Chapter 6 Lies and Games

Dylan hung up. She crushed the cigarette into a crystal ashtray on a side table. The embers hissed and died.

She turned to go back to the room.

A laugh echoed down the corridor. A wet, sloppy sound.

"Well, well."

Quentin Sharpe stepped out of the shadows. He was holding a tumbler of whiskey. His tie was loose.

Dylan pulled the brim of her invisible hat down. She tried to walk past him.

"That voice," Quentin said, stepping in front of her. "Sounds like my dear cousin-in-law."

"Former," Dylan said. "Get out of my way, Sharpe."

Quentin grinned. It was a nasty expression. "So the rumors are true? Claudius finally liquidated his least profitable asset?"

Dylan didn't stop. "Move."

Quentin reached out. His hand, clammy and hot, grabbed her bare arm.

"Don't be rude, Dylan."

Dylan didn't think. Her body remembered the Krav Maga classes she took on Tuesday nights. It was a reflex, honed to deal with threats exactly like this one.

She clamped her hand over his wrist. She stepped in, using her hip as a fulcrum, and twisted.

Hard.

Quentin yelped. The whiskey splashed onto his shirt. His grip broke.

Dylan shoved him. He stumbled back against the wall.

She didn't wait. She turned and sprinted back to the VIP room, locking the door behind her.

In the hallway, Quentin rubbed his wrist. His face was purple with rage.

He pulled out his phone.

He snapped a picture of the closed door. Then he scrolled through his gallery. He found a blurry photo he had taken earlier of a woman in a backless jumpsuit entering the private suite. You could see the distinctive mole on her shoulder blade.

He dialed Claudius.

Claudius answered on the first ring. He had just been hung up on, he was not in a good mood.

"What?"

"Your ex-wife is in a private room at Elysium," Quentin said. His voice dripped with poison. "With three guys."

Claudius stopped breathing. The air in the car went stagnant.

"Are you sure?"

"I saw her," Quentin lied, embellishing the details. "I heard her, she's playing 'Taste the Dessert.' You know the one, They're getting ready for round two."

Crack.

The screen of Claudius's phone finally gave way under the pressure of his grip. A spiderweb of glass cut into his thumb.

He hung up.

Quentin looked at his phone and smirked. He thought he had just ruined Dylan's reputation.

He didn't realize he had just pulled the pin on a grenade.

Inside the room, Dylan leaned against the door, her heart was hammering against her ribs. Not from Quentin, from the call.

"What's wrong?" Zoe asked. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"I saw trash," Dylan said. "We need to accelerate this."

She grabbed a silk blindfold from the table.

"Get the game ready. I want to forget everything."

Zoe clapped her hands. She arranged the models.

Dylan tied the blindfold over her eyes. The world went black. Her other senses sharpened, the smell of the cheap cologne, The sound of Zoe's giggles.

She stood in the center of the room, waiting.