare chest.

She grins. “Just the right amount of hair.”

She crushes her mouth to mine again, running her hand up and down my chest. When she catches a nipple, I shudder. My nipples aren’t normally that sensitive, but damn, this woman heightens all my senses.

She unbuttons the rest of my shirt, and I shake it and my jacket off. They fall to the floor.

Yeah. My expensive garments are on the floor along with the spilled wine.

And I don’t fucking care.

All I want is Alissa—her flushed face, her perked-up tits. The ripe fragrance between her legs.

I’m ready. So fucking ready to take her, make her mine.

And within my heart, in the deepest recesses of my soul…

Mad Maddox stirs.

19

ALISSA

Something changes in Maddox’s eyes.

It’s hard to say exactly what. It’s a sparkle of something wild.

And I like it.

I like it a lot.

He throws a hand over each of my knees, pries my legs open, yanks my panties down my legs, and dives deep into my pussy. He licks up and down my slit and then plunges his tongue inside me.

Oh my God…

He’s not just eating me out. He’s feasting.

He runs his tongue along my folds and then circles my clit.

I close my eyes, surrender to the madness.

He moves his tongue and lips in a frenzy.

I can’t get enough.

“Maddox!” I cry out.

Without removing his mouth from my pussy, he lifts his eyebrows and sears his gaze into me.

“Good?” he growls, every vibration of his voice pulsing through every cell in my body.

“Yes… So close…”

He grins. I feel it against my sensitive flesh. He brings his tongue back over my clit, circling it…until⁠—

“Fuck, Maddox!”

The climax rips through me. I soar upward, downward, inward, outward…

Everywhere all at once. Everything.

All here. All in this glorious orgasm.

Maddox dives back in, probing his tongue in and out, in and out, fucking me with it.

Pretty soon I’m close to the precipice again. “Maddox…please…”

He darts back to my clit, and again, I’m seeing stars, planets, entirely galaxies as I soar outside myself.

Two orgasms that close to each other… That has to be a record.

Finally, Maddox lifts his head up from between my legs. His chin glistens with my juices. He licks his lips. “You’re delicious.”

The look in his eyes is still as savage as ever. He brings his lips to mine in a demanding kiss. He then moves to my ear, licking around the rim before biting my lobe gently, growling into it.

“Do you taste it?” he asks. “Can you taste yourself on my tongue, Alissa?”

I pinch my nipple through my dress and answer with a soft moan.

“Fuck, Alissa. You’re like a tropical fruit punch, sweet and tart at the same time. And it’s all fucking mine.”

“Yes,” I sigh, my breath heavy. “All yours, Maddox.”

He rips his lips from my ear and grabs my breasts, squeezing them while kissing my exposed cleavage. A moment later—I’m not sure how—my dress is around my waist, my bra strewn on the floor.

His eyes widen. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. Round and soft with amazing nipples.”

He grabs my left boob, pinching and playing with the nipple, while he brings his mouth down on the right, first circling the areola with his tongue and then sucking the nipple with full force.

Soft moans, growly groans.

And they’re coming from me.

I’ve never been that sensitive in my nipples. Until Maddox, that is. Every part of my body is now an erogenous zone. I feel every tiny caress inside me, between my legs.

“Maddox, you’re going to make me⁠—”

He groans, but doesn’t stop sucking, until, until…

“Oh, my God, Maddox…”

He thrusts two fingers into my pussy, reaching up and hitting my G-spot with just enough force to bring the third orgasm out of me.

Fireworks. Explosions. A twenty-one-gun salute.

All reverberating through me, wrapping my entire body in a cocoon of ecstasy.

The climax pulses through my body for minutes on end, enveloping me in waves. The first one was pleasurable, the second magnificent, but the third…

Pure bliss.

And, oh my God. Three orgasms and…

“I haven’t even seen your cock yet.”

Maddox widens his eyes, a wicked grin crawling across his face again. “All you had to do was ask, Alissa. There’s just one rule. If I’m naked, you’re naked.”

“My boobs and pussy are already out.”

“But you’re not naked. I want to see you, Alissa. I want to see all of you. The way you were born. The way God made you.”

The dress is already unzipped, so I sit up and slide it down my hips. I kick my shoes off—how are they still on?—and throw everything onto the floor.

I spread my legs and look up at Maddox. “Your turn.”

He burns his gaze into me, never breaking eye contact as he slowly undoes his belt, removing it completely from his pants in one motion as if he’s removing a whip from its holster.

For a fleeting moment, I want him to smack me around with it.

Where the fuck did that thought come from? I’ve never been into that.

With Maddox, I might be.

He tosses his belt to the side and slowly unbuttons his pants. He then unzips his fly with painstaking slowness.

Finally, he’s just in his underwear. Navy-blue boxer briefs. They’re on the shorter side and show off part of his magnificent thighs.

His bulge is huge. I already had an idea after feeling him up at the door last night. But feeling is one thing, seeing is a whole other. His erection is apparent, long and wide, with just the smallest blot of darkness where his pre-come has pooled.

He doesn’t strip further.

I raise an eyebrow. “Get on with it.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve done all I can.”

“What do you⁠—?”

Then I get it. He wants me to finish the job.

I scramble to my feet in front of the couch before kneeling in front of him. I slip a finger under his waistband on either side of him and slowly bring them down.

Halfway… Three-quarters… Five-sixths…

His cock springs free, jumping up like a soldier to attention.

And Christ, it’s huge.

Bigger than it felt last night, and even bigger than it looked underneath his boxer briefs. At least eight inches, and thick, with two veins sidewinding down it. The head is engorged and dripping. At the base of his dick is a neatly trimmed—of course—nest of dark hair.

This is a cock I could fall in love with.

“Like what you see?” he rumbles over me.

“Abso-bloody-lutely, Maddox.” I grab his cock, pumping it a few times.

He groans. “Fuck, Alissa. Your hands are soft.”

“Shea butter, gorgeous.”

I stifle a laugh. Every man comments on it the first time I get my hands on them.

I continue running my fist up and down his enormous dick while cupping his balls with the other. Finally, I lower my mouth to it, kissing it gently first, and then bringing it between my lips.

20

MADDOX

Fuuuuuuuuck.

I love a blow job—who doesn’t?—but Alissa’s mouth is a warm, soft haven.

She’s not able to get me all the way down her throat—I’m eight inches, after all—but damn, she’s good. She brings my dick in and out of her mouth, starting slowly but picking up speed until I’m jackhammering her skull.

Already I can feel a come shot building.

But not yet. Not fucking yet.

I remove my cock from her mouth. “Lick it,” I order. “Lick my big cock, Alissa. Lick my balls, too. The inside of my thighs.”

She obeys without question. God, I thought her soft, sweet tongue felt good in my mouth. But it’s nothing like this.

Then she goes to my balls, licking them.

Then—

She reaches around, grabs my ass, and teases my hole with her index finger.

Damn.

I don’t hate the feeling.

I hate to stop her teasing, but damn…

I grab her shoulders.

“Alissa. Take me to your fucking bedroom right now.”

She swallows, gets to her feet, and grabs me by the dick, leading me down the hall and to the door on the right. Her bedroom is tidy, a queen-size bed at its center with a lacy yellow duvet and pink throw pillows.

I point to her bed. “Lie down and spread your legs.”

She tosses her throw pillows to the floor and lies back, exposing her gorgeous pussy. It’s pink and wet and fucking beautiful.

And I’m going to finish the job I started.

“Do you want me to wear a condom?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I have an IUD, and I’m disease-free.”

“Fuck… Yeah, me too.”

“I want to feel you, Maddox. I want to feel you and only you.”

Music to my fucking ears.

I advance on her like a tiger stalking its prey before I kneel on the bed in front of her gleaming pussy.

“You ready, Alissa?”

“So ready, Maddox.”

I give my dick a few pulls and I then I slide inside Alissa.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Her mouth was great, but nothing beats a good pussy.

And this is a good fucking pussy.

Warm and welcoming, and just tight enough to wrap around my dick perfectly.

I start off slowly at first. Usually a woman has to get used to my length and girth. I don’t want to overwhelm her.

“Faster, Maddox, please.”

All right. No further questions.

I thrust in and out of her, relishing the incredible glove her pussy makes for my dick. She moans. Louder and louder.

Which only fuels my desire.

“Faster, Maddox!”

I go faster.

“Harder!”

I thrust with a damned vengeance.

“Maddox… Oh my God… I’m going to…”

I clench my jaw.

It’s building up. And I’m not going to hold it back this time.

“Fuck, Maddox!”

She’s reached her fourth orgasm. One more pump into her, and I erupt.

I claim her. Fucking mark her.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

And Mad Maddox, sated for now, curls up into a ball and rests within my soul.

I collapse on the bed next to her, kissing her gently on her lips.

Her eyes flutter shut. “Mmm, Maddox. That was incredible.”

I smile at her. “So were you.”

She pops her eyes open. “I’m serious. I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that good.”

I wipe the sweat off my brow. “You brought something out in me, Alissa.”

Mad Maddox. The animal side of my personality, brought out by only the rarest of women. And Alissa is the rarest of them all.

She looks over at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “I know it’s late. But would you mind staying?”

I don’t stay. Normally, I hate cuddling. Once the deed is done, I’m out of there.

But I want to stay with Alissa.

“Sure, baby. Whatever you like.”

She nuzzles her head against my shoulder and caresses my chest. “This is nice.”

And it is.

Alissa’s room is warm, and her bed is soft. I close my eyes, listening to her breathing in and out.

In and out.

Getting slower…and slower…

And consciousness slips away.

* * *

I wake up.

Where am I?

This room isn’t mine. It’s outfitted in yellows and pinks, like an Easter basket.

Blond hair on my chest.

I blink a few times.

Right. Alissa. We had the most fantastic sex I’ve ever had, and then dozed off.

Trying not to disturb her, I crane my neck around to look at the alarm clock on her nightstand.

4 a.m.

I close my eyes, thinking hard.

Yesterday was Saturday.

It’s Sunday. The shop opens at 8 a.m.

Fuck. That’s in four hours.

I don’t think Alissa set an alarm—why would she?—and if I go to sleep now, I’ll wake up too late.

I gently shimmy out from under Alissa, somehow managing not to wake her. I go back to her living room, gather all my clothes, and get dressed.

I don’t want her to think I just abandoned her. I’ll leave her a note.

I look around. There’s a pad of paper on the fridge, a pen attached. I’ll leave it somewhere she’ll see it in the morning.

She has a coffeepot. Perfect. I’ll leave it on top.

Alissa—

Thanks for a great evening. Wish I could have stayed longer, but I have to open the shop. Please text me when you get up. I’d love to see you again, maybe somewhere new? Let me know.

Best, Maddox

I look at the note. Hmm… Best?

Well, it’s not like I can sign it with “Love, Maddox.” That would make me look insane after only two dates.

Though, come to think of it, it wouldn’t necessarily be dishonest, either.

Shit. Could I really be falling in love with this woman already?

I shake the thought from my head. We just had a great night of sex. Oxytocin and dopamine are still swarming my brain.

But if I don’t love Alissa yet, I definitely like her.

And I can’t wait to see her again.

I leave the apartment, making sure the lock on the doorknob is engaged before closing her front door. I tiptoe down the stairs—I don’t want to rouse that nosy neighbor again—and walk out to the street where my Rolls-Royce is parked.

Shit, I didn’t even check to see if I parked legally. I didn’t think I’d be here for more than a few minutes to walk her up.

I scan my windshield. No ticket. Thank God. The traffic cops in this city can be assholes, especially with cars parked on the street.

The drive to my place is quick, and I walk up to the loft I keep over my shop.

I turn the key, disengaging the deadbolt, and walk inside.

God, what a night.

What a fucking night.

I took Alissa back to Aces, we had an argument about Rouge’s methods, I fended off a gang of thugs trying to attack her, and then we engaged in the most thrilling night of sex I’ve ever experienced with a woman.

Fuck.

21

ALISSA

I wake up to the gentle caress of sunlight coming through my window.

For a moment, all is peaceful.

I spent the evening in the throes of passion with a beautiful man who brought me to new heights of pleasure. A man who rescued me from a gang of goons in the alleyway outside of Aces Underground.

A man…who is no longer in the bed beside me.

I squint at the clock on my nightstand. Eight a.m. I close my eyes. My shift at the hospital doesn’t start until ten today. I’ve got some time to myself this morning.

Maddox probably had to leave to open his shop. I’m not sure when his opening hours are, or if he’s even open on a Sunday.

Maybe he left the second I fell asleep. This was only our second date, after all. Sleeping over for the first time is a big step.

I stretch my arms over my head and yawn. I need some coffee.

Yes, I know we Brits are supposed to enjoy tea over coffee, but I’ve assimilated to the ways of the Yanks. Though I still love tea in the afternoon and evening.

I get out of bed, grab a fuzzy pink robe from a hook hanging by my bedroom door, and pad out to the kitchen. I’m about to start a pot of coffee when I see a note resting on top of the machine.

Alissa—

Thanks for a great evening. Wish I could have stayed longer, but I have to open the shop. Please text me when you get up. I’d love to see you again, maybe somewhere new? Let me know.

Best, Maddox

Well, there’s all my questions answered. I put the pot of coffee on and look for my phone.

Shit. It’s still dead, still in my purse. I never plugged it in last night. I was a little preoccupied with Maddox’s beautiful cock.

No regrets there.

I grab my phone out of my purse and see a tiny blue slip of paper.

Oh, my God.

The note from Seven.

It’s probably nothing, like Maddox said. She probably wrote down the order. Or she didn’t write it at all and it just got affixed to my glass by mistake.

Still, though.

I plug in my phone and grab my laptop out of my bedroom, opening it and pulling up Google.

The handwriting is messy so I can’t quite make out what all the words are. I type into Google “Asian languages that use the Latin alphabet.”

The search engine’s automatic AI gives me the answer right away. Indonesian, Malay, Tagalog, and Vietnamese all use the same alphabet as English.

If I could make out the letters and marks on the note, I would just type it into Google Translate. But I can’t quite do it.

Dinah is Vietnamese. Her parents brought her here when she was very young, and she grew up speaking both her native language and English.

If this is Vietnamese, maybe she can help make it out.

I smirk. Dinah will look up at me with sarcastic raised eyebrows, probably telling me that the mysterious note attached to my glass says something like “dirty martini.”

And we’ll have a good laugh about it.

* * *

I arrive at the hospital ten minutes before my shift. I head to the ladies’ changing room to get into a fresh pair of scrubs.

I pocket the note from Seven and head to the nurse’s station, placing my purse on the counter.

I wave at the head nurse, Janice. “Is Dinah around?”

She scrunches her forehead. “No. She was just here. Probably just went to the bathroom. I⁠—”

She’s interrupted by a piercing alarm coming from one of the rooms on the ward. A patient is flatlining.

Janice jumps to her feet, and I look around, trying to figure out which room the noise is emitting from.

Oh, my God. It’s room 1832. Carol and Lou’s room.

I run toward it. Dr. O’Rourke rushes in, his face grave. I take in the room. Carol’s eyes are wide and her face is flushed. She’s not screaming. She doesn’t have enough lung power.

Lou is the one flatlining.

Dr. O’Rourke nods at me. “Alissa. Start CPR. I’ll prep the defibrillator.”

“Yes, doctor.” I head over to Lou and administer a few chest compressions, pushing down over the base of his sternum about two inches each time.

Dr. O’Rourke, meanwhile, begins charging the defib. He glances over to Janice, who is standing in the doorway. “Janice, get a milligram of epinephrine into his bloodstream. Follow it up a flush of twenty CC’s of saline.”

Janice starts attending to Lou’s IV while I continue chest compressions.

I glance at the heart monitor. “He’s still flatlining, doctor.”

I look down at Lou’s lifeless body. Come on, Lou, I beg him in my mind. You have to live. You and Carol need each other.

Dr. O’Rourke places the defibrillator’s electrodes on Lou’s chest, one below his right shoulder and the other at the left side of his waist.

“Clear!” he calls out.

Lou’s body jolts. Carol gasps.

I look at the heart monitor. “No heartbeat, doctor.”

“Okay, one more time,” Dr. O’Rourke says, charging the defibrillator again. “Janice, is the epinephrine getting into him?”

“Yes, doctor,” Janice replies. “The saline as well.”

“Good. Alissa, continue CPR.”

I do as I’m instructed, continuing to plead internally with each press into Lou’s chest, Don’t die, Lou. Carol needs you. We all need you.

Dr. O’Rourke once more places the electrodes over Lou’s chest.

“Clear!”

Lou’s body jolts again from the shock, and then, thankfully, his heart monitor starts to beep steadily again.

Dr. O’Rouke removes the defibrillator from Lou’s chest and places it back on its wall mount. He faces me and Janice, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I’ve got sinus. Good work, ladies.”

I look over at Carol. “He’s going to be okay, Carol. You both are going to be.”

She nods, but her eyes are still wide.

Damn. Their pact. One more month of waiting for an organ donor, and then they’re going to go off life support and enter hospice.

If Lou goes into heart failure after that, he’ll have a DNR, and we won’t be allowed to revive him.

He and Carol both signed the forms that Dr. O’Rourke prepared for them, stating when they would be officially rejecting further treatment. Of course, they can always recant.

They’re both in their late seventies. I’ve seen this in the hospital before. People at that age have a different way of thinking about the end of the lives. They’re more comfortable with the prospect. No one wants to die, of course, but we’re not given any other options, so it’s easier to accept it gracefully rather than with resistance.

But Lou and Carol both have more life to live. I can feel it. I’ve gotten to know them both over the few weeks they’ve been in the hospital together. They both have young grandkids that they deserve to see grow up. They have the same blood type, so one donor could potentially provide a heart for Lou and lungs for Carol. But we haven’t found a match for them yet.

“Let’s wheel Lou to the ICU until we’re absolutely sure he’s stable.”

“But doctor…” I glance toward Carol.

Carol raises a hand, waving me away. She wants what’s best for Lou. She’ll miss him while he’s in the ICU, but she wants to make sure that he’s in good shape before returning to the room.

I pat her hand. “I’ll make sure Lou is back in here once we’re sure he’s stable. We won’t bring anyone else in here in the meantime.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Janice carts Lou away to the ICU, and, with a final glance to Carol, I leave her alone in her room.

“Alissa!”

I look up and see Dinah running down the hall. She runs up to me and gives me a hug.

“I heard about Lou. Is he going to be okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. He flatlined, but we brought him back. Janice is taking him to the ICU for observation.”

Dinah looks over to the closed door of Room 1832. “But won’t Carol be lonely?”

I shake my head. “She’s a big girl. I already promised her we’d bring Lou back as soon as he’s ready.” I look back over at my nurse’s station, where my purse is still sitting on the counter.

God, I just left it there. Luckily no one picked it up.

Normally I’d leave it in my locker, but I want to ask Dinah about that note.

I look back at her. “Do you have a second?”

She cocks her head. “Yeah. As long as it’s a literal second.”

“Well, fifteen seconds then.”

She grins. “I think I can manage that.”

I lead her over to the nurses counter and pull the tiny blue sticky note out of my bag. “Is this Vietnamese?”

She looks at the note, her eyebrows rising. “Where did you get this?”

“I went back to that club last night with Maddox. This was attached to my drink. Could have been a mistake, attached by accident.” I move my weight from one leg to the other. For some reason, my stomach is fluttering with nerves. “Is it just a drink order?”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s not that.” She scratches the back of her neck. “And you received this from a server?”

“I’m not sure if I received it or if it just made its way to me. All I know is that it was attached to my drink.”

Dinah swallows, looking back at the note. “Well, it is Vietnamese. The handwriting is a little scratchy, and one of the words is misspelled, but it’s pretty clear what the note is saying.”

My heart starts to race. “What does it say?”

Dinah stares at me, her eyes wide. “Please help me.”

22

MADDOX

I should have just opened the shop late, spent the morning with Alissa.

I’ve had a few people come in, and even one sale, but nothing worth a few extra hours with the woman of my dreams.

God…

Since when do I use the phrase “the woman of my dreams?”

I’ve never been a romantic. I’ve always been the type of guy who’s avoided a relationship in favor of focusing all of my energy on the shop. I’ve had one real relationship in the past, and one… Well, another affiliation with a woman that transcends definition.

I occasionally meet a woman at Aces, have some fun fooling around with her, and then leave it at that. Whenever I’ve taken a woman home, I’ve always been up-front about our encounter being strictly casual and unlikely to lead to a relationship. She’s usually just as happy as I am to keep those boundaries in place.

I always figured that if a relationship was meant to be, it would land in my lap.

And three days ago, Alissa Maravilla walked into my shop.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since.

The mere thought of her, of what we did last night, is enough to get all my juices flowing.

Fuck. Could I truly be falling in love with her?

I never thought it would be possible after…

After her.

One of the only other women who could rouse Mad Maddox from his slumber. My only true capital-R relationship. The woman who fucked me over when I was at my lowest point.

Laurie Caulkins.

* * *

Everyone in the Chicago political sphere made it to the funeral.

They’re supposed to be here. It’s their duty. You attend the funerals of people who held important offices, regardless of how unpopular they were at the end of their term, regardless of whether your political party was at odds with them.

And every political party was at odds with my father in the final year of his term.

He was supposed to win reelection in a landslide.

Instead, he threw it all away with some foolish legislation that no one understood. His advisors begged him not to, but all their counsel fell on deaf ears.

Just like they told him, he lost.

And within another year, he was dead. That last year of his mayorship took its toll on his physical and mental health. The press had a field day, and there was conjecture that his death might be ruled a suicide. The coroner laid those rumors to rest. Heart attack, the kind where you’re alive one minute and dead the next. It was quick and painless, in his sleep.

Probably a better fate than a lot of the people sitting right here in this cathedral—pretending to be focused on the program so they don’t have to socialize with their political enemies—thought he deserved.

I haven’t seen Dad since I left home a week after I turned eighteen. Mom called me every so often to check in, but she always seemed to do so when Dad was out of the house. He never visited the shop, but he cashed the checks I sent him every month with his share of the profits. I thought about holding onto a check once to see if he’d be forced to come to the shop to collect. He’d see everything I’d done—what I’d sacrificed a promising political career for.

But I knew that I wouldn’t get the reaction I’d be hoping for. So I always paid on time and in full.

Mom isn’t here. She’s become something of a recluse since her divorce from Dad. She scrapes together enough money to live, and I’ve offered to help her, but she refuses any assistance. She rarely takes my calls anymore, and when she does, I can tell that she’s been drinking heavily.

When—or if—the shop takes off, I’ll try to get her the help she needs.

“You okay, babe?” Laurie squeezes my shoulder.

She came with me, and I’m glad to have her here. We started seeing each other soon after I opened the haberdashery. It’s been nearly two years. If my father’s death hadn’t dominated my life the past few weeks, I’d be shopping for engagement rings.

I force a smile. “I’m fine. Just… It’s weird to be here, you know?”

She nods. “Of course. You had a complicated relationship, but he was still your father.”

“He was a decent dad, for the most part. He wasn’t going to win any awards, but he was there for me when it mattered.” I look down. “Until the moment I decided not to steer my life along the pathway he chose for me.”

“I bet he’d be proud of you. What you’ve made that little shop into.”

I scoff. “Unlikely. But it’s a nice thought.” I kiss her cheek. “Thanks for being here. It’s nice to have someone on my side.”

Indeed, I’m something of a pariah in the room. The cathedral is full of state senators and representatives, Chicago city councilmembers, several former mayors. Even a few members of Congress flew in. The governor of Illinois couldn’t make it, but his wife is here.

And all of them hated my father at the end. By proxy, they hate me.

A lot of them were in the room on my eighteenth birthday when I declared my decision to not attend Yale, not pursue my place in the Hathaway dynasty. I can still see them all shifting uneasily in their seats as I made my birthday speech, as my dad ripped me away from the podium.

None of them have greeted me with anything more than a curt handshake and a muttered “Sorry for your loss.”

The funeral proceeds. I zone in and out the entire time. The eulogy is delivered by Macy Hastings, the woman who served as mayor before my dad was elected. He unseated her, and their relationship was always frosty. She manages to speak for twenty solid minutes while not saying a single kind thing about my father.

Finally, the deacon utters the three words I crave to hear every time I’m in a church service.

“Go in peace.”

People stand and silently file out of the church. Dad was cremated, so there is no burial, and there won’t be a reception, either.

I’m glad I came. It was the right thing to do. But right now, all I want to do is go home, have a few drinks, and go to bed. Maybe fuck Laurie’s brains out. The sex we have together is something else. She brings out a wild side of my personality, a version of me that she christened “Mad Maddox.”

We’re about to leave when we’re waylaid by a man with huge black circles under his eyes wearing a black suit with a pink carnation on his lapel.

“Maddox Hathaway?” He stretches his arm out in front of him.

“That’s me.” I weakly shake his hand.

“My condolences, Maddox. My name is Jerry Dorman. I’m your father’s attorney.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Then you must have had your work cut out for you the last couple years.”

He doesn’t react. “I’ve been trying to call you, but I haven’t received a response.”

“Were you calling my old cell? I had to change numbers once my dad kicked me off the family plan. He wouldn’t have had my new number.”

He nods. “Must be it. Anyway, you’re invited to the reading of your father’s will.”

I furrow my brow. “He didn’t leave me anything. He wrote me out of the will when I refused to go into politics.”

“He left you something, or else you wouldn’t be invited.”

I rub at my forehead, sighing. “Fine. When’s the reading?”

“It commences in ten minutes. Since there isn’t a reception scheduled, we’re using the fellowship hall to do the reading.”

“Okay.” I look over at Laurie. “You okay to come to the reading?”

She nods. “Of course, babe.”

Ten minutes later, I’m seated in the cathedral’s fellowship hall, Laurie at my side. The only other people in here are a middle-aged woman in a black mourning gown and an old guy I recognize as Chuck Dodge, who served as Dad’s vice mayor during his three terms.

Mr. Dorman enters, clearing his throat as he walks to the front of the room. “Thank you all for being here. On behalf of the late Mr. Hathaway’s estate, I can tell you how pleased he would be to have you all in this room.”

You all? There are four people in here besides him.

Mr. Dorman reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a document. “The will is brief, so the reading will not take long.” He puts on a pair of reading glasses and recites, “I, Henry Hathaway, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament, revoking all former wills and codicils heretofore made by me.”

God, his voice is boring. I have to slap myself to keep myself alert as he drones on.

“Section one. Charitable bequest. I direct that seventy-five percent of my liquidated assets be distributed to the Chicago Coalition to End Homelessness, to be used at their discretion in furtherance of their mission to combat homelessness in the city of Chicago.” He nods toward the woman in the black gown. “Mrs. Griffin, once the will is probated, your foundation will receive a little over thirty million dollars.”

The woman stands. “Thank you. The Chicago Coalition to End Homelessness will put the money to excellent use.” She nods to me. “Thank you to all the Hathaways for this generous gesture.”

Generous gesture, my ass. Half of the people who are on the streets of Chicago today are there because my father screwed the city’s economy so bad. This is just a last-ditch attempt to remove some of the tarnish from his legacy. But regardless of his motives, it’s still a good cause.

Only seventy-five percent of his assets are going to the charity, though. I can’t help but wonder where the other twenty-five is going. Not to my mom, or she’d be in the room. To Chuck, maybe? What the hell did he do to deserve it?

I can’t imagine any of it is going to me.

Then again, I’m in the room for something.

Mrs. Griffin takes her seat, and Mr. Dorman continues reading the will.

“Section two. Bequeaths to my son, Maddox Hathaway. I bequeath to my son, Maddox Hathaway, my 1967 Rolls-Royce Phantom V, to be his property outright and without restriction.”

I raise my eyebrows. “He left me his car?”

Mr. Dorman nods. “And it’s in excellent shape, Mr. Hathaway. It’s parked in a garage not far from here. I’ll hand you the keys once we’re finished. No need to wait for probate as you’ll get it anyway, and someone needs to take care of it.”

Damn. I wasn’t expecting that.

Mr. Dorman continues. “I further bequeath to Maddox my membership in the exclusive club known as Aces Underground, with the condition that my estate shall pay the required membership fees in perpetuity, ensuring his continued membership.”

What? I’ve never even heard of Aces Underground.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

“As his will states, it’s an exclusive club downtown. Your father was a member for years, and members are allowed to bequeath their affiliation upon their deaths to their next of kin. I have confirmed with the gentleman who keeps the records that your name is already on their list. I will hand off a packet with directions and other pertinent information your father left behind with your car keys.”

I blink. “Okay.”

I get his Rolls-Royce—which I’m happy to take—and a club membership. Very weird.

Mr. Dorman returns to the will. “Section three. Trust for Maddox Hathaway.”

I perk my ears up.

“I direct that the remaining twenty-five percent of my assets be placed in trust for the benefit of my son, Maddox Hathaway.”

The old bastard actually left me money? But it’s in a trust, which means there are conditions. I’m already over eighteen, so that can’t be it.

“The trustee of said trust shall be my former Vice Mayor, Chuck Dodge, who shall administer the trust in accordance with the following conditions. A, the trust funds shall be released to Maddox Hathaway solely upon his enrollment and subsequent completion of a Bachelor’s degree in Political Science from Yale University. B, the full amount of the trust shall be disbursed to Maddox upon conferral of his degree.”

Of fucking course. The other shoe drops.

He wants me to go to Yale. Restore his fucking legacy. I do the math in my head—the Homeless Coalition lady got thirty million, which was seventy-five percent. That means the trust has a little over ten million for me.

Fuck. That kind of money could change my life.

“I appoint Chuck Dodge as the executor of this will and direct that he carry out its provisions faithfully and diligently. In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal this twenty-second day of June, in the year…”

I have to stifle a sarcastic laugh. My birthday is the twenty-first of June. My old man rewrote his will the day after I turned eighteen.

And he didn’t mention Mom. Was he already planning on screwing her over even before his career tanked?

I meet Mr. Dorman at the door. He hands me two envelopes, one with the keys to the Rolls-Royce in them, and another with directions to an obscure alleyway off Randolph and State downtown where I guess this secret club is located.

And then, written under the note in a scribble I recognize as my dad’s handwriting, is the phrase “follow the writing raven through the river of tears.”

“Follow the what through the who?” I look up at Mr. Dorman. “What the hell does this mean?”

Mr. Dorman shrugs. “I don’t ask questions of my clients, Mr. Hathaway. All I can tell you is that your father sealed that envelope himself before securing it in his safe deposit box along with his will.”

I swallow. “He probably went off the deep end toward the end of his life. That last year in office didn’t do his mental health any favors.”

Mr. Dorman’s face remains still. “That’s all I can tell you, Mr. Hathaway.” He whisks out of the room.

Chuck Dodge passes by, handing me his card. “If you decide to meet the condition in your dad’s will to get that remaining money, give me a call.”

He and Mrs. Griffin leave the hall.

Only Laurie and I remain.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide. “So, are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

She elbows me in the ribs. “You know exactly what, Maddox. Go to Yale, get the money in the trust.”

I rub at my forehead. “He just wants me to restore his goddamned legacy, Laurie. I have no desire to get into politics.”

She shakes her head. “The will didn’t say you have to run for office. You just have to get your degree. The money will be handed over to you the second you have the degree in your hand. You can return to the shop, but you’ll be millions richer.”

“And what do I do in the meantime? Just abandon the shop for four years?” I squeeze my eyes shut and run my fingers through my hair. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into that shop, and now that my father is gone, I don’t have to give him half my profits anymore. I’m finally free, and even from the grave, he’s trying to rip me away from the only thing in my life that has brought me joy.”

“Maddox.” She rolls her eyes. “You can hire someone to run the shop in your absence.”

“No one can run the shop like I do. Plus, Yale is expensive. I’d have to take loans to get a degree that I’ll never use.”

“The money your father left you will cover those easily once you graduate. You can put the rest of the money into your shop. Into our future.” She runs her hand up and down my arm. “You can even give some to your poor mother. Help her out.”

Fuck. I could help Mom out.

But…

“I just can’t, Laurie. You don’t understand. That shop is me. If I let someone else run it while I’m gone, it’s like handing a baby over to a complete stranger.”

“You could still check in remotely. Fly in every so often if you need to.”

I swallow. “No. I’m sorry, Laurie. It’s not worth the risk. It’s playing right into what my father wants for me.”

Her face reddens. “Maddox, you’re really turning down ten million dollars over fucking pride?”

“I was doing fine yesterday without ten million dollars. I’ll do fine tomorrow.”

Laurie bites her lip. “Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ve been with you the whole way, Maddox. I helped scrub those floors, I went on all those trips to antique stores and men’s outlets. But I can’t stand idly by while you turn down perfectly good money.”

“You can’t mean⁠—”

She raises a hand to quiet me. “It’s your precious shop or me, Maddox.”

“Laurie, don’t give me a fucking ultimatum. We’re in love. We’re going to build a life together.”

She wiggles her fingers. “I don’t see a ring on my finger.”

“I was going to start looking for rings, but then Dad dropped dead.”

“Maddox. It’s been two years. Your father has been dead for two weeks. You had plenty of time.” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath in. “I’m sorry, but it’s over. I’ll text you and we can figure out a time I can pick up my belongings from your place.”

“Laurie—”

But she’s already out the door.

* * *

I never saw her again. She came by a week later to pick up her stuff, which I left outside my front door. I was down in the shop, and she grabbed it.

She dumped me at my father’s funeral.

The only woman I ever loved.

At least until now.

I can’t be sure where things are going to go with Alissa, but she’s the first person since Laurie to bring Mad Maddox out of hibernation.

Well, the first besides…

No. Just no. I’m not going back there.

But any woman capable of awakening that side of me is worth fighting for.

I lost Laurie.

I don’t regret choosing the shop—I love working here, and I would be miserable at Yale—but I still lost her.

I’m not going to make the same mistake with Alissa.

23

ALISSA

I drop my jaw. “It’s a cry for help?”

Dinah purses her lips. “I don’t know if it’s a cry per se. You said you weren’t even sure if this message was meant for you.”

I rub at my forehead. “Yeah, it was just stuck to the bottom of my glass. I suppose it could have just ended up there by mistake.”

“Then it could be anything. It could be as simple as a message to one of the other waiters to help her with a drink order for a large party or something.”

“Or even if it was meant for me, it could mean anything.” I scratch my chin. “She doesn’t speak any English. Maybe she’s asking for help with that. Or maybe she heard me talk about how I work in the hospital. Maybe she wants medical advice.”

But I think back to the very first time I saw Seven. The flash of fear I saw in her eyes. I know that look, and I recognized it in the instant that she let her mask slip.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. I ended up getting distracted by my intense attraction to Maddox, and after that first kiss outside my apartment, my mind was completely clouded over.

And of course, the sex last night…

I shake it out of my head. Bigger fish to fry right now.

Maybe I can go back to the club…

The club!

My credit card is still there.

Perfect cover to go in and check things out.

Will they let me in without Maddox?

They have to, right? My personal property is in there.

What would happen if I left my card there and Maddox dropped dead—God forbid—and couldn’t let me back in?

I suppose I could always just get a new credit card.

But whatever. They have to let me settle my debt if they want to make money.

I turn to Dinah. “Can you cover for me for an hour or so?”

Dinah widens her eyes. “Alissa, you’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

I grab my purse off the counter. “I’ll let you know. Please, Dinah, will you?”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

“Of course. I just remembered I left my credit card at the club last night. It’s around the corner. I’ll pop in and grab it. If I happen to see the girl who left me the note, maybe I can clarify if she meant for me to receive it.”

“All right.” Dinah glances at the clock behind the nurses’ station. “One hour?”

“One hour. Text me if there’s any news on Lou.”

“Sure thing, Liss.” She grabs my arm. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

I laugh, though it comes out as more of a nervous chuckle. “It’s an underground bar. How bad could it be?”

A few minutes later, I’ve grabbed my coat, scarf, and hat and am walking to the alleyway off Randolph and State. I locate the black door with the four card suits on it and walk inside.

Chet is sitting on the fur-lined couch in the foyer, reading a copy of the Chicago Tribune. He peers over the newspaper, widening his eyes.

“Miss Wonder, what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Chet.” I smile. “I left my credit card here last night.”

Chet cocks his head. “I noticed you left in a hurry. I hope you didn’t run into…”—his eyebrows twitch—“trouble.”

From the way Chet said “trouble,” I wonder if he knows about my run-in with those three goons in leather jackets last night. I have a feeling he knows a lot more than he lets on.

I dust off my jacket. “I’m fine now, that’s what matters. And I need to go downstairs and get my credit card. I won’t be a minute.”

Chet presses his lips together. “I’m afraid the rules of the club still stand. Because you are not a member, I cannot allow you inside unless you are a guest of someone on the list.”

“Yes, but I’m not actually going to go to the club. I’m going to settle my tab, turn right back around, and leave. It’ll take thirty seconds.”

Chet grins. “Even thirty-second visits are against club policy, Miss Wonder.” He shrugs. “If you want to come back with Mr. Hathaway or another member, I’ll gladly let you inside.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I point at the door. “I’ve already been down there. Twice now. It’s not like I don’t know what it looks like. Plus, if I never settle my tab, you’ll never get the money for my drinks.”

“One gin and tonic and one dirty vodka martini are hardly enough to put our ledgers in the red.”

“That’s hardly any way to run a—” I stop, narrowing my eyes at him. “Wait, how do you know what our drink orders were?”

Chet raises his eyebrows, his eyes shining playfully. “It’s my job to know, Miss Wonder.”

“It’s hardly the job of a bouncer to memorize the drinks of his club’s patrons.”

His nostrils flare slightly. Only slightly, but I notice. “I’m sure you understand by this point that Aces Underground is no normal club.”

“What if I don’t come back with Maddox? You have my credit card—my personal property—and I demand that you allow me to go down and retrieve it.”

“If you don’t want to call Mr. Hathaway or another member to escort you, you’re welcome to call your bank to get a new credit card.”

I slam my hands down on the desk. “This is ridiculous. Just let me go down there, Chet.”

Chet’s lips twitch around his toothy grin. He strokes his chin with his long, bony fingers. I feel like his gaze is penetrating through my jacket and scrubs, that he somehow has X-ray vision and can see my naked flesh underneath my many layers. I instinctively cross my arms over my chest.

“Tell you what,” he says. “Go on down.”

I narrow my eyes. “What made you change your mind?”

Chet keeps staring at me, inhaling slowly. “Like you said, it’s your personal property. I don’t want to stand in the way of you and something…personal.” He rises and unlocks the door leading to the mirrored staircase. “Go ahead.”

I look down the mirrored staircase and my pulse quickens. I’ve been down here twice now, and I know what awaits me. So why do I feel like this staircase is now leading into the depths of hell?

I swallow. “You sure?”

Chet nods slowly. “Sure as sugar, Miss Wonder.” He pulls a pocket watch out of his pinstriped jacket and squints at it. “I should warn you, though. The club isn’t open yet. The staff are still preparing for tonight. You know what they say about seeing the sausage get made.”

My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

Chet wrings his hands together. “You’ll see what I mean. Now go, hurry, before I change my mind.”

I take a deep breath. Why am I so freaked right now?

Chet is just a weirdo. That’s what’s got me on edge.

I nod to Chet and walk down the stairs. The door creaks as Chet closes it behind me.

I open the emerald door that leads to the club, peering inside.

Fluorescent lights wash over me. They light up the club harshly, showing every scratch on the floor, every stain on the tables. I recognize some of the waitstaff walking around wearing simple T-shirts and athletic shorts, vacuuming and mopping the floors.

So this is what Chet meant about the sausage being made. Without the specialized lighting that bathes each of the club’s sections in its respective color, this place just looks like a weirdly furnished basement.

I sigh in relief. For a moment I was worried that my life might be in danger.

I amble over to the bar, where DeeDee—dressed also in a plain T-shirt and shorts—is stacking up glasses and organizing bottles. She raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes when she sees me approaching.

“Hi, DeeDee,” I say. “I forgot to close my tab last night. Chet let me down to take care of it. Sorry for the trouble.”

DeeDee looks at me for a moment, her eyes narrowed and focused, but she finally turns to the point-of-sale system and prints out a receipt for me, silently handing it to me along with a pen attached to a peacock feather.

“Thanks.” I smile at DeeDee. “I promise I’ll give you a good tip to make up for it.”

DeeDee blinks a few times and then turns back to stacking glasses.

I quickly sign the receipt and push it across the bar toward DeeDee. I slowly turn toward the door to exit when⁠—

Seven.

She’s here, dusting the large velvet curtains that separate the club proper from the private rooms.

I look around. All the other servers are occupied with their other jobs, and no one is looking my way. I quickly make a beeline to Seven, placing a hand on her shoulder as delicately as I can.

She gasps softly at my touch, but then her eyes soften when she looks at me.

“Dirty martini,” she whispers.

I smile. “Yes, that was my order last night.” I draw back the curtain and point inside the private area. “Can we talk real quick?”

She looks around, her eyes wide, but then she nods.

I walk inside the private area. It’s furnished with a plush red couch, loveseat, and a glass-topped coffee table. Candles—extinguished at the moment—line the space, leading to a king-size bed with a duvet in a rich red and throw pillows that look like white and pink roses.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the sticky note. “Did you mean to give this to me last night?”

Seven presses her lips together, looking uneasily around the room. She then nods timidly.

“Do you need help?”

Seven swallows and points at herself. “Name…May.”

“That’s a pretty name.” I point at myself. “Alissa.”

“Alissa… Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She cocks her head. Her English must be very limited.

“Nice to meet you, May.” I point to the note. “Why did you”—I point to her—“give this to me?”

May bites her lip, looking back at the curtains that separate us. She leans in and whispers in my ear.

“Friend…at club. Svetlana. Ukraine.”

I point outside. “One of the servers here?”

She nods. “Not anymore. Five years…and gone.” She snaps her fingers. “But… No news. No phone. No nothing.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “So you had a friend who used to work here. And she worked for five years?”

She nods. “Term of service. To Rouge.”

“And she finished up her time here, and…”

May spreads her fingers in an explosive gesture. “Gone.”

“And you haven’t heard from her?”

“We friends. Svetlana and I… Plans to see city… Day off.” Her eyes widen. “No news. No phone.”

“So she’s disappeared?” I mimic the same gesture Alissa made. “Gone?”

“Gone.” Her eyes widen. “Scary.”

“I’d think so.” I point at first myself and then the sticky note. “But why did you ask me for help?”

May smiles at me. “New member. Old members… They don’t care. New servers often.”

“But what can I⁠—”

“Seven! What are you doing back here?”

A chill runs down my spine at a haughty female voice behind me. I turn around and see a woman dressed in what I can only describe as a modern take on Elizabethan royal attire.

She’s in a gown featuring a sleek, body-hugging bodice of crimson satin adorned with intricate ruby-beaded embroidery surrounded by a poofy skirt with layers of structured tulle and organza, cascading in bold, asymmetrical tiers. Around her neck she wears a high ruffled collar that fans out like a fiery halo, crafted from sheer cherry fabric. Her sleeves are fitted to the elbows with lace and flare out into billowing cuffs. Her hair is a shocking shade of red coiled and braided into an intricate updo, and her makeup is bold and theatrical, with winged eyeliner, shimmering red eyeshadow, and deep rosy lips.

But as dazzling as her ensemble is, it pales in comparison to the red jewels—I assume they’re rubies—that she wears from head to toe, from a studded crown resting atop her hair, to delicate chandelier earrings, to a statement choker necklace. Her fingers are adorned with ruby rings of various sizes, and even her corset features ruby embellishments carved into the shapes of the four card suits. The private area is not well lit, but every single ray of light bounces off this woman’s jewelry. She’s like a walking disco ball.

I squint against her dazzling display and take a step back.

She opens her mouth again, glaring at May. “Seven, I asked you a question.”

May bows her head to the woman, and I realize who this must be. This is Rouge Montrose, the woman who owns the club.

Rouge whips her gaze back to me. “Did she talk to you?”

I swallow. They’re not allowed to talk, and I don’t want May to get into trouble.

I shake my head. “No. I’m so sorry.” I extend my hand. “I’m Alissa Maravilla. I was here in the club last night as a guest of Maddox Hathaway. I left my credit card here by mistake and wanted to close out my tab, so Chet let me come down.”

Rouge widens her eyes. “He did?”

I blink several times. “Yes. And I guess my curiosity got the better of me, because I sneaked back just to get a look at the private room.” I paste a smile on. “I’m sorry. I just love what you’ve done with the décor here, and I wanted to see how you had furnished this area as well. It’s gorgeous.”

Rouge smiles at me, but her eyes remain wide open. “Thank you, pet.” She looks over at May. “You may leave us. I’ll have a word with you later.”

I raise a hand. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Ma— I mean, Seven—she came back here to tell me I shouldn’t be snooping.”

Shit. I almost let slip that she told me her real name. Did Rouge notice?

I don’t see any change in her facial expression, though it’s hard to tell what she’s really thinking with that inch of makeup on her face.

Rouge turns her gaze back to me. “Well, at any rate, Chet should not have let you come down here.” She grabs a phone out of her cleavage and sends a text. “He’ll be down in a moment to see you out.” She narrows her eyes back at May. “In the meantime, Seven, back to work.”

May walks out of the room, her head hanging.

“There’s no need to have me escorted,” I say. “I can walk out myself.”

Rouge chuckles. “A curious little kitty like yourself might wander a bit, as you already have.” She gives me another sweet smile, but again it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are welcome back anytime you’d like, Miss Maravilla, as long as you are the guest of a dues-paying member of Aces Underground.”

Chet’s tall figure looms near the entrance of the private room. “Yes, Rouge?”

Rouge turns to him. “Please escort Miss Maravilla out. And then please see me in my office.”

Chet grabs my arm gently, grinning. “Please come with me, Miss Wonder.”

I turn back to Rouge. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Rouge frowns. “I’ll see to that.”

Chet escorts me back up the mirrored staircase, pulling out his set of keys to unlock the door. Before I exit through the black door that leads to the alleyway, I stop and turn back to him, studying his mustachioed face.

“Chet, what the hell is going on here?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Where?”

“Here. At Aces Underground.” I lean in, lowering my voice. “May—I mean Seven, damn it—she told me that she had a friend who disappeared after her contract here was up.”

“People who work here often go on to greener pastures,” Chet says.

I scratch my arm. “But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something unsettling about this place.”

Chet’s grin widens. “Of course there’s something unsettling here. Everyone here at Aces Underground is a little bit outrageous, a little unhinged, Miss Wonder. I am, Rouge is. Your friend Mr. Hathaway is.” He narrows his gaze. “You are.”

I scoff. “I’m not.”

He chuckles. “Of course you are, Miss Wonder. Why else did you come here?”

I bite my lip. “Because Maddox brought me here.”

“That was why you came the first time. Why did you return?”

“Because he wanted to bring me back.”

“And why did he bring you back?”

I press my hands on either side of my head. “Oh, my God. Are you capable of giving a straight answer to a question?”

Chet cocks his head. “Are you?”

“You know what? I’m done here.” I put my hand on the doorknob.

“Miss Wonder…”

Chet’s voice slithers into my ear, making me twitch. It feels like he’s right behind me, whispering seductively, but when I look back, he’s still seated at his desk.

“Christ. What now?”

He tents his hands together. “You ask a lot of questions. But I wonder, Miss Wonder”—his lips twitch—“what you intend to do if you actually find what you’re looking for.”

I squint at him, unable to make head or tail of what he’s talking about.

“I came here for my credit card, Chet. That’s it.”

I open the door and walk into the alleyway, slamming it shut before he can say anything else.

24

MADDOX

Four forty-five p.m. I haven’t heard back from Alissa.

Did she not see my note? Does she think I ditched her?

I left it by the coffeemaker… But fuck. She’s British. She probably has tea in the morning.

But then why would she even have a coffeemaker?

Maybe for guests.

I rub at my temples, trying to soothe the troubling thoughts ping-ponging through my brain.

Her phone was dead, though, and I don’t think I saw her plug it in once we got to her place. And she certainly was otherwise occupied once we started making love.

Making love?

We fucked. Had sex. Did the nasty.

I don’t think I’ve referred to the act, even internally, as “making love” since…

Since Laurie. Fuck.

I’ve got it bad for this woman.

I shake the thoughts out of my head. She didn’t plug in her phone, so she wouldn’t have been able to text me back, assuming she did see my note. She probably has a shift at the hospital today, and even if she plugged her phone in once she arrived, she’d likely still need to be focusing on her duties.

I’ll start closing up the shop. I’ve had a few customers in today, and normally I like to stay open until six in case someone pops in on their way home from work, but I only got a few hours of sleep last night, and I’m exhausted.

I cross to the windows, preparing to draw the curtains when my phone dings.

I walk back to the counter and pick it up.

It’s from Alissa. My heart soars.

God, Hathaway, get a grip.

I unlock my phone and read the message.

Hey—sorry I’m just now texting you. Busy day at work. Can I come over to your place?

My dick hardens. Does she want to fuck again?

Suddenly I’m not feeling so tired.

I quickly text back,

Yeah, of course. I’m just closing the shop. You nearby?

Yes. I was able to take off early. My friend Dinah is covering for me.

Great. Just come in the shop when you get here.

She responds with a thumbs-up emoji.

A little businesslike, so I send a kissing emoji back to her.

No response.

She’s probably on the L. Even when it’s above the ground, cell service can be spotty.

I continue closing. I won’t draw the curtains quite yet because I don’t want her to think it’s closed when she arrives. Instead, I’ll count the cash in the register and put the day’s profits into my safe.

A lot of people who come here pay in cash instead of credit cards—I guess I attract a more old-fashioned demographic—so I have a decent amount to get through.

I hear the bell attached to my front door ring, and I look up.

Alissa is standing there, dusting her jacket off. She waves a mittened hand at me, but she’s not smiling.

I cross over to her and take her coat.

“Cold out there?”

She rolls her eyes. “No. It’s a balmy seventy degrees, quite temperate, as is often the case in Chicago in the dead of winter.”

I chuckle. “I see you’re in a playful mood.”

She frowns. “Hardly.” She lets her hair out of the messy bun on top of her head and twirls it around her finger. “I actually was just at the club.”

I drop my jaw. “You were?”

She nods. “Remember last night? I opened a tab, gave my credit card to DeeDee and Dudley. I left in such a hurry, and after that band of goons descended on me, I forgot about it completely.”

“But how did you get in?” I check my watch. “They’re not even open yet. And you’re not a member—even if they did let you in, it would have to be as someone’s guest.”

My heart twists. Did she find another member and ask him to take her in with him? Most of the men at Aces aren’t gentlemen like I am. They’ll expect something in return. Something involving Alissa minus her clothes.

She shrugs. “Chet let me in.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Chet?”

But in a way, that doesn’t surprise me. Chet loves to stir the pot, push the envelope, see how much he can get away with. Honestly, I’m not sure why Rouge keeps him around. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of him breaking her hard-and-fast rules.

“But how I got in isn’t the point, Maddox. I met with May⁠—”

“May?”

“The server girl. The seven of spades.”

“Oh.” I scratch my head. “How did you find out her real name?”

“She told me.”

I widen my eyes. “But they’re not allowed to speak.”

Alissa reaches into her purse and grabs a tiny blue piece of paper. “She slipped this to me last night. It’s Vietnamese—my friend Dinah helped me translate it. It’s a message asking for help.”

“What?”

“Exactly. So while I was in the club, I took her aside into one of those private rooms and asked her about it. She doesn’t speak very good English, but⁠—”

“Holy shit, Alissa. You’re not supposed to go into those rooms.” I rub at my forehead. “Christ, I could have my membership revoked.”

“Seriously?” She shakes her head. “Your precious membership is the least of your worries, Maddox. May told me she was scared, that she had a friend in the club, Svetlana, who worked there until recently. I guess she disappeared into thin air after working at the club for five years.”

“Five years is the usual amount of time that servers work at the club.”

“Sure, maybe she just left. But May told me they made plans to hang out on their days off, but that she couldn’t get in touch with Svetlana after she left.”

I close my eyes. I’m trying to think of who Svetlana could be. It’s a Russian name, so she’s probably a fair-skinned woman. And in my mind’s eye I see her. A tall woman with flowing blonde hair. The Nine of Diamonds. She would bring me drinks while I played blackjack. She stopped working at the club a few weeks ago. I figured she’d moved on to a new job. A lot of servers at Aces owe a debt to Rouge for bringing them over.

“It’s possible she just left.”

“May seemed very upset that she hadn’t contacted her.”

I open my mouth to say something to quell Alissa’s concerns, but then I think back to the day of my father’s funeral. I got the Rolls-Royce and his club membership.

Getting a car when your dad dies is normal. Getting a club membership isn’t.

I knew that he went somewhere on Friday evenings. He’d kiss my mom and say, “I’m off to the club.”

I asked Mom once what the club was. She told me that she didn’t know, just that it was a place Dad went to grab a drink and socialize with his friends from work.

When I received the club membership, I was confused. Dad was so upset about my decision not to follow in his footsteps, so why would he leave me this?

Maybe he just wanted to keep the membership in the family. And I, his sole heir, was the only means of doing that.

Or maybe… Maybe there was another reason.

I keep thinking back to the legislation he passed in the last year of his final term as mayor. Massively unpopular moves that sent his approval ratings into a nosedive.

No one understood why he did it. His advisors begged him not to, but he was insistent.

People lost their jobs, their homes. I would see my dad’s face on posters all over windows, a big red X over his grinning mug.

People didn’t understand why he did what he did, and I don’t understand why he left me the membership at Aces.

Could there be a connection?

And could it have something to do with Seven’s—sorry, May’s—missing friend?

Or are these all random events, small dots that I’m connecting haphazardly?

“Tell you what,” I say, looking at my watch again. “The club will be open tonight in a few hours. How about we go again, and we can check things out discreetly? See if there’s something out of the ordinary?”

She bites her lip. “Okay.”

“Great.” I wrap my arm around her waist. “Is that the reason you wanted to come over?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I smile at her and pull her close. “No ulterior motive? You weren’t hoping to get another shot at me?”

She scoffs. “No, but”—she wiggles her eyebrows—“I mean… I’m not against another shot at you.”

“We have a few hours to burn.” I jerk my head toward the back of the shop, where the staircase to my apartment is located. “Care to join me in my suite?”

She swallows. “No, Maddox.”

Disappointment surges through me. “I thought you said you weren’t against the idea.”

She shakes her head. “No, I mean, not there. I want you right now, right here. In your shop.”

My heartbeat quickens, and my dick starts throbbing underneath my slacks. “The shop is still technically open for another fifteen minutes, Alissa.”

She gazes at me, her eyes impish. “Sounds dangerous, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck.” I glance over at the curtains, which are half shut. People rarely come into the shop this late in the day, especially on a Sunday. It’s cold outside, so passersby aren’t likely.

And Alissa is right. It is dangerous.

And Mad Maddox likes dangerous.

I lower my gaze to her breasts. “Get your fucking clothes off right now.”

She grins. Her coat is already off, and all she’s wearing is light-blue scrubs from the hospital. And God, she looks sexier than most women do in the most lavish fashions. She pulls the top over her head and tosses it on the floor. She kicks off her shoes, slides the pants over her hips, and steps out of them. She’s in a sensible white bra and panties, and—again—it’s hotter than the skimpiest lingerie.

I cup her tits, thumb her hard nipples through her bra.

“Do you want me?” she asks.

“More than anything, Alissa.” I stare at her. “But I believe I told you to get all your clothes off. You still have a few things to go.”

She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting her gorgeous tits fall free. Her nipples could cut diamonds, they’re so hard. I run a finger over them, making her shudder.

But she’s not moving fast enough for Mad Maddox.

In one swift move, I grab her panties and rip them off her body, exposing her beautiful pussy.

She stands naked in my shop looking luscious, but…something is missing.

“One sec.” I cross to the hat display. I find a black fedora in her size and fit it snugly over her head.

Now she’s naked and wearing one of my hats.

Fuck.

I grab her and crush my lips to hers. She opens for me immediately, and I explore every corner of her mouth. God, this kiss. An electric charge pulses through my body, hitting my heart and my cock. I slide one hand down her soft body and between her legs.

She moans as I work her pussy.

Fuck. Too many clothes. My hands are occupied, but Alissa reads my mind. She unbuttons my shirt and caresses my chest. With her other hand, she grabs at my bulge.

I suck in a breath.

A second later she’s unbuckling my belt, whipping it off and throwing it across the shop. She nearly hits a display of ties, but I don’t fucking care.

She unbuttons my jeans and unzips my fly, leaving my boxer briefs the only layer between my aching cock and the bliss of her mouth.

Until—

Ding!

I widen my eyes. The door is unlocked. Someone is coming in.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Behind the counter,” I hiss into Alissa’s ear.

She quickly scoots, crouching to hide. I quickly button my pants and gather her discarded items of clothing—including the ribbons of what used to be her panties—and toss them into an antique wicker basket I keep by the gramophone. I look up to see one of my regulars—a middle-aged man named Mr. Liddell—has walked in and is browsing a selection of tweed jackets in the rear of the store.

I swallow, adjusting myself under my pants discreetly. “Mr. Liddell. Good to see you again.”

“Maddox, always a pleasure.”

“What can I help you with today?”

“I’m doing a stint as a guest lecturer at UChicago starting next week. I was hoping to find something professorial.”

I nod. “Nothing screams ‘professor’ quite like tweed.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He picks up a jacket in a pattern of brown and maroon houndstooth, examining the label on the interior of the collar. “Do you have this in a forty-four long?” He pats his belly. “The holidays, you know.”

“I’ll check in the back,” I say.

I’m internally rolling my eyes. I don’t have any extra inventory in the back, unless it’s a delivery that I haven’t put out into the store yet. But to access the back of the store, I have to go behind the counter, and it’s a good chance to check on Alissa.

I walk behind the register, where she’s lying in a fetal position, still naked as the day she was born. “You doing okay?” I whisper.

She nods. “I’ve never found myself in this situation.”

“Mr. Liddell is efficient. He’ll be out in a few moments.”

I head to the back for a moment and then return.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Liddell. Nothing in that size in the back.”

“I’d a feeling that would be the case. But I found this piece in my size.” He holds up a tan herringbone blazer with dark-brown elbow patches. “A good second choice.”

“That’s a great style.” I gesture to the register. “Is there anything else, or would you like to ring it up?”

“Just this,” Mr. Liddell says, but then he casts his gaze over to the display of neckties. “Wait.”

He walks over and glances down, picking up the belt—my belt, made of brown leather with a crosshatch pattern—that Alissa whipped off my waist.

“This must have fallen off a display.” He examines the belt. “I’ve been in the market for a new brown belt. And I love this pattern. But no price tag. How much?”

I want to tell Mr. Liddell that the belt isn’t for sale, but then I’d have to come up with a reason for why it was on the floor by the ties.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you have it for another twenty if you check out right now.”

Mr. Liddell’s eyes light up. “You’ve got yourself a deal there, son.” He places my belt and the herringbone blazer on the counter.

Thank God. My cock needs to get back to Alissa stat.

I walk behind the register—Alissa scoots out of my way—and ring him up. “The total will come to a little over two hundred seventy after tax.”

“Tell you what,” Mr. Liddell says. “I might be able to cover that in cash today. I have a few hundreds burning a hole through my wallet.”

Fuck. A credit card would be faster.

Mr. Liddell slowly reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. It’s stuffed to the brim, and he’s leafing through the bills at a snail’s pace.

Alissa is caressing my ankle. Damn. Mr. Liddell hands me two hundreds and a fifty. “How much extra for tax?”

I ring him up. “Total is two seventy-two and five cents.”

His slides more bills out of his wallet as his eyes light up. “I might just have that nickel.”

Christ. The one time he decides to pay in cash is the time that Alissa is naked on the floor in front of me.

I fold the blazer and place it in a bag with the shop’s name emblazoned over the front. I open the cash register and put the cash in. “Are you a member of our rewards program?”

The words were out of my mouth before I even realized. I always ask that when I ring customers up. Mr. Liddell himself has always declined, saying he doesn’t have the time to fill out the form. Surely this time he’ll also⁠—

“You know what?” He smiles. “I come here often enough, and I have the time. Why not?”

Fuck.

I reach under the counter and grab a form for the Hathaway Haberdashery rewards program.

“You don’t have to fill out the whole form, Mr. Liddell,” I say, handing him a pen. “All that really matters is email.”

Mr. Liddell purses his lips. “I’m a little old-fashioned. I’d rather receive your news through snail mail.”

Of fucking course he would.

He slowly writes his full mailing address on the form.

“Thank you,” I say when he’s finally done.

Mr. Liddle grabs his bag and turns toward the exit. “Enjoy the rest of your Sunday, Maddox.”

He leaves the store. I bolt behind him and lock the door, flicking on the “closed” sign.

Alissa demurely rises from behind the register.

I rush to her and grab her. “God, you look hot.”

She giggles. “I was fantasizing about giving you head while you were ringing him up.”

My groin tightens. “The counter’s not high enough.”

“I know. A shame, really.”

I kiss her again, hard and deep. God, I’m so hard, so ready.

I break the kiss. “Get on the fucking counter, Alissa.”

She walks over to the counter where Mr. Liddell’s jacket lay just a moment ago and hoists herself up. She sprawls across it, spreading her legs.

I inhale.

“God, I can smell you. How wet you are.”

I kneel between her legs, inhale again, and then nip at her labia before diving in with my tongue. I’d gladly eat her forever, but in another minute, she’s convulsing on the counter.

“Maddox!”

“God, I love to make you come, Alissa,” I growl against her soft flesh. “You’re going to keep coming. You’re going to come until you’re a fucking puddle on the counter.”

I run my fingers up her body, swatting her own hands off her nipples and pinching them myself, while I continue licking between her legs. Within a few more moments, she’s thrashing on the counter again, like a fish out of water, crying out.

That’s two so far.

She needs a third.

I pull another out of her.

Another.

Until she’s grabbing at my hair, pulling it. “Can’t. Need you. Need you now.”

She doesn’t need to ask again. I rise and nip at her earlobe. “I’m going to pull that last climax out of you with my big cock. And you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”

“Yes, Maddox,” she lets out on a sigh. “I will. I fucking will.”

25

ALISSA

It’s never been like this.

It was never like this before last night, and it’s really never been like this.

Fucking in Maddox’s shop in broad daylight. Well, not broad daylight. It’s winter, and the sun is already setting over the west side of the city, casting a golden glow through the gaps in the curtains covering the windows of the haberdashery.

Maddox frees his cock and thrusts inside me, filling me perfectly and easing the aching emptiness.

“Faster,” I command.

He obeys, drumming into me like a jackhammer. His corded muscles are flexed, his jaw clenched.

He’s close.

“Keep going,” I say.

“Yes, Alissa, yes.” He sighs. “You feel so good. You’re fucking perfect.”

“So are you,” I breathe out.

“I’m so close, Alissa,” he growls. “Are you?”

“Yes, Maddox.”

“Hold on,” he says. “Don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”

I swallow, tensing the muscles in my lower body. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he grits out, “and you will.”

He thrusts, thrusts, thrusts⁠—

Until he groans, releasing, pulsing inside me.

The orgasm hits me like lightning, jolting through every inch of my body and plummeting back into my pussy.

We stay joined for a few minutes until he pulls out and gathers me into his arms. The last rays of twilight ebb away as the sun sets.

I sigh.

It’s true. I know it now as if it’s been with me forever.

Maddox Hathaway is the love of my life.

* * *

I expected Sunday evening to be a little less busy at Aces Underground, but if possible, it’s even more crowded tonight.

Maddox and I find a spot at a table in the Spades section. Maddox flags down a server. Four, the only male waiter in the Spades section, quickly makes his way to us and bows his head.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic.” He shifts his gaze to me. “Alissa?”

“A dirty vodka martini, please.”

Four nods and whisks off to the bar. I look around. I see the other female Spades waitress, Nine, but she and Four seem to be the only servers in this section.

My heart jumps. Where is May?

I look around the club. “Do the waitstaff ever switch sections?”

Maddox frowns. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“May isn’t here.”

Maddox raises an eyebrow.

I sigh. “Seven.”

He shrugs. “Tonight might be her night off.”

I gesture around the club. “This place is hopping. Surely they’d want all hands on deck.”

Maddox drums his fingers on the table. “Maybe she’s on a break, Alissa.” He pats my hand. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

My skin prickles, the kind of sensation that makes me want to glance over my shoulder even though I know no one’s there. What if May got in trouble for being with me? I told Rouge that she didn’t speak, but I accidentally said her real name.

I get to my feet. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”

Maddox widens his eyes. “Everything okay, Alissa?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine. Just… Nature calls, you know?”

I see Rouge mingling with some guests in the Hearts section, wearing the same bizarre getup she had on this afternoon when she caught me with May in the private area.

I walk up and awkwardly insert myself into the conversation.

Rouge widens her eyes. “Miss Maravilla,” she says. “Welcome back. You’re looking lovely this evening.”

I look down at the turquoise dress I’m wearing. Maddox drove me home to change and run a brush through my hair before we came here tonight—all I had were my scrubs, and the minimal makeup I wore at the hospital today was wiped off during our semi-public lovemaking session.

“Thank you, Rouge. You look exquisite as well.”

She smiles and runs her hands—I’m just noticing how long and red her fingernails are—over her frilled collar. “Thank you.” She turns back to the two men she was talking to. “As I was saying⁠—”

I raise a finger. “So sorry to interrupt. I was wondering, is”—I instinctively close my lips to start saying May’s name, but catch myself—“Seven working tonight? The Seven of Spades?”

Rouge turns to me, her eyes narrowed. “Seven has been placed on a temporary suspension for breaking the rules.”

I drop my jaw. “She didn’t break any rules. I was the one who went into the private area. Who came down here without a member escorting me.”

“I’ve already had a word with Chet about that. He allowed you down because we were outside of operating hours, so it wasn’t quite clear to him what the rules were. But Seven did break the rules. She spoke with you.”

“I told you she didn’t.”

“And it was very valiant of you to protect her,” Rouge says, “but you let slip that you knew her birth name.” She smirks. “And you almost did it again just now. The only way you could know that is if she told you.”

Shit. Rouge did notice.

“I started the conversation,” I say. “She was just being polite, answering me. We exchanged names, that’s all.”

Rouge raises an eyebrow. “Be that is it may, rules are rules. I assure you that Seven will be allowed to return to service when she learns to behave as Aces Underground policy dictates. In the meantime, be assured that she’s being well taken care of.” She gestures to the bar. “Why don’t you get yourself a drink? I’ve already arranged for the club to take care of your bill this evening as a gesture of goodwill, a courtesy for your trouble.”

I breathe in.

I was the one who broke the rules, and I’m being rewarded? I was honestly shocked that Chet even allowed me inside, even as Maddox’s guest, after I came in by myself this afternoon. I open my mouth to protest the free drinks, but before I do so, Rouge gives me a dismissive nod and disappears into the crowd, blending in despite her atrocious attire.

May has been suspended, and it’s all my bloody fault.

At least, I’ve been told that she’s suspended.

I can’t help but worry that she’s met with some far darker fate.

I shake my head to clear it. I’ve been watching too many scary shows on TV of late. Things like that don’t happen in real life.

Do they?

I run my hands through my hair as I walk back to the table where Maddox is sitting. Our drinks have arrived, and he’s gently sipping at his.

He puts his drink down and flashes me a smile. “Feeling better?”

I sit down. “Not at all, Maddox.” I sear my gaze into his. “I fear something awful has happened.”

26

MADDOX

I stare at Alissa. “What?”

She swallows. “Rouge knows that May spoke to me. I denied it, but I accidentally let slip that I knew her name earlier today, and she’s been”—air quotes—“suspended.”

I take a sip of my drink. “So she gets a small vacation. Doesn’t seem too bad to me.”

“Yeah, if that’s what actually happened.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “What if something worse happened to her?”

I frown. “Alissa, this is just an underground bar and club. Rouge keeps a very specific aesthetic, and Seven broke it when⁠—”

“May.”

I nod. “Sure. May broke it when she spoke to you.”

“But she said that her friend disappeared. What if the same thing has happened to her?”

I rub at my forehead. “My guess is that her friend didn’t disappear. She simply moved on, probably wanted to get the hell out of here.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

“Because she wanted to take her shot at a real life.” I gesture discreetly toward Rouge’s red office door. “Rouge sponsors immigrants, usually ones that are living in inescapable poverty, and she brings them over here. She helps them get green card status, gives them housing and a good job as a server for five years, and allows them to save up to start a life outside.”

“Does she pay them an actual wage?”

“Hell, I don’t know. She’s been doing it this way for years. If it weren’t on the up and up, she’d have been shut down. She pays for the transport over to the United States, covers their room and board. In exchange, they work for Aces for five years and then she gently pushes them out of the nest.”

“So Svetlana, May’s friend, finished out her time here and…went on to live the American Dream?”

“That would be the leading theory, yes,” I say.

“It doesn’t sound legal.”

I shrug. “I’m not an immigration attorney, but if she’s paying them for their work and helps them with their status, what’s the problem? Rouge has brought in thousands of people, people who would never make it to this country without a little assistance.” I gesture around the club, pointing out a few gray-haired men. “But these men are city councilmembers, state senators. If Rouge were doing something wrong, they wouldn’t let her get away with it.”

She bites her lip. “Bread and circuses…”

I chuckle. “That term usually refers to politicians pulling the wool over civilians’ eyes. Not the opposite.”

“But still, it’s ethically dicey at best.”

“And what in this world isn’t?” I take another sip of my drink. I learned a long time ago from my old man that ethics come at a high cost sometimes. “The people who work as waitstaff here might die in poverty otherwise. And they’re here legally. Rouge sponsors their green cards herself. They’re told in no uncertain terms exactly what they’re signing up for before she brings them over. Five years of service in exchange for room and board and Rouge covering all their immigration expenses.”

She raises a finger. “But does she pay them?”

“I told you, I don’t know. But yes, I assume she probably does. How else would they save up to get out and make something of themselves?”

“But how can they know any of this? May barely speaks English. I assume that’s the case with some of the other servers.”

“Rouge has a genius IQ. She speaks multiple languages fluently, and if she doesn’t speak a certain language, I assume she hires an interpreter. She’s an excellent pianist and violinist, has an art gallery downtown, and runs multiple businesses outside of Aces. She even has a law degree.”

Alissa narrows her eyes. “A law degree?”

“Sure.” I laugh. “You have to know the law to skirt around it.”

I’m kidding—mostly—but Alissa doesn’t seem amused.

“Where does she find these people?”

“Foreign countries. She travels a few times a year.”

“How does she decide who to choose?”

I clear my throat. “Well, they have to be attractive. Healthy. In good shape.”

She scoffs. “So the uggos don’t make the cut?”

I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t say it was fair. But Rouge is the one putting her money up. It’s not as if she’s running a charity. She also covers their medical expenses while they’re here, so anyone with a chronic condition probably won’t be chosen. She’s running a for-profit business.”

“And they have to be nice-looking, too.”

“She wants the waitstaff to look good, yeah.”

“So she can whore them out to the patrons?”

I shrug. “Like I said, it’s all consensual. They all know what they’re signing up for when they come.” I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “These people have their whole lives ahead of them. They can make something of themselves. And five years of service to the club is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

27

ALISSA

I tent my fingers in front of my nose, close my eyes, and take a deep breath in.

I’m trying to make sense of what Maddox just told me.

Five years of service in exchange for housing, food, medical and immigration expenses.

It’s unclear if they get paid. But I did fill out a tip line when I closed out my tab this afternoon. There was a separate line for service and for bar staff. I’d ask one of the waitstaff if they’re allowed to keep their tips, but none of them will talk to me.

The world can be a cruel place. An unjust one.

I didn’t exactly grow up rich, but we were comfortable. There was always food on the table, always petrol in the car.

Mum was an absolute nightmare at times, but I had a roof over my head.

I look around at the waitstaff. The women in their skimpy bikinis, the men in the short shorts, united by the pattern of the card suit of whichever section they’re assigned. All the men have visible sixpacks, the women toned abs and arms. They’re gorgeous across the board—any of them could land a gig with a modeling agency after their time at the club has finished.

I’m sure a lot of them are smart, too. They could go to college, become lawyers, engineers, doctors. One of the people here could have the cure for cancer lying within their future, and it might never come to fruition if it weren’t for Rouge bringing them over to the States.

When May comes back from her suspension, I’ll make sure to give her a good tip. In cash. Make sure it goes to her and only her.

I look around at the club. How different it looks now from this afternoon. The colored lights illuminating each section, each one carefully positioned to hide the scratches on the floor, the watermarks on the tables that I noticed when I came in this afternoon. The way it looks now, you’d never notice the small faults lying in plain sight.

It looks clean…but it isn’t clean.

And damn, I know a bloody lot about clean and unclean.

* * *

The tiles are bloody.

My blood.

I fell to my knees and started sobbing the moment Mum left the kitchen. I fell on the shards of china and glass that littered the floor in the wake of her destruction. I’m wearing shorts, and my knees were fully exposed.

And now I’m bleeding. More mess to clean up.

I just hope Mum doesn’t see.

I can’t even feel the cuts in my knees, or the minor burns on my belly from when Mum threw the boiling water on the floor. I think I’m in shock. I brush as much of the glass off as I can and get to my feet, trudging over to the cleaning closet for a broom and dustpan. I find a couple of rags in the closet, which I wrap around my knees to stop the bleeding. Then I return to the kitchen and begin sweeping.

The pieces of china are big enough to sweep into the dustpan, but the glass is harder. I’ll have to vacuum once I’ve swept up as much as I can. I’ll have to mop, too, because of the still-hot water coating the tiles.

I’m sure Mum will find something wrong with this job, too.

I jerk when the front door slams shut. “Honey, I’m home.”

Oh, no. It’s Daddy. He’ll see the mess in the kitchen and⁠—

I don’t know what he’ll do.

He walks in and widens his eyes. “Dios mio, what the hell happened in here?”

I bite my lip. I don’t want Mum to get in trouble. I love her, and I love Daddy. I have friends whose parents have gotten divorced, and they’re miserable. Always packing a bag to spend every other week in a different place, having their Mum and Dad compete for their love. Having to choose a side whenever they have a fight.

And Mum isn’t always like this. It’s only every so often.

“I… I broke some dishes.”

Daddy scans the kitchen floor. “Lissy, this looks like every dish in the kitchen.”

“I got mad. Mum wasn’t happy with how I cleaned the dishes. So I broke all the dishes.”

Dad squats down until he’s at my eye level, pushing my hair back. “Lissy, that’s not the truth and you know it.”

I burst into tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t clean the dishes right, and Mum got upset. She told me I had to do them all again, and when I told her I spent so much time cleaning them already and had to do my homework, she got this scary smile on her face and said that we’ll just have to buy new dishes. And then she broke everything.”

He wraps his arms around me for a moment and then whispers in my ear, “Let’s go talk outside, querida.”

He holds my hand as we walk into the backyard. I take care not to get my shoes muddy.

Dad takes a deep breath and sighs. “Lissy, you know that your mummy and I love each other very much. But…you should know that Mummy is sick.”

“She’s sick?” I feel an ache in my gut. We had an aunt who died of cancer a few years ago. “Is she going to die?”

“No, angel, not at all. She’s not sick in her body.” He taps his finger on the side of his head. “She’s sick in her mind.”

“Huh?”

“People can get sick in their brain the same way they can get sick in the rest of their body. It’s called a mental illness.”

“Are there doctors for mental illness?” I ask.

Daddy nods. “Yes, and your mum sees one once a week. He’s called a psychiatrist, and she’s been going to see him for a few months now. Mum has learned that she suffers from something called obsessive-compulsive disorder.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a disease that makes your brain focus really hard on keeping things clean. That’s why Mum gets so intense sometimes. The disease in her head rears its ugly head now and then. And she has another issue as well. It’s called Anti-Social Personality Disorder. It makes her act aggressive sometimes.” He runs his hands through my hair. “Did it seem like Mum became another person when she started breaking the dishes?”

I swallow and then nod.

Daddy sighs. “Your mum is getting medicine to help her with the OCD—the disease that makes her need everything to be clean. There isn’t medicine for her personality disorder, but she’s learning how to manage it, to live alongside it. But there will be good days and bad days. Today was clearly a bad day.”

My lip quivers. “There isn’t medicine to keep Mum from becoming the scary smiling person?”

“No, but she sees her psychiatrist once a week. He talks to her, helps her learn to deal with things. She fell short today, but I think in time your mum might start to get a little better.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “How can talking make her less sick?”

Daddy smiles. “He helps her see things in a different way. The other day, he told her that even the most clean, pristine kitchen you can imagine could still have one tiny flaw. A wayward crumb, a singular grain of rice, or a teeny-tiny germ just waiting to get in your body and make you sick. You can’t tell just looking at the kitchen that it’s not perfectly clean. It still looks good.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “But nothing is truly clean, Lissy. Whenever something seems too good to be true, it probably is.”

* * *

Nothing is truly clean, Lissy. Whenever something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Dad is the only person who ever called me “Lissy.” Mum always called me by some pet name. Pumpkin, angel, sweetheart.

Mum got better over the years. She still had bad days, but it was never as bad as the day she broke every dish in the kitchen.

At least…it wasn’t until the bitter end.

Dad helped me clean everything up that night, and when Mum came down the stairs, she acted as if nothing had happened. We went to a department store the next day and bought new dishes and glassware. White with red stripes. My dad still uses them to this day. Before Mum died, I would check to see if any dishes were missing every time I came home. They were always all accounted for.

The kitchen was still in immaculate shape, but every so often I would go hunting for the wayward crumb my dad talked about that day. There was always something, usually tucked away under the fridge or under a counter. The kitchen was never perfectly clean. It wasn’t the day it was built, and it wasn’t now.

Just like Aces Underground isn’t perfectly clean. The lights hide the tiny flaws that I saw this morning.

And they’re hiding something even more sinister than scratches and dings. I feel it in my bones, pulsing like a dark secret just waiting to be exposed.

Rouge may have Maddox and every other patron in this club fooled with her “making the world a better place” rhetoric, but there’s something underneath her perceived benevolence. It’s gnawing at the edges of my mind, crawling under my skin.

The reserved, risk-averse Alissa that abandoned a promising career as a flautist would just sit down and shut up. Take the path of least resistance, the straightest line, the rightest angle. God knows I learned that the hard way, growing up with my mother. I walked on eggshells, always fearing something would set her off.

But this club, and the man sitting across from me, have chipped that façade away to reveal someone willing to jump into the world with both feet. I don’t know how long this new personality of mine will last, so I’ve got to act now.

I’m not sure how deep the rabbit hole goes, but someone has to figure it out.

I sear my gaze into Maddox’s, repeating my father’s words. “Nothing is truly clean. Whenever something seems too good to be true, it probably is.”

Maddox squints at me, his mouth hanging open. “What?”

“Something my father said. He was talking about my mother, but his words bear repeating.” I get to my feet. “Something weird is going on here at Aces, Maddox. I’m not sure exactly what, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

I turn and leave the club, not looking back at the stupefied expression on Maddox’s face.

28

MADDOX

What the fuck just happened?

Alissa went glassy eyed for a moment and then left in a huff.

She thinks something is going on here. Something dark.

Aces Underground certainly has some unspoken stories, but nothing that any other former speakeasy wouldn’t have.

She’s gotten worked up. People are watching serial killer documentaries all the time now, and everyone is paranoid, seeing things that aren’t there. How many conspiracy theories are floating around the internet these days? They rarely end up being true.

Harrison is the only person I’ve ever brought to this club, and he never asked too many questions. He was just happy to order drinks on my tab and flirt with whichever women I hadn’t chosen for myself.

Alissa is a woman. Maybe that’s the difference. Women tend to notice small details, ask the questions that are supposed to go unanswered.

But there are plenty of women who are members of Aces in their own right or come on the arms of their boyfriends or husbands. None of them, as far as I know, have peeked behind the curtain.

The official party line is that Rouge is doing the right thing. The people who work in this club are getting their chance to start a new life, live the American Dream.

Alissa is British. What does she know about the American Dream?

Actually, she’s kind of living it. She came here to get a music education and was able to turn on a dime and pursue nursing instead. She got a job at a great hospital downtown and can afford a nice apartment in a good part of town. And she gets to date me, which is a plus.

I’m living the American Dream, too. I built that shop from practically nothing. True, I made an arrangement with my father to get the building in my name, but everything else was at my own expense, and Dad was eating up half of my profits until the moment he dropped dead.

Good timing on the old bastard’s part. Things started really taking off once I could keep all the money I made.

I got his car too, so I was able to sell the old clunker I’d been driving since my sixteenth birthday for a little extra spending money as well. Now, over ten years later, I’m doing pretty well for a small business owner in his early thirties. I’ve even been able to start putting money away into a retirement fund—not that I ever want to stop running that shop.

Shouldn’t the scantily clad waiters and waitresses in this club be given the same chance?

Of course, if Rouge really cared about them, she’d simply sponsor their immigration without making them work for her for five years. She has the money—the Montroses are as well-established in Chicago as the Hathaways, if not more so. She could start a non-profit, raise a ton to help these people get their start here, and hire American citizens to staff her bar at an agreeable wage.

But this way, she makes more money in the long run.

Or does she? It’s got to be expensive to do all that traveling, paying for legal expenses to get everyone here on a green card. Plus she’s on the hook for housing and food and medical expenses for the next five years.

I scratch my head. It’s not adding up.

I don’t know all the details, of course, but something is nibbling at the back of my neck about it all—and it has been since Alissa started asking questions earlier.

Maybe Alissa is right. Maybe this thing goes deeper.

It could be a wild goose chase, but I love this woman, and I⁠—

Fuck.

I love this woman.

I really do.

It’s only been a few days, and she’s run out on me twice now, but some invisible force has tethered her to me.

But it can’t be.

I don’t fall in love with women at the drop of a hat. I learned this lesson after Laurie dumped my ass the day of my father’s funeral. After what happened when I first started coming to Aces. I learned to carefully guard my heart, never allowing a woman inside. Most of the women I took to bed were expendable—gone in the morning with a disposable cup of coffee, a kiss on the cheek, and a lying “I’ll call you.”

But despite the walls I built around myself, Alissa managed to worm her way in. The way she speaks her mind without thinking, the way she twirls her hair around her finger when she’s contemplating, the way she zones out as she ponders something meaningful.

And…shit.

She’s going back into the same alleyway where that gang of thugs cornered her last night.

What was she thinking?

What was I thinking, letting her leave like that?

Where would she even be going? It’s not like she can figure out what Rouge is up to—if Rouge is indeed up to anything—by hitting up the Harold Washington Library.

If anything, my political connections are going to be the way to go about this.

She needs me to help her. And to protect her.

I get to my feet and run up the mirrored staircase, pounding on the door.

Chet opens it, cocking his head. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Hathaway?”

“Yeah.” I button my jacket. “Did you see Alissa?”

“Alissa?”

I roll my eyes. “I believe you call her Miss Wonder.”

Chet grins. “Are you looking for her?”

“Yes. That would be why I asked if you saw her.”

Chet clasps his hands together. “Do you think she left?”

“She went up the staircase, Chet. There’s only one direction she could go from this room.”

Chet raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“For Christ’s sake, of course I am. Did you see which way she went?”

“Which way do you think she went?”

“I swear to God, Chet…”

“Do you believe in God, Mr. Hathaway?”

I grab him by the shoulders, pressing his jacket up against the wall. The button keeping it together snaps off, revealing his pale hairless chest. And his nipples are…purple? Covered in violet makeup.

What the fuck is up with this guy?

“Give it to me straight, or I’ll fucking pound your skull against this wall until there actually is another exit out of this room. What the hell is going on here, Chet?”

His lips twitch. “What do you think is going on?”

I groan, exasperated. “Fuck this all, and fuck you.” I let go of Chet and exit through the black door. I look around the alleyway. No sign of Alissa. I grab my phone out of my jacket pocket and shoot her a quick text.

You okay?

I stare at the screen, willing the three dots to show up.

They don’t.

Shit.

I put the phone back in my pocket, and it rustles up against something.

I wrinkle my forehead. I don’t keep anything in my jacket pocket except my phone. It looks bulky otherwise.

Maybe it’s a receipt from the bar.

Except no. Aces charges all my drink orders directly to my account, and I’m billed for whatever my father’s estate doesn’t cover.

I pull it out of my pocket. It’s a piece of notepaper folded neatly into quarters. I unfold it. At the top is a phone number with the words Call me when you’re there, and then a message scrawled below it in ornate handwriting.

A figure of black, with points to its rank

Was lost near a henge of cascading wet banks.

In fields where the grasses grow wild and unkempt,

Its crown was interred—placed perhaps with contempt.

Search not for the heart, nor the diamond or club,

For their sister lies still beneath flower and shrub.

Where wings take to sky, and landings draw nearly,

You’ll find what was hidden, its fate mirrored clearly.

What the actual fuck?

29

ALISSA

My Uber drops me off at my apartment. I get out, bracing against the chilly winter air.

I don’t know what I was thinking, storming out of that club in the black of night when just twenty-fours ago I was being cornered by those goons.

But I lucked out this evening. I called an Uber while I was walking out of the club, and within a minute, one had pulled up on the corner of Randolph and State. I made a beeline for the back seat and locked the door behind me. My driver, thankfully a woman, didn’t speak the entire drive.

Five bloody stars for her.

My phone rings. I pull it out of my purse and look at the screen. It’s Dinah.

Good grief. Does the hospital need me to come in?

I could ignore it. Send it to voicemail. I’m not on call tonight, so they can’t force me to come in.

But if they need me, they need me. Someone’s life could be on the line.

I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”

“Liss! I’ve got some great news.”

I sit down on my couch. “I could use some good news.”

My phone buzzes again. A text from Maddox. Probably asking me why the hell I left in such a hurry for the second night in a row. I’ll check it once I’m off the phone with Dinah.

“Carol got the lungs she needed.”

I drop my jaw. “She did?”

“Yeah. They finally found a match.”

My heart soars. Carol doesn’t have to die.

But then that means…

“What about Lou? He’ll be left all alone.”

“They’re still looking for a match for him. “

My heart sinks. “But if Carol gets better, he’ll die alone.”

“Liss, look on the bright side. Carol is in surgery as we speak. She’ll be able to breathe, talk, laugh, scream. She can visit Lou as he waits for a match.”

“Still, though…” I rub at my forehead. “They’re the same blood type. I was hoping one donor could cover both of them.”

“Hearts are in higher demand,” Dinah says. “But I’m sure they’ll find something for him, too. We thought Carol was a lost cause, but now she’ll get to live out the rest of her natural life breathing freely.”

“That’s… That’s great news, Di. I’m so happy for Carol.” I scratch my head. “I’ve got to let you go, though. Kind of dealing with something else. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Everything all right?”

I swallow. “I’m not sure right now. But everything will be, I hope.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing you have to worry about. I’ll see you tomorrow, Di.”

“Okay. Take care.”

I end the call.

This really is fantastic news. It would be even more fantastic if Lou had gotten a heart out of the deal, too, but what Dinah said is right. It could be right around the corner. We’re only a few days into Lou and Carol’s one-month pact, and one of them already got what she needed.

Right now, I have other things to think about.

There’s something festering at Aces Underground. Something dark, something sinister. Every time I think about it, a chill creeps up my spine, my instincts screaming that whatever’s lurking in the depths of that place is dangerous. I know this feeling. I felt it whenever my mother was about to go on one of her tirades. Something in the air would shift. Dad and I both learned to sense it, and sometimes we were able to talk her down before things got out of control.

Sometimes we weren’t.

She never broke every dish in the house again, but there were other incidents, including one in particular that was so completely horrific that I never allow myself to think of it.

Focus, Alissa.

But it’s true.

I feel, right now, the same way I felt that day in her master bathroom before she⁠—

No. I shake the thought from my head.

I never allow myself to relive that day.

I close my eyes, shut down the memory.

Or try to.

But I can’t. I remember walking into the bathroom, seeing my mother gazing at her own reflection in the mirror, the look in her eyes unmistakable⁠—

“Oh!” I jerk at the knock on my door.

I look at my phone. It’s pretty late for visitors. And I didn’t buzz anyone up.

My heart was already thrumming, but now it speeds up even more.

I grab a knife from the kitchen counter, hold it between my fingers.

It’s Rouge. It has to be her. She knows that I know something. And she’s here to⁠—

“Alissa, it’s me.”

My heart slows down. It’s the rich, low voice of Maddox.

I look through the peephole to confirm it is indeed him and then open the door, throwing my arms around him.

“Hey there,” he says.

“I’m sorry I ran out on you again.” I kiss his lips. “I… I just couldn’t stand to be in that club for one more second. I felt like my very life was at stake.”

The melodrama isn’t lost on me, but I’m freaked.

“Baby, you’re never in danger when I’m around,” Maddox says gently into my ear.

“God, I hope that’s the case.”

“It is.” He looks over his shoulder. “But let’s go inside. I found something strange in my pocket. Someone at the club must have slipped it into my jacket while I was at the bar or something.”

I cock my head. “What?” My nerves skitter under my skin. It’s the same… Like May… Her message.

He nods. “I think it might have something to do with Sev—with May.”

“Let me see it.”

He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. We walk inside, locking the door behind us, and sit down on my leather sofa. Maddox lays the note on the coffee table.

I read it.

A figure of black, with points to its rank

Was lost near a henge of cascading wet banks.

In fields where the grasses grow wild and unkempt,

Its crown was interred—placed perhaps with contempt.

Search not for the heart, nor the diamond or club,

For their sister lies still beneath flower and shrub.

Where wings take to sky, and landings draw nearly,

You’ll find what was hidden, its fate mirrored clearly.

“What the hell?” I ask.

“Precisely my thoughts,” Maddox says. “But read the first line. A figure of black, with points to its rank.”

“What does that mean. Like someone shrouded in a black cloak? Who maybe has some large amount of social credit? Points to its rank?”

He shakes his head. “I think it means literally. And then go down a few lines. Search not for the heart, nor the diamond or club.”

I press my lips together. “That just leaves the spade.”

“Exactly,” he says. “I think that’s what the first line refers to. Not a figure as in a person, but a figure as in a symbol. Spades have points, both at the top, and then at the little stem at their bottom.”

“So a spade…was lost?” I clap my hand over my chest. “Oh my God, it’s referring to May! The Seven of Spades! Her suspension.”

“I think so,” Maddox says. “But the rest is gobbledygook to me. I thought you may be able to figure it out. You’re a musician, so you’ve got a creative side.”

I bite my lip. “Not so sure how creative I am. Everything I ever played was written by someone else. I was never much for composing. You can ask my music theory professors.”

He smiles. “You may have taken works from other composers, but I’m sure you made them your own. All musicians do. Otherwise no one would ever care to listen to music live when they could just pull up a recording on Spotify.”

I shrug. “I guess when you put it like that…” I look over the riddle again. “There are two lines pertaining to nature. First here”—I point—“where it says fields where the grasses grow wild and unkempt and then beneath flower and shrub.”

“So you think it’s talking about a park or something?”

“Or a nature preserve. Wild and unkempt would imply something that isn’t manmade.”

Maddox scratches his chin. “There’s not a whole lot of stuff that isn’t manmade in Chicago.”

“Maybe this indicates a location outside of the city. Some place where we might find evidence that Rouge is up to something.”

“Or it could be leading us into a trap,” Maddox says.

I frown. “I didn’t think of that.” I pick up the note. “And you don’t know who could have slipped this into your jacket?”

“No idea at all,” he says. “But the only people who would have been milling about the area were the waitstaff. Maybe they’re trying to get a message out but encoding it in a riddle in case they get caught. Why me, though?”

“Why me?” I ask. “May came to me.” I stroke my chin. “But this message is written in perfect English. With perfect meter, rhymes, and everything. May barely spoke English. I assume the same could be the case for all the other waitstaff.”

Maddox shrugs. “Just because May’s English was basic doesn’t mean that’s the case for everyone. Some people pick up languages more easily than others.”

“Yes, but this”—I point to the note—“could have been written by Shakespeare.”

“And who’s to say none of the waitstaff are literary scholars?” Maddox asks. “They’re all working toward a life after their five-year term at the club is up. Some of them might be reading up on the greats.”

“I suppose.” I return my focus to the note. “Crown was interred…” I snap my fingers. “Rouge wears a tiara. This must be referring to something having to do with her. Maybe some treasure she received in exchange for services rendered.” I rub at my temples as I think it through. “So there’s evidence hidden in a field somewhere. Or a park. Some sort of greenery.” I sigh. “There are about a million parks in Chicago, and that’s not counting the suburbs.”

“There must be something else in the note that can help us narrow it down,” Maddox says.

I nod, rereading the second line. “Lost near a henge of cascading wet banks.” I scratch my head. “Maybe there’s a park near a bank downtown.”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down, anyway,” Maddox says. “There are a million banks in Chicago as well.”

I squint at the note. “Wet banks. Could that be indicating a specific bank? One near a body of water or something?” I slap my hand to my forehead. “Or—duh—it could be referring to banks as in a riverbank.”

“True. That would explain cascading as well.” Maddox twiddles his fingers. “Or…it could be referring to a bank that issues wet loans. Loans that don’t require documentation before the funds are released.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds illegal.”

Maddox pulls out his phone and taps on it for a few seconds. “Yes, those are in fact illegal in the state of Illinois. The Predatory Loaning Prevention Act.”

“So we’d be looking for a bank that does that sort of stuff under the table.”

He shrugs. “Or we can return to your theory about riverbanks.”

“We’ll put a pin in that for now.” I return to the note. “Where wings take to sky, and landings draw nearly.” I mull it over. “Maybe we’re looking for a park that has a lot of birds in it? Or an avian sanctuary?”

“It’s February.” Maddox smirks. “The only birds that have stuck around are the penguins in the zoo.”

“And their wings don’t take to sky…” I rub at my forehead. “Wings… Wings… Landings…” I jerk my head up. “A plane!”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Maddox says. “Maybe we’re looking for a green area near an airport.”

“There are two major airports in Chicago. Midway and O’Hare.” I pull up my Maps app and look up Midway International Airport first, scanning the area. “Midway has a few small parks surrounding it, but nothing that I would qualify as ‘unkempt.’ It’s in the middle of a bunch of buildings for the most part.”

“What about O’Hare?”

“Already on it.” I clear the search cache and type in O’Hare International Airport on the same app. “O’Hare is out near Des Plaines.” I look through the surrounding area on the map, and…

“Oh my God.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a huge strip of undeveloped land just east of O’Hare.” I scroll down the satellite image of it, reading the names overlaying the greenery. “Algonquin Woods, Iroquois Woods, Monument Park, Catherine Chevalier Woods, Schiller Woods.” I cast my gaze to the floor of my living room. “It’s huge, Maddox. Even if this is the place we’re looking for, there are any number of areas where evidence could be hidden.”

“But it’s a place near cascading wet banks.”

“Which could refer to an actual bank, or a riverbank.” I scroll again. “The Des Plaines river cuts through the green space. But again, the bank could be anywhere along the river.”

He scratches his chin. “But I’m still stuck on the word cascading. That word usually only ever refers to a waterfall.”

“And then there’s henge,” I say. “That’s certainly an odd choice of word. That makes me think of Stonehenge back in the UK.”

“Which would imply a manmade series of stones.”

I frown. “But it has to also be unkempt.”

“Yes, but the second line says that it’s near the henge.” He points at the phone number at the top of the note. “We’re supposed to call whoever gave me this note once we get there, and then I bet we’ll receive further instructions. They can’t lay it all out in this first note, otherwise it would be damning if they were caught handing it off to me. Maybe we’re supposed to start at the manmade section—the henge—and then go from there.”

“But we still don’t know where the bloody hell this henge could be.”

Maddox peers over my shoulder at my phone. “Of all those locations you read as you scrolled just now, which one was closest to the airport? Where would you be able to see the planes taking off and landing?”

I zoom in. “Looks like Monument Park and the Chevalier Woods are the closest to the airport proper.”

He presses his lips together. “Monument Park was the only thing you listed that wasn’t labeled as ‘Woods.’ Google it and see what comes up.”

The image that comes up nearly makes me drop my phone.

Cascading waterfalls, just as the second line of the riddle suggested, pouring over a wall of large rocks. In the background are some evergreen trees, and in front of the waterfall is a large metal sign bearing the words Village of Rosemont.

“Rosemont,” I say. I look up at Maddox again. “What was Rouge’s last name again?”

His eyebrows nearly fly off his head as the thought hits him. “Montrose. A reversal of the syllables.”

“Its fate”—I point to the last line of the riddle—“mirrored clearly.”

He exhales sharply. “Holy shit. We cracked it.”

“So it would seem.” I look closer at the note. It looks like something was written under the note but then erased. “Can you make out what this was supposed to say? It could be something more.”

Maddox grabs the note from me and squints at it. “I didn’t even notice it. Looks like someone wrote three letters but then thought better of it.”

I take the note from him. “This one is a C, and I think the second one is an A. And this could be a capital T. Cat?”

He rubs his chin. “Maybe there’s a statue of a cat at Monument Park or something. Maybe that hint would have given it away too easily, so the writer decided to not include it.”

“Perhaps.” I get to my feet. “Well, shall we?”

“Alissa, it’s late. It’s not safe for you to be going into the middle of some park in the dead of night.”

“Of course it isn’t.” I hold out my hand. “That’s why I want you to come with me.”

30

MADDOX

I shoot my eyebrows up. “What? Right now?”

“One of the staffers of Aces Underground wouldn’t have planted this note on you if it weren’t urgent, Maddox.”

“But we really should wait until morning.” I gesture to the window in Alissa’s living room. “I need you to be safe. It’ll be safer when it’s light out.”

“Obviously that would be safer, but that’s why you’ll come with me,” she says. “Besides, there will be fewer people milling about in the evening.” She points at the picture of the Monument Park waterfalls on her phone. “Besides, we’ll be right across from the airport. I bet plenty of light will be coming from there.”

“Then I’ll go alone. You stay here. I need you safe, Alissa.”

She grabs my hands. “Maddox. All my life, I’ve taken the easy path, the risk-averse path, the way forward that offered the least resistance. But you awoke something in me, a small flame that was dormant in me for years, the small flame that only ever grew when I performed an ornate flute sonata for a crowd of hundreds. The flame that I thought I extinguished when I decided to forsake my musical training for a more stable job as a nurse.” She places my hand over her heart. “But you brought it back, Maddox. Taking me to the club, telling me about your passions, kissing me”—her cheeks flush—“fucking me.”

My own cheeks warm at her words. “But Alissa⁠—”

She holds up a hand. “No. No but Alissa, Maddox. I want to go there, and I want to go there tonight. And not just because there will be fewer people around, and not just because the lights of the airport should keep us well lit, but also because…” A wicked grin crawls across her face. “Because it is scary. Because it’s risky. And there’s no man I’d rather share an adventure with than you, Maddox Hathaway.”

Her words make my dick harden.

“Fuck, Alissa.” I brush a finger over her cheek.

“And if you come with me on this errand, I will let you do anything—and I mean anything—to my body when we get back.”

I swallow. I know I’m thinking with the wrong head. This is a fool’s errand. Some patron at the club probably put this note in my jacket and is pulling a prank on me.

But I don’t care.

I’m in.

Mad Maddox is in, too.

I crush my lips to Alissa’s.

The kiss is raw, feral, perfect.

I’m ready to forget this expedition of hers and fuck her senseless⁠—

But she breaks the kiss.

“Damn, Alissa,” I growl.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I intend to deliver on my promise to you, Maddox.” She leans into my ear. “Like I said, anything.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I love this woman. This woman who turns me on like no other, who can nearly make me jizz my pants from a few whispered words.

And I think she loves me, too.

But it’s too soon to express those feelings. I’ve known her for all of three days.

I grab my car keys out of my pocket. “Let’s go.”

She looks at my keys and frowns. “Your Rolls-Royce might be a little conspicuous. We’ll take my car.”

“You have a car?”

She nods. “Of course I do. My father bought it for me when I moved to the States. Took me a long time to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, but I’m a decent driver.”

“Then how come you’re always taking the train downtown?” I ask.

She raises an eyebrow. “The hospital doesn’t pay for my parking. Only the doctors get that privilege. And I’m sure as hell not tanking a third of my paycheck for a spot in a garage when a round trip on the L only costs five dollars.”

“Right, of course.”

Sometimes I forget that, unlike me, most people didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in their mouth. Luckily, my membership at the club entitles me to a spot in a nearby garage. Rouge takes care of her members.

Alissa puts on a puffy coat and leads me out her back door and down a few flights of exterior stairs. She points to a beat-up blue Nissan Sentra parked in a tiny spot behind her building. “That’s Molly,” she says.

“Molly?”

“Named for Gustav Mahler, of course. My second-favorite composer.”

“Another dead guy I’ve never heard of?”

“We’ll fix that soon. The finale of his second symphony is like opening the gates of heaven.” She unlocks her car with her key fob. “But that’s neither here nor there. Would you like to drive?”

I’ve been driving the Rolls for so long that I’m worried a modern car might feel weird, but I always prefer to drive, even if it’s not my car.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

I open the passenger side door for her.

She gets inside. “Always the gentleman.”

I get in her car and start the engine. It takes a second to roar to life—God, this car could use a tune-up—and then I pull out of her narrow parking spot and drive onto the city streets.

“Can you pull up Monument Park on the GPS?” I ask her.

“Already on it.” She places her phone on the hands-free mount above her car’s stereo.

Because it’s late at night, the drive doesn’t take long. Rush-hour traffic to O’Hare is normally brutal, but we make it in a cool twenty minutes. Alissa’s radio plays the local classical station, and she hums along, her eyes closed.

I park at one of the hotels along I-294. We walk across River Road to Monument Park. Even in the chilly winter air, the waterfalls are pouring over the stony structures. It’s pretty loud, and I guide Alissa a few steps away from the falls so we can call the number on the top of the note. I dial the number and put it on speaker so Alissa can hear.

It rings once, twice, three times. I fear it’s about to go to voicemail, revealing that this is indeed some elaborate prank to embarrass the son of the disgraced former Mayor of Chicago, when the call clicks.

It’s an artificially low voice, clearly distorted in the same way it’s done on the news when a person’s identity is being obscured.

“Are you there?” the voice asks.

“I think so,” I say. “Monument Park in Rosemont, right?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Now what do we do?”

A pause, and I hear the shuffling of papers in the background. Finally the person returns, reciting in a singsong voice. “North on the river, you’ll find a nice clearing. The darker it gets, the closer you’re nearing. Quadruple the instants you’ll say ‘good God damn!’ This won’t be a picnic, you’re likely to scram.”

Alissa leans into the phone. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Another pause, and then the voice utters three more words. “Bring a spade.”

The call drops.

“Bring a spade?” I ask. “How can we bring May with us? We’re looking for clues about her, just like the riddle indicated.”

Alissa strokes her chin for a moment. “A spade…”

“Are we supposed to go back to the club and grab one of May’s coworkers? Maybe they’ll know where to go.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s a play on words. The word spade can have other definitions. I think this guy means to bring a spade as in a shovel.”

I drop my jaw. “You mean we’re supposed to dig for buried treasure or some shit?”

She nods. “Or some shit, I’m assuming. The evidence we’re looking for. The crown that’s interred. Rouge has probably buried it somewhere in the forest preserve.” She gestures to the roaring waterfalls. “The first riddle gave us our starting point, and then this new riddle is directions from here.” She grabs her phone and opens the notes app. “What was it he said again? North on the river…”

“You’ll find a nice clearing,” I finish for her. “The darker it gets, the closer you’re nearing.”

“And then something about good God damn.” She wrinkles her nose. “It was odd.”

“Quadruple the instants you’ll say ‘Good God damn!’”

“Right. And then”—she shivers—“This won’t be a picnic, you’re likely to scram. That last part gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“If we need to get a shovel, we’ll have to buy one,” I say. “But we might have to wait until morning. I doubt that Menards is open this late.”

She shakes her head. “We don’t have to. I have a couple of shovels in my trunk.”

“You do?” I raise an eyebrow.

She chuckles. “Nothing suspicious, I assure you. I think I told you that I was helping my friend Dinah with some gardening a few weeks back. I brought some shovels to help and never took them out of my trunk.”

I rub at my forehead. Damn. That was my last shot at convincing Alissa to wait until morning for this wild goose chase.

But I paste a smile on. “Okay, let’s get back to the car, and we’ll figure out what the hell the rest of that riddle means.” I rub my hands up and down my arms. I don’t feel any fear. Not exactly. Just…apprehension. Like if we take one more step, we’ll never turn back…and our lives will change forever. “What do you think we’re going to be digging up?”

She shakes her head. “No idea. It could be evidence that Rouge is trying to hide, showing that she’s up to something menacing. A payment for some unseemly business. Or it could be”—she grimaces—“something far worse.”

31

ALISSA

Did I really just say those words?

But I have the same feeling I had⁠—

No.

Can’t go there.

I need to keep my wits about me.

I have no idea what we’re going to find in this preserve. All I know is that every word of the unnaturally low voice from the phone is reverberating in my ears, echoing through every synapse in my brain as I try to make sense of it.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out in a heavy sigh. “Let’s go back to the car and get the spades.”

Maddox nods. “Good move. We can figure out what those directions mean as well.”

We cross the road again and return to my car. I pop the trunk open with my key fob and grab two shovels.

“I’ll carry them both,” Maddox says.

Even in this moment, when things are dark and scary, he’s being a gentleman. I was the one who dragged him out here in the dead of night in the middle of one of the coldest months of the year, and now he’s carrying my shovel.

I love this man.

It’s absolute nonsense. I’ve known him a grand total of three days. A long weekend. Today is Sunday, and I walked into his shop Thursday evening.

So much can happen in three days.

We’ve kissed more times than I can count. We’ve had sex twice—first in my bed, and then in his shop. We’ve had a total of three official dates, and I haven’t been able to keep my mind off him since the moment he first smiled at me.

But all of that is not nearly enough to determine whether you love a man or not.

We simply have incredible chemistry. Love could come down the line.

Then again, what even is love? You hear about it all the time in fairy tales, in the Disney movies I watched on VHS growing up until they wore out. But those are simple tales, woven for the enjoyment of children. I’m not Princess Jasmine, and Maddox isn’t my Aladdin.

Then again, Aladdin put his life in danger for the woman he loved. Couldn’t one say that Maddox is doing the exact same thing for me right now?

No. It’s all nonsense.

Alissa Maravilla doesn’t deal in nonsense.

She deals in the world of cold, hard facts.

And the facts do not line up. I simply have not known this man long enough to love him.

And I can’t think about any of that now, anyway.

I pull out my phone, look over the new riddle as I typed it into my notes.

“All right. The first line is pretty simple. North on the river, you’ll find a nice clearing. That’s clearly referencing the Des Plaines river, which flows through the entire preserve here.” I switch my phone’s screen to the Maps app and look at the satellite imagery. “So we follow the river up from Monument Park.”

I frown and keep scrolling.

“What is it?” Maddox asks.

I sigh. “The river just…keeps going. All the way to the Wisconsin border. There are lots of clearings along its route. Any one of them could be the one we’re looking for.”

“What was the next line?” Maddox asks. “That might offer some help.”

I nod, switching back to my notes app. “The darker it gets, the closer you’re nearing.”

Maddox wrinkles his forehead. “So we’re looking for someplace dark.”

“Not exactly helpful.” I gesture broadly around me. “It’s night. Everything will be dark.”

“Good point,” Maddox says. “We should really have some flashlights. Any chance you have a few in your car?”

“Oh, good thinking.” I dig inside the trunk and pull out a torch flashlight from an emergency kit my dad bought me when I moved to the States. “I only have one.”

“You use it,” Maddox says. “That’s a big flashlight, and it’ll give us a decent amount of sight. I’ll use the light on my phone to supplement it.”

“You’ll be carrying the shovels, though.” I bite my lip. “Will you be able to hold them and keep your phone out?”

“My hands are big. I can hold the shovels in one hand, my phone in the other.”

Again, a surge of warmth flutters through me at his words. I get the big flashlight, and he’s holding the shovels. I could easily hold a flashlight in one hand and a shovel in the other, but Maddox is going above and beyond.

I really might… I really might have actual feelings for this man.

But again, not the time, nor the place.

“Either way, the second line doesn’t help a lot. My guess is our little friend needed a rhyme to go with the first line.” I widen my eyes. “Speaking of which, I totally forgot to look and see if there was a statue of a cat at the waterfalls.”

Maddox frowns. “I didn’t think of it either.”

I scratch my head. “We’ll just keep that in mind if we run into a wall.” I look back at my phone. “Quadruple the instants you’ll say ‘good God damn.’”

Maddox shifts his gaze and recites, “Good God damn, good God damn, good God damn, good God damn.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why did you do that?”

He shrugs. “I thought actually saying it four times would help. Maybe the words slide together somehow. ‘Goo… Go… Dah…’” He frowns. “Anything in your maps look like…Gugodah?”

I chuckle. “No, nothing like that.” I tap at my phone screen. “Besides, it says that it’s four times. There must be something about that.”

He scratches his head, and then his eyes grow wide. “Wait. What if it’s a homophone?”

“A homophone?”

“Yeah, you know, a word that sounds the same but is a different word.”

“I know what a homophone is, Maddox.” But then I drop my jaw. “Yes. A dam!”

He nods. “I’m sure there are several along the river.”

I open my Maps app and scroll. I’m still at the Wisconsin border, so I move south on the map looking for anything labeled a dam. Then I see it. “Dam number one, woods east. But it’s several miles north. Why would they have had us start at Monument Park if it were that far away?”

Maddox exhales. “If there’s a dam specifically labeled as number one, then there must be more.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Quadruple the times… Quadruple the times. Is there a dam number four?”

I scroll down the map, my fingers shaking.

And there it is.

“Dam number four.” I throw my arms around Maddox. “You’re a genius.”

He chuckles. “You can just call me Maddox.”

“Very funny.” I let go of him and return my eyes to my phone. “But a dam isn’t a clearing, is it?”

“Is there something nearby?”

I zoom in on the screen, gazing intently. “Yeah, there’s a little square-shaped clearing off of dam number four. There’s even a little parking lot. We could drive right there instead of walking along the river in the dark.”

“Probably a good move. I don’t want one of us falling in.” Maddox rubs his arms. “Getting wet in this weather could do some pretty bad damage.” He looks over my shoulder at the phone. “So that’s our clearing. Are there any other details?”

I zoom in further. “Just the clearing and the parking lot.” But then I squint. “Wait. There’s a smaller clearing just south of the lot. Dam number four, woods east. Picnic grove two.” I drop my jaw. “The last line of the riddle!”

Maddox nods. “This won’t be a picnic.”

I swallow. “You’re likely to scram.”

He smiles at me. “I won’t scram if you won’t.”

I raise my flashlight as if it were a sword. “I intend to see this through until the bloody end, Maddox.” I grab the shovels out of his hands and place them back in the trunk. “Get in the car. I’ll drive.”

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”

“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.

“I don’t much care where—” said Alice.

“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.

“—so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an explanation.

“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk long enough.”

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

32

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!

GET YOUR BONUS CONTENT HERE!

EXCERPT FROM PRINCESS FALLEN

1

If I had ten bucks for every time I’ve walked in on my father getting head from some young stud, I’d be a…

Okay, maybe not a millionaire, but richer than I am by a long shot.

I rap on the oak door. As vampire king, my father has the right to summon me whenever he pleases, and I’m bound to obey due to my cursed bloodline. It irks me to knock. Walking right in makes me feel like I possess a modicum of autonomy, however imaginary. Just that little bit of power makes the whole thing a little less…insulting.

But only a little. After seeing several scenes a daughter should never witness, I’ve learned to knock.

“Come in.” My father’s voice is breathy.

I open the door with caution. Today’s hunk sports a mane of golden hair, slanted leonine eyes, and killer biceps. I might go for him myself if he weren’t kneeling on the plush burgundy carpet while my father zips his fly.

I clear my throat. Vampires aren’t known for their modesty, but I’m his daughter, for God’s sake.

“Just a minute, Hannah,” my father says. “I’m a little busy.”

Patience is not one of my virtues.

“Yeah? I was busy when you told me to hightail it over here. Finish up and tell me what you want.”

He turns to face me, his dark vamp eyes clouded. “This is Justin. Justin, my daughter Hannah.”

“Charmed,” I say, not meeting the young man’s gaze.

He stands, leaves the room a bit sheepishly, and closes the door behind him.

“Well?” I regard my father, lifting my eyebrows.

People say I look like him. We have the same coloring—pale complexion, nearly black hair, brown eyes. He’s a good looking man for three hundred. No doubt he could get the studs he does even if he weren’t king. My sister is blond with blue eyes. I once asked my mother, who’s human, whether Larissa was truly my full-blooded sister. My mom swore up and down that she was always faithful to my father.

Too bad, since he cheated on her during most of their marriage. That mockery of a liaison ended when I was in my teens.

My father walks to his desk and motions to a chair. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” He sits down behind his desk, glances over some papers, and then returns his attention to me. “I hear you’re fond of cock.”

Let me clarify something. Yes, I have an extremely healthy libido for a human. By vamp standards, though, I’m considered frigid. Vampires have very high sex drives—they coincide with the blood lust—and most are naturally bisexual. Personally, I’ve never had a taste for women, but I’m only half vamp.

I scoff. “Well, I am my father’s daughter.”

“Save your attempt at humor, Hannah.”

I smile what I hope is a saccharine-sweet grin. “What attempt at humor?”

Dad crosses his arms. “Fine. Play it your way. I have a favor to ask.”

“Please tell me it doesn’t involve one of your crazy herbal injections.”

My father is a health nut. The vamp life span of five hundred years isn’t enough for him, apparently. He’s convinced he can add to it with herbal tinctures and infusions, and because I’m half human, he insists I need them to make it to two hundred and fifty. I’ve always shunned his so-called remedies, except for once. Last time I saw him, which was only three days ago, he convinced me to try an injection of yarrow and gingko biloba, claiming it would suppress my need for blood.

He knows how to hit me below the belt. To say I’m a reluctant vampire is an understatement. I’m constantly searching for ways to quell the desire for blood, so I willingly sat still for the treatment.

The blood lust continued to hit right on schedule. So much for Daddy’s herbs.

“No, not today,” he says. “I have an assignment for you.”

“Goodie.”

He ignores my sarcasm. Just as well.

“There’s been a threat to the Brotherhood. One of the lycans has allegedly aligned with a demon.”

“There’s always a threat to the Brotherhood,” I say. “And by the way, since I always play a huge role in taking care of all your perceived threats, shouldn’t we call it the Brother-Sisterhood?”

He blows off my query. Big surprise.

“The lycan in question is an alpha named Victor Rogan. He’s been linked to two vamp slayings in the past month.”

“Linked how?”

“His bite marks were found on the chests of both corpses.”

I should probably feel something. Two vampires dead. Despite my paternity, though, I don’t feel a connection to the Brotherhood. “So? Lots of vamps get bitten by weres and live to tell the tale. Lycans are hardly lethal to us.”

“They are when they literally eat our hearts out.”

This time chills slither along the back of my neck. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. The victims’ hearts were gone, and Rogan’s marks were all over them.”

“Still circumstantial.”

“Circumstantial how? You think he attacked them, left them immobile, and then someone else came along and sliced out their hearts?”

“Why not? The lycans know better than to mess with us.”

A few years ago, the Vampire Brotherhood and the Lycan Council reached a truce of sorts. We all agreed to register our bite marks with the government upon reaching the age of eighteen. Bite marks are unique to all vamps and lycans, like fingerprints are to humans. Any lycan or vamp mark can be easily identified via the central computer system. Surely this Victor knows all that, so why would he take the chance of being found out?

“None of this makes sense,” I say.

“I agree.” Dad pauses and rubs his chin. “Which is why I need you to get close to him.”

Here it comes. “Uh…how close, exactly?”

“I think you know. You won’t mind. He’s very handsome. I have a photo here somewhere.” He pats some papers on his desk.

I roll my eyes. “If he’s so handsome, why don’t you seduce him?”

Dad lets out a chuckle. “Trust me, I would if I could, but by all accounts, Victor Rogan is not the least bit interested in men.”

“Pity.” I look at my fingernails. Pretty ragged. Maybe I can fit in a manicure when I get home.

“You’re telling me.” He shuffles more papers. “Ah, here it is.” He shoves an eight-by-ten glossy across the desk.

I widen my eyes. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover this god.

“I see you’re pleased.” Dad smirks. “I hear the photo doesn’t do him justice.”

Heat curls in my gut. My nipples harden. Emerald-green eyes fringed with thick black lashes, a chiseled face, just the right amount of dark stubble. And hair. Glorious hair. I love long hair on a man. It’s even darker than my own and it falls in unruly waves around beefy shoulders.

My heart slams against my chest, its cadence rapid. My skin heats, cools, heats again.

I close my eyes and inhale. The thump thump of his heart, the whoosh of the blood through his veins…both crash into my ears like a roaring storm.

I shake my head to gain composure. What imagination! I’ve never had such a physical reaction to a photograph.

I open my eyes.

Yeah, I can do him.

All for the sake of my people, of course.

“He’s in Vegas, staying at his penthouse at the London Hotel and Casino.”

“Penthouse?”

“Yeah. He owns the hotel.”

“So he’s richer than God.”

“He does all right. I’ve booked you a suite there.”

“Dad, I have a life here in Chicago. And a job, remember? I can’t just take off.”

“I’ve arranged a leave of absence.”

I work the night shift as an ER physician’s assistant at a local hospital. The hours suit me, as I don’t react well to sunlight, and I have blood ready and available whenever I need to feed. I’m good at my job, and the chief of staff adores me. My immediate supervisor, Margot the Bitch, does not, however. No way would she have agreed to a leave of absence.

I eye my father’s grin. “You didn’t.”

“Sorry, I did. Just a little. I need you on this, Hannah.”

“But you said there’s no excuse for using mind control.”

“I said there’s no excuse for misusing mind control. This is not misuse. This is for the good of the Brotherhood.”

Right. Dad always did have one set of rules for himself and one set for everyone else. Just ask my mom.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll go to the London.”

“And you’ll seduce Victor Rogan.”

“I’ll try to seduce Victor Rogan. What makes you think he’ll have me?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Hannah. You know that.”

“Dad”—I hand the photo back to him—“look at this man. I’ve been told I’m attractive, but he’s a fucking Adonis.”

“Trust me.” Dad grins. “He’ll jump through all kinds of hoops to get to you.”

I shake my head. “You know as well as I do that weres only respond like that to their own kind.”

Dad’s eyebrows twitch slightly. “It won’t be a problem.”

“I can’t see how it won’t be. I’m half human and half vampire. Even if he thinks I’m the hottest thing walking, he’ll hardly jump through any hoops.”

Dad smiles—a surly grin—as his phone rings. “Did you not have a physical reaction to his picture?”

I can’t lie to my father. He’s a full-blooded vamp who can sense arousal from miles away. The intensity of my reaction shocked me, and my body is still humming.

“Give it your best shot.” Dad adjusts his Bluetooth. “Check in with me in three days.”

Three days?

“You expect me to seduce a werewolf in three days?”

He waves me away as he speaks into the phone. When Dad is done with a conversation, he’s done.

Icy needles prick the skin on the back of my neck as I walk out the door.

2

My stomach tumbles, and not from the unusual amount of turbulence on the airplane. Dad sprang for a first class seat, and I nurse a vodka tonic to sooth my nerves.

My father wasn’t born to be the vampire king. It was all kind of happenstance, really. Like I said, most vamps are naturally bisexual, but my dad is pretty much homosexual. His youth was a veritable man-fest. About forty years ago, he found “religion,” as he calls it. Don’t ask me what that means. Anyway, he tried to turn his back on all that was his life.

Enter my mother.

My father was living as a human when he met my mother at a church service. After a whirlwind courtship, they married and had first me, and then two years later, my sister, Larissa. I truly believe my father loved my mother, but his taste for men did not wane, and he cheated on her throughout their union.

Though I was born with a pale complexion and have always been particularly sensitive to sunlight, I wasn’t aware of my true genealogy until five years ago. My parents’ marriage fell apart years earlier and my mother remarried. Her new husband was the world’s biggest asshole. I’d just received my biology degree when my father summoned me. I use the word “summon” because that’s exactly what it was. He didn’t ask to see me, and though he and I have never been close, something inside me beckoned me to go to him.

He didn’t sugarcoat anything. “I’m a vampire,” he said, “and I’m now your king.”

The vamp royal family, including many of its offshoots, had been poisoned by a group of renegade weres. My father was a third cousin once removed of the assassinated king. He escaped assassination—as did my sister and I—because he was living as a human. Once the brotherhood eliminated the renegade weres, they set out to find a new king.

They found my father, still living as a human, in a commune in San Francisco. The brotherhood had its new king.

It’s not a true monarchy. Just like the weres, we don’t have a political system in place. Because humans outnumber vamps and weres by a thousand to one, we have no choice but to coexist peacefully. We follow the laws of humankind, but in our own circle we are bound to our king, just as the were populace is bound to their council and high alpha.

Not a perfect system, but it works.

Usually.

Unfortunately, even though I’m only half vamp, I inherited the gene that requires obedience to the blood monarch and the ingestion of blood. My sister escaped this gene and continues to live as a human, blissfully unaware of her true lineage. She can live in sunlight too. Another gene she escaped. I’ve learned not to resent it.

I’m working on it, anyway.

I half-hear the captain announce that we’ll be landing in Las Vegas shortly. I fidget with my now empty glass. I don’t drink much alcohol these days. What I really want right now is blood. Blood is elixir to vamps. It’s in our make-up to crave it. During my youth, I experimented with alcohol, drugs, and sex—all in an attempt to ease a need I didn’t understand.

Once my father told me the truth, it hit me. Blood is what I crave. It satisfies the hunger I can’t explain. Still, I fought the need as long as I could until one day my gums started to itch, sting, and then erupt in sharp pain as my canine teeth elongated for the first time. Need rose within me, more intense than ever before. I sated myself from the hospital blood bank.

I’ve never fed from a living being. Fresh blood becomes addictive to some vamps. After my obsession with drugs and sex when I was younger, I don’t want to go there.

The plane touches down with a thud. I set my empty glass in the pocket in front of me and grab my purse and laptop from underneath the seat.

My heart thumps.

This is it.

I’m in Vegas, and I can’t leave until I’ve seduced a werewolf. Not just any werewolf—Victor Rogan, an alpha whose photograph alone warms my blood. An alpha who’s most likely the brains behind a string of vampire murders.

I exhale audibly as I stand to exit the plane.

I’m so screwed.

3

Now this is the life!

Nothing like a gorgeous suite in a five-star Vegas hotel to make a girl smile.  I’m not the frivolous type, but I find myself running a bubble bath in what can only be described as a “sex bathtub.”  Huge, jetted, and amply supplied with exotic soaps and oils, it sits mounted around silvery marble in a luxurious bathroom that’s bigger than my bedroom at home.

Dad really wants me to seduce this were.  Funny how most fathers try to protect their daughters’ cherries.  Then again, Dad and I have never had the normal father-daughter relationship.  He favored my blond sister when we were children.  I could get over that—really I could—if only I hadn’t inherited the damned blood obedience gene.  Now I’m bound to a king and father I don’t want.

I step into the tub, wincing at the heat.  I love baths, and I haven’t had one in over a month due to a new tattoo—a Celtic band around my left upper arm.  My only other ink is a wolf howling at the moon on my lower back.  No, I’m not kidding.  I got the tattoo while I was in college, before I knew what I truly was.

I’ve always felt close to wolves. They’re nocturnal animals, and being mostly nocturnal myself, I felt drawn to their beauty and nobility at a young age.  I can’t deny I was intrigued when I found out that wolf shifters actually exist.  Imagine…a man who can morph into my favorite animal.

A man who looks like Victor Rogan.

I inhale the brisk scent of the aromatherapy oil.  The tangy citrus clears my mind.  I’m here for one reason, and one reason only—to seduce a handsome were for information.  Not to become infatuated.

Still, as I immerse myself in the warm, scented water, I imagine Victor Rogan wrapping his body around mine, kissing my lips, sinking his cock into me…

I jerk upward.

Did I hear something?

No.

My senses are on alert…but why?

I’m here. It’s the evening. I’ll find Victor Rogan tomorrow.

Not now.

Go now.

I’ve learned, as an adult, not to second-guess my intuition. Though I often wish my vampire side didn’t exist, it has given me some gifts. Faster reflexes, which is a godsend in my sport of choice, Taekwondo. I’m a third-degree black belt, and my instructor wants me to take over some of his classes. I’ve politely declined. As soon as he opens an all-night dojang, I’m there.

Enhanced intuition is another. Far from extra-sensory perception, my intuition is exactly that—intuition. I can’t read minds. I can’t sense emotion in others.

What I can do is understand and assess a situation immediately without needing to consciously reason it out.

Right now, my intuition is telling me to get out of the tub and go down to the casino.

Why?

I have no idea, but I’ve learned not to ignore these feelings.

I hold back a whimper as I leave the comfort of the scented bubbling water. A plush white bath sheets hangs on the rack. I grab it and wrap it around me, snuggling into its warmth.

So cozy.

That king-size bed in the next room with plush pillows beckons me. How easy it would be to simply lie down, let the comforter envelop me, and deal with Victor Rogan and whatever else I have to do here tomorrow.

I sigh.

Not in the cards for me tonight.

I wipe the moisture from my body, hang the towel back up, and wander into the bedroom. God, yes, there’s the bed. I’m a nocturnal person, being half vamp. I know it’s my reluctance to help my father that’s begging me to snuggle into bed and leave this until tomorrow.

I’m in Las Vegas. The city that never sleeps. This is a vampire’s haven!

I inhale deeply and open my suitcase. Black skinny jeans, leather boots, and a lacy red tank top. Too vampy?

I chuckle at my own joke.

I have no idea what Victor Rogan looks for in a woman. My father is convinced he’ll bite—I hope so!—so I decide to be myself.

Classic Hannah Bates.

Skinny jeans, black boots, and a tight T-shirt with a Celtic trifecta emblazoned across my chest. Victor may as well see me as I am.

I brush out my long, dark hair until it shines, and then I draw in a deep breath.

Time to go.

I tuck the keycard to my room inside my phone wallet, tuck my phone in one of my back pockets, and head out the door to the elevator. Since I’m in a suite, the elevator is close, and as luck has it, a door is open, waiting for me.

I head down to the lobby level.

The door opens, I walk through the marble lobby toward the casino, and⁠—

Chaos!

People mill around everywhere, screaming and raising drinks. What the fuck? I arrived only a little over an hour ago, and while the casino was crowded, as casinos usually are, it was nothing like this. It’s freaking sensory overload—especially for my heightened senses. Bright flashing lights, earsplitting sounds, and hordes of people milling around the slot machines.

For a split second, I doubt my intuition. I’ll never find Victor Rogan—or anyone, for that matter—in this mess.

I squeeze through the throngs of people to get to the bar. A glass of red wine will help ease the blood lust that’s hitting me thanks to the rhythmic heartbeats in this crowd. I should’ve topped myself off before I came down. Hindsight.

I finally make it to the bar when a young man in a tuxedo shirt hands me a glass of what appears to be sparkling wine.

“No, thank you,” I say.

“On the house. To celebrate.”

“Oh. Okay.” I take the flute. It’s not red, but it’ll do for now. “What are we celebrating?”

“Some lady won a progressive on the slots. Four million dollars.”

“Oh. Nice.” I raise my glass. “Cheers!”

He smiles a pretty damned dazzling smile. I inhale. Fuck. He smells good too. Musky and manly. My gums itch, but I will the lust away. Not the time to produce fangs in this crowd.

I take a sip. A little sweet for my tastes, and the bubbles tickle my nose. Still, I down the glass and set it on the bar. I signal to a bartender. “Syrah, please.”

“California or Australia?”

“California.”

A minute later he sets a goblet of dark red wine in front of me. I take a long sip, letting the tannins coat my tongue.

There. That helps.

Another sip. Then another.

And it’s gone. I set the glass back down, my blood lust under control. I’m here for some reason. Time to find out what it is.

The crowds haven’t dissipated a bit.

Maybe best to stay put. I have a place at the bar.

“You want another?” The barkeep nods at my empty glass.

“No, thanks.” I turn to face the milling people.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

I turn back to the bar. “Sorry, are you talking to me?”

“Yeah.” He gives me a smile. “Pretty cool. I hear the winner is a grandmother living on a fixed income. Nice for her.”

“If she’s on a fixed income, what’s she doing at a casino?” I can’t help asking.

“Beats me.” He takes my empty glass away.

I turn back around.

And sit.

For a half hour, I sit there, checking the time every five minutes on my phone.

In this time, the crowd hardly dissipates.

“Enough of this,” I say under my breath.

Even my intuition makes mistakes sometimes.

I stand and push my way through the crowds back through the lobby and to the elevators. The good thing about the crowds in the casino is no one is waiting for the elevator. I press the up button and wait.

When the bell dings, I head to the elevator in question.

The doors part, and⁠—

My heart nearly stops in my chest.

Dark hair piled in a manbun. Searing emerald eyes. Tan skin and full lips.

Victor Rogan.

Never doubt your intuition again, Hannah. Never.

4

His gaze sears into mine. Should I say something?

Since when am I at a loss for words?

Since the most handsome man in the free world— a man I came here to seduce—is staring at me. No hardship there.

Of course, to seduce him, I’m going to have to actually speak to him.

My whole body is on alert—lusty alert. My nipples harden and become visible protrusions behind the soft fabric of my T-shirt.

He lowers his eyelids, parts his lips⁠—

“Vic, there you are!” A burly man dressed in black cuts in front of me and grabs Victor. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

He rips his gaze away from me. “I got here as quickly as I could.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You need to congratulate the winner.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “I need to congratulate someone when I just lost four mil?”

“You net more than that in a week. Who the fuck cares?”

Victor walks away with the burly guy, not giving me a second look.

So much for him jumping through any hoops.

This is going to take more work than my father anticipated. The vampire king may be a master of seduction, but I’m not. I’ve had my share of men, but usually they pursue me. I don’t know the first thing about luring a man into my bed.

I sigh. Guess I better brush up on the art of seduction. I step into the elevator and head back to my suite.

***

Ah…

Back in the tub, and the aromatherapy fragrance is even better this time. I add some lavender to help me relax. I don’t normally sleep at night, but traveling exhausts me. I want to float away on some alpha waves…

Fuck.

Alpha.

Victor Rogan.

Can I just have one hot bath without remembering why I’m here?

I close my eyes and slide down in the tub, letting the soothing water cover me up to my neck. Yeah, that’s it. Relax. Think happy thoughts. Nice thoughts.

A moonlit path. A star-strewn sky.

A beating heart.

Fuck.

So much for relaxing. A glass of Syrah only lasts for so long.

I sit up.

I jerk as someone knocks at my door.

It’s late, and I haven’t ordered anything. Who even knows I’m here?

“Just a minute!” I yell, knowing whoever it is won’t hear me this far away. Vamps have a much more acute sense of hearing than humans.

I wrap a plush white robe around my wet body and pad out of the bathroom.

Again, a knock. This time louder.

“I said I’m coming!” Without checking the peephole, I open the door.

And gasp.

Victor Rogan.

“Good evening, princess,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“You are the daughter of the vampire king, aren’t you?”

Not something I advertise. “Yeah. But he’s not really a king, and I’m not called a princess.”

He strides into my room.

“Come in,” I say sarcastically.

He inhales and seems to deliberately step away from me. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d play a little blackjack,” I say. “Maybe some roulette.” God, he’s so good looking. I’m very aware of my nakedness under this robe.

“Don’t get cute with me,” he says in a growl.

“I’ve never been cute in my life.” No truer words.

“I’m serious. Why are you here? What’s he after?”

“He?”

He grins. “You’re getting cute again. You know exactly who I’m referring to.”

“Wayne Newton?”

Is sarcasm a good way to seduce a rogue alpha were? I’m not sure, but it seems to be what I’m going for.

He stalks toward me and then stops abruptly, closing his eyes. “This can’t be.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He stays silent for a few beats of his own heart.

Yes, I can hear his heart beating, his blood thrumming through his veins. Wolf blood. I breathe through my mouth so as not to inhale its lusty animal fragrance.

Fuck.

He opens his eyes. “Don’t play games with me, princess.”

“I told you, I’m not⁠—”

He closes the distance between us with two quick steps and grabs the front of my robe. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Good question. Let go of me.”

He tightens his fist for a few seconds but then lets me go, leaving a good portion of my cleavage exposed. I want to close the robe, but I don’t. I’m supposed to seduce him, after all.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“I told you.”

“Blackjack and roulette. Yeah. Now tell me the truth.”

His voice is so low, like a raspy growl. My gums itch. God, they itch. My fangs are going to drop if I don’t get control of myself. My nipples are so hard they could cut glass.

I need some blood, and right now I want his. I ache for his. Lusty wolf blood. What must it taste like? Better than the bagged shit I cop from the hospital, no doubt.

And not just his blood calls to me.

His body. His lips. I want them on mine. I want what must be a gorgeous big cock inside me, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…

Only a foot separates us. His breath is warm, and his heart thumps wildly in cadence with mine. How easy it would be to melt into his hard body, wrap my arms around him, and⁠—

With one quick step, he closes the distance between us, grabs me, and crushes his mouth to mine.

He probes the seam of my lips with his warm tongue, and I part them to let him in.

He tastes of whiskey and man, of outdoors and animal. Of pure and complete lust.

I give in to the kiss, let my tongue wrap around his, and coil into him. My bare breasts press against his hard chest, and my nipples tighten even further.

I’ve kissed many men in my life, but no kiss in the world equals this one.

Soft moans evolve in my throat and hum into his mouth. He responds with his primal growl, which I feel as well as hear—as if a bulldozer is rumbling into my body.

He’ll jump through all kinds of hoops to get to you.

No hoops here, but he seems interested. Very interested. And so am I.

He deepens the kiss then, our mouths fused together in lust and passion. I surrender to the embrace, to him.

I’ll do anything for him.

Anything.

And that thought at once seems so right.

And so wrong.

This isn’t me.

This isn’t Hannah Bates.

Oh, but it is.

This man. This kiss⁠—

He jerks away, breaking the kiss and panting, his eyes wide and feral.

I touch my lips, let my fingers roam over where he was. Swollen, puffy, sensitive. And still wanting more.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

Is he speaking to me?

“What?” I ask.

He grabs a fistful of my hair. “God, I want to fuck you.”

I close my palm around his warm fist. “What’s stopping you?”

His mouth comes down on mine once more.

Continue reading Princess Fallen here!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A few years ago, my cover artist, the brilliant Amanda Shepard of Shepard Originals, had a premade cover art sale. I fell in love with a set of four covers based on the suits in a deck of playing cards. Without having a clue what to do with them, I bought them and asked her to brand them as Aces Underground. I figured I’d come up with a dark romance series that featured an underground club sometime in the future.

Cut to the end of last year, when I was talking to my editor (and son!) Eric. I showed him the covers and wanted to brainstorm some ideas for a series called Aces Underground. Within a second, he suggested a series based on Alice in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll’s classics Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass are in the public domain, and fairy tale retellings are all the rage, so it was a no-brainer!

Eric came up with a premise for the series, and I started writing.

Enter Spades!

This series is different from anything I’ve written. It’s dark and mysterious, yes, but it’s also somewhat fantastical. It’s been so much fun, and I know you’re going to love Diamonds, Clubs, and Hearts!

Thank you especially to Eric McConnell, my editor, and Amanda Shepard, my cover artist. Without the two of you, Aces Underground would never have taken shape. Thank you to Catherine Goode, my eagle-eyed proofreader, and thank you to Zachary White and Laura Sanders for lending their spectacular voices to Maddox and Alissa.

Thank you to my reader group, Hardt & Soul, and to my Ream community, Black Rose Underground, for your endless support.

Thanks also to my family and friends, and most of all, thank you, my readers. Because of all of you, I get to do what I love most in the world!

And get ready…

In Diamonds, the rabbit hole gets even more seductive and mysterious!

ALSO BY HELEN HARDT

Bellamy Brothers

Savage Sin

Sweet Sin

Seductive Sin

Vengeful Vice

Volatile Vice

Victorious Vice

Cryptic Curse

Chaotic Curse

Captivating Curse

Aces Underground

Spades

Diamonds

Clubs

Hearts

Follow Me Series

Follow Me Darkly

Follow Me Under

Follow Me Always

Darkly

Under

Always

My Heart Still Beats

Black Rose Series

Blush

Bloom

Blossom

Wolfes of Manhattan

Rebel

Recluse

Runaway

Rake

Reckoning

Escape

Moonstone

Raven

Garnet

Buck

Opal

Phoenix

Amethyst

How to Marry a Billionaire

Enticing You

Captivating You

Seducing You

Claiming You

Sex and the Season

Lily and the Duke

Rose in Bloom

Lady Alexandra’s Lover

Sophie’s Voice

The Perils of Patricia

Steel Legends

I am Sin

I am Salvation

Steel Brothers Saga

Craving

Obsession

Possession

Melt

Burn

Surrender

Shattered

Twisted

Unraveled

Breathless

Ravenous

Insatiable

Fate

Legacy

Descent

Awakened

Cherished

Freed

Spark

Flame

Blaze

Smolder

Flare

Scorch

Chance

Fortune

Destiny

Melody

Harmony

Encore

Blood Bond Saga

Unchained

Unhinged

Undaunted

Unmasked

Undefeated

Temptation Saga

Tempting Dusty

Teasing Annie

Taking Catie

Taming Angelina

Treasuring Amber

Trusting Sydney

Tantalizing Maria

The Billion Heirs (with Vanessa Vale)

Scarred

Flawed

Broken

Non-Fiction

got style?

Cooking with Hardt & Soul

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

#1 New York Times, #1 USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author Helen Hardt’s passion for the written word began with the books her mother read to her at bedtime. She wrote her first story at age six and hasn’t stopped since. In addition to being an award-winning author of romantic fiction, she’s a mother, an attorney, a black belt in Taekwondo, a grammar geek, an appreciator of fine red wine, and a lover of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. She writes from her home in Colorado, where she lives with her family. Helen loves to hear from readers.

Visit her here: https://www.helenhardt.com/

Sign up for her newsletter here: https://www.helenhardt.com/newsletter-sign-up

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