Club el Diablo

Chapter 8: Lydia

I'm currently standing in my tiny kitchen glaring daggers at my ex-best friend. "You gave me up," I spit out with a snarl. I'm so angry and Raul is lucky I'm still speaking to him. Well not speaking exactly, I've been shouting for a good ten minutes.

Raul is usually timid and his sudden backbone does not help his case. "If you stop yelling long enough to listen, I'll explain."

"There is no explanation," I hiss. "You knew I had no desire to leave the MC. You knew I'd refused Mr. Cheating Skunk's offer several times and you knew we needed the fifty thousand dollars."

Raul's hand comes out of his pocket and he shows me a white slip of paper. My eyes briefly pass over the deposit slip and I freeze before launching into my next tirade. I glance at the total again. Two hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars is clearly printed on the slip. I stare dumbfounded at Raul.

"Damian offered me two hundred and fifty grand to give up your location and now we have over two hundred and eighty grand in the bank when it's added to what we already saved. He might have found you anyway, so I took it. He told me he would take the money back if I alerted you. We now have enough to start our club with a little to put aside as a nest egg. What would you have done?"

I have no words as the total draws my attention again. The i***t spent a quarter million dollars to find my location. I almost hyperventilate as I stand there in stunned disbelief.

Raul's strong arms circle me and he pulls me into his hard male chest. He's like a brother and his embrace is comforting considering the rug has been pulled from beneath my feet. How can I fault him for taking the money? Hell, I would have taken the money. Our dream is currently sitting in the bank.

My eyes tear. "You know I didn't mean everything I just said?" I mumble into his shirt.

He smiles. "Oh, but I liked the gay fag stag comment. I might use it sometime."

"You bastard." My arms tighten and Sam whines. He hates when he isn't getting his share of attention. I sniff and pull back. "It's time to go. I sincerely hope they have a kennel large enough for Sam. I've heard it's cold in the cargo hold. Should I put him in his sweater?"

Raul rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, but if you put that p***y sweater on him, I'm taking a different flight. Samson can tough it out like a real man."

"Says the gay man?" I'm smiling because Raul is always impeccably dressed and he can rock a sweater like no other man on earth.

His smirky face appears. "Oh, honey, if d**k size makes the man, there isn't a more man than me."

"Argh, you're horrible. Use your muscle for something other than comedy and grab my bag. I'll get the leash."

We finally make it to the airport and all the doubts about my current predicament flood my brain. The airport is crowded and we stand in line while everyone gives us a wide berth because of Sam sitting at attention by my side. Finally, we make it to the check-in counter, where Mr. Mogul Dom's influence takes over. A small electric cart appears out of nowhere and an attendant ushers us on. I don't see a crate for Sam and ask about it. To my surprise, Sam is flying first class and has his own seat. I just hope he doesn't get airsick and barf all over me.

We bypass the long security line and head straight to the front. Sam passes through the metal detector with me and we're off again. This time our destination is the Admiral's Lounge. We settle in and enjoy an imported high-dollar beer that we don't pay for.

"I could grow accustomed to this very quickly," Raul comments after a long swallow of beer. I agree with him but I'll be damned if I say so.

Our flight is uneventful, if you don't count the fact that Samson wanted to sleep but couldn't get comfortable in his oversized seat. Finally, he was able to lie in the aisle and then he embarrassed me by snoring. Raul pretended he didn't know us.

Another cart picks us up at the gate and we speed along to a waiting limo. Carl takes our bags as soon as we're outside. "How was your flight, Ms. Simmons?"

"Fine, thank you," I say without smiling. "What should I call you?" I'm being as pleasant as possible and trying very hard not to show my dislike. Carl threw me into the car outside of the MC and I haven't forgiven him yet. Sadly, my Domme tendency to size up a man I would love to dominate comes into play. It's hard to ignore his thick neck and the muscles that bulge beneath his suit or the gorgeous bone structure of his face. I would love to have him on his knees with a leash attached to a collar around his throat. I wouldn't keep him for long but the fantasy of dominating him makes me feel better.

"Carl will do. It's a thirty minute drive to Club El Diablo and Mr. Collins wants you there as soon as possible."

"I was hoping I could go straight to my hotel." My bitchy grumble is loud and clear this time.

Carl ignores it. "Your suite is at The El Diablo. It's a luxury hotel and has everything you'll need. Mr. Collins wants to meet with you, but I don't think you'll be working tonight."

We take our seats in the limo and Sam, as usual, tries to sit on my lap. With a mighty heave, I shove him over. He's never figured out that he isn't a lap dog and he always manages to finagle at least half his body onto mine when I sit on the couch at home. The limo is no different in his opinion. I feel less defensive when Sam proceeds to drool and mess up the pristine leather seat. Take that, I silently cheer.

As promised, thirty minutes later we arrive at the hotel. The term "luxury" is an understatement. The outside fountains look like they come directly from the Bellagio in Vegas. The El Diablo is grand to the point of being ostentatious. Just the individual vehicles being valet parked cost more than the money I currently have in the bank and that's saying a lot after the cash Damian laid out.

Carl drives away and we follow another man inside-same build as Carl, same good looks, and the same demeanor. Why do the wealthy surround themselves with such extraordinary beauty? Ordinary looking people need jobs too. I'm one of those ordinary people and I'm walking into a job I don't want. Damn.

The inside of the hotel is just as riveting as the outside. For the next thirty days this will be my home. I inhale the smell of money. Anyone who thinks the rich and famous don't have an entirely different smell has never walked into a place like this.

"He's hot, rich, and eligible. You could do much worse," Raul whispers while we walk to the elevator.

"Shh, behave smartass. I'll wrap the man in a bow and deliver him to your room. I don't want him."

"Keep telling yourself that." We watch through the glass elevator as we travel to what appears to be the top floor.

"We're at the top?" I ask our escort.

"Almost. There is one more floor, but the only way to get there is to use one of Mr. Collins' private elevators.

Noticing the plural use of the word "elevators," I realize once more how far out of my depths I am. Damian Collins has it all and for the next thirty days I must resist being the fly to his creepy, crawly, highly deadly spider.

Our escort places a folded piece of expensive parchment paper in my hand. Five numbers boldly stare back at me.

"The access code for your rooms," he volunteers at my look of confusion.

I punch in the numbers and open the door. We enter a large foyer. Raul whistles with appreciation. From the highly polished marble beneath my feet to the incredible artwork on the walls, the suite is amazing. Samson sniffs out his new surroundings and I realize he needs a walk to take care of his business.

"Follow me, please," the escort says when I begin to voice my concern. We follow him through the cavernous rooms to a set of French doors. Stepping outside, sparkling lights show off an amazing outdoor oasis. The balcony wraps around the building and is about twelve feet wide. A four-foot wall separates the space from the Houston skyline. Real grass is under my feet, I can smell it.

"Mr. Collins assigned me and my co-worker to take Samson to the park when you're not available. Hotel staff will see to the dog waste deposited out here. I notified Mr. Collins of your arrival and he'll be here in a few minutes. Mr. Garcia, may I show you to your suite?"

My eyes meet Raul's. I know he won't leave if I want him here. I was hoping he would be sharing these rooms with me but apparently that isn't an option.

I give him my brave smile. "I'll be fine. Get settled and call me in an hour." He kisses my cheek and walks away. I know my eyes are impossibly large. "We are so not in Kansas anymore," I whisper to Sam, who is circling a spot on the grass.

I let him be and backtrack inside. I walk down a large hallway and peer into several rooms before locating the master suite. Sam arrives a few minutes into my exploration. There's another set of French doors in this room and Sam whines to be let out again. He needs to mark more territory. We walk outside and I stand at the balcony wall and look out over the city of Houston.

"I thought you might enjoy this view," the deep voice I've been dreading says from behind me.