“Player.” Maestro waved toward a chair, as if he were worried Player might fall on his face. “You came in a day early. No one expected you. We don’t pay women to come here. You know that. If women come to party, they come with friends or another club. We never pay women. What’s this about?”
Player ran his fingers through his hair several times in agitation, walking away from the sharp, focused eyes of his brothers to stare out the window into the parking lot. It was mostly empty of the vehicles that had been there the night before.
“I took a shower last night and went straight to my room,” he said. “My head was killing me. I intended to go to bed and sleep as long as I could. I knew I had to avoid everyone. The migraine was bad. I was pretty fucked up,” he admitted. He had to admit that. He wasn’t going to lie to them. If he was going insane, he needed to know.
He turned to face them. He had their complete attention. “My head was pounding like a mother. I barely made it to the room, slammed the door and leaned against it. The nightmare world my fucked-up brain creates had been busy working the entire time until I closed the door. Suddenly, I was in a completely different world and there was a dancer in my room.”
“Player,” Code said cautiously.
Player held up his hand. “Hear me out. This wasn’t some twisted version from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from eating Alena’s hallucinogenic mushrooms when I was a kid with a warped imagination. The music, the bells, the candles, the condoms—hell, all of it was real. When she talked or laughed, her body moved at the same time. It was subtle, but when she did, she had some kind of connection with the earth, the way I have. Whatever it was, she managed to take away my headache completely.”
He sounded crazy even to himself. His brothers exchanged long looks while he hung his head, breathing hard.
“I stood in front of the door because I could feel the way she was helping but I didn’t know how. I just knew she couldn’t leave. When I asked her why she was there, she was told by someone that she could use the room . . .” He trailed off, raking both hands through his hair. What had she said? “No one sent her to my room?”
The silence stretched out until Player wanted to scream. He didn’t know what to think. She had to be real. What had she said when he first came into the room? She was practicing her dancing. Practicing. She hadn’t been expecting him. Maybe he had conjured her up.
Preacher snapped his fingers. “There was a woman. She came with someone else. She didn’t want to party, but her friend didn’t want to leave. The friend kept whining that this girl promised to be her designated driver. You weren’t supposed to come back, so Breezy said she could use your room as long as she didn’t touch anything. Breezy left right after that. I heard her but thought she left. In any case, you never stay here anymore, you’re always at your house, which was why Breezy said she could use the room and no one would bother her.”
Code shrugged. “We have cameras everywhere. She should be easy enough to spot if she was here. Did she take something from you?”
He was already slipping off the bar stool and heading toward the back hallway leading to the control room. The others followed him. Player took up the rear. He had great faith in Code. If anyone could find out the truth, Player was certain Code could. He was their resident genius. Without him, they wouldn’t have the money they had, or be able to find the children in need. They would all be in the dark ages. He provided their security. All of them depended on Code, and he always came through, no matter how dark the hour got—like now. This was for Player’s sanity.
Code called up the security footage from the night before. “She had to have come in early if Breezy was here,” he muttered to himself, flashing forward with blurring speed until he got to the moment when Steele, the vice president of Torpedo Ink, had come in with his old lady, Breezy.
Code followed Breezy’s progress through the party, since Preacher remembered it was Breezy giving the woman permission to use Player’s room to wait for her friend. Steele greeted the newcomers, members of the new Torpedo Ink chapter that had come in from Trinity and then another club, Rampage, wanting to be patched over. During that time, Breezy was in the kitchen overseeing the food preparation. The club members had brought their women with them, and Breezy came from the kitchen to welcome them when her husband stepped outside with the men. The clubhouse had filled up fast.
Player didn’t know how Code could keep his eyes on Breezy with so many bodies crushed together and spilling outside, where the large grills were set up, but he kept the footage rolling fast. Suddenly, he stopped it. “She’s talking to two women here, Player. Is either of these the one you’re looking for?”
Player found himself frozen, unable to move a single muscle in his body. His heart pounded so hard in his chest, he was afraid it might explode. His mouth went dry. This was too important. If he was wrong, if she wasn’t real, and his brain was that fucked up . . . If he was living in some alternate reality and he couldn’t get out of it . . .
Code turned and looked at him over his shoulder. “Player? One of these women has to be her. Come look. I’ve frozen them both on the screen.”
Player didn’t move. All three of his brothers stared at him as if he’d grown another head. Code calmly printed out the screen capture and brought it to him.
“You’re going to have to look. Breezy definitely talked to two women. And you don’t have a headache. In fact, you look good. I’m betting my money that she’s real, Player. Take a look.” Code sounded certain.
Player dropped his gaze to the photograph. Full color. Code always had the best equipment. His dancer was unmistakable. She was talking with Breezy, those exotic eyes of hers looking right at her. She wore the same light jeans and top, although the top covered her beautiful abs, so no one could see how delicious her belly was when she moved, and she wasn’t wearing the belt made of layers of golden coins.
“That’s for certain her,” Maestro said, looking at Player’s face. “You’ve got the look. You’re gone, man. Totally gone on her.”
“She said her name was Zyah. That’s all I know. I gave her money. Over a thousand dollars. She left it on my nightstand. I keep remembering her face now. At the time, I thought I was complimenting her, but I think she was pissed. Hurt. I don’t know. I was so damn tired, and by that time I didn’t know what the hell I was doing,” Player admitted. “Or saying.”
Preacher shook his head, smirking a little. “What you’re saying is you totally made an ass out of yourself.”
“You blew the real thing?” Code asked, sympathy in his voice.
Maestro burst out laughing. “You are so insane, Player. You’re always the calm one. You think things through before you make a move. You rarely party. You don’t bother much with the girls who come to play and yet you’ve got the hots for this girl and now you’ve screwed things up.”
That was all true. He was always careful, especially when there was a party. “She’s different. I was pretty far gone, and maybe I’ve got it all wrong and things didn’t happen the way I remember, but if they did, I’ve got to find her. I can’t let her go without trying to fix things.”