Mom waits until I place the ball onto the cookie sheet before she uses a fork to squish the batter down, making a crisscross pattern. “If you ask me, that’s because he’s still regretting letting you go.”
I roll my eyes. My mother is the romantic of the family. But I know better. Fairy tales belong in stories. The reality of love is a whole lot messier. “Darius is married to his job. The reason he’s single is because no woman would ever put up with that.”
“That’s true,” says Mom with a slight shrug. “It’s a shame he’s lost sight of what’s important in life.” She waits for me to place another ball of batter onto the cookie sheet before continuing. “And Shawn? Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Actually, we broke up,” I tell her. “Hence, why I’m home.”
“Oh.” Mom’s brows rise in surprise. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. The breakup was long overdue.” I place the final ball of batter onto the pan before taking it to the oven and placing it inside. I drop down in front of the oven, watching the cookies bake, like I used to do as a child.
“So…” Mom eventually drawls behind me, breaking the silence. “You’re single. Darius is single.”
I don’t bother looking back at h
er. “Don’t get any ideas. That ship has sailed long ago.”
Liar, my heart echoes.
Darius
The sun is high in the sky when I exit the sleek black Jaguar in the north end of the city. My full-time driver shuts the door behind me, while I move toward the old chocolate factory now converted into the headquarters of Blackwood Security.
Once there, I climb the old wooden steps, then wait in front of the steel door, watching the camera zoom in on my face.
Two breaths later, the door buzzes open and I step into the building. I can’t even take three steps inside before I spot Ryder Blackwood striding toward me, his black T-shirt with the Blackwood logo on the front straining against his wide chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, shoving his hands into his black cargo pants with a gun holstered at his hip.
“I need you to look into someone for me,” I say, offering my hand.
Ryder returns the handshake, his emerald green eyes narrowing. “Should I be concerned about this?”
“It’s not about the DC,” is all I have to say for Ryder to know I’m speaking of the Dominants’ Council. Back in my early twenties, I, along with Ryder and Micah, as well as another close friend, Gabe O’Keefe, bought out the four sex clubs in the city, renovating them to be of the highest class. We had done this not only to feed our egos but also to indulge in our darkest fantasies with willing women who preferred kinkier delights. But more important, purchasing the clubs gave us total control over the sex industry in San Francisco. Thus, it also gave us a way to protect our identities from the tabloids, which loved a sex scandal.
Now, at thirty-five years old, I care more about my sex club making money than having an adventure with the women within their walls. I’ve seen it all. I’ve done it all. I’ve also grown tired of the same old show. “This is a personal matter involving someone very important to me.”
Ryder studies me, assessing my mood, as he slides a hand over his shaved dirty-blond hair. “All right,” he eventually says. “Come into the back and we can talk.”
I silently follow behind Ryder, passing through the chocolate factory, noting the old machinery still occupying the space. When I step into the room at the back, I give a low whistle of appreciation. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I walked into CIA headquarters.
Monitors line the far walls, one on top of the other, all connected to street cameras. Beneath the monitors are ten men and women, all working behind computer screens. “Quite the setup you got here,” I say, turning to Ryder.
He nods proudly. “We’ve got a good thing going.” He waves me forward and enters an all-glass room. I join him inside, then he turns to face me. “Would you object to another team member joining in? I trust everyone here implicitly. Whatever you say here, it will stay here.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Good.” Ryder knocks on the window, capturing the gaze of a brunette. He calls her into the room with a wave of his hand. “Because Alex is one of my best investigators.”
I open my jacket and take a seat at the round glass table when Alex enters the room, wearing the same Blackwood T-shirt as Ryder and a pair of skinny blue jeans. Her long hair is up in a ponytail and she’s wearing little makeup, seemingly a girl right out of high school and on her way to a sleepover. But her bright amber eyes tell me she’s wicked-smart.
“Alex McCoy, this is Darius Bennett,” Ryder introduces.
“I know who he is,” Alex says, pushing up the black glasses on her nose before shaking my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bennett.”
“The pleasure is mine,” I respond, thinking nothing of the fact that she knows me. Everyone does. The tabloids make sure of it.
I stay silent while Alex takes her seat, opening a laptop in front of her. Ryder watches her, waiting for her to fire up the computer, and after a firm nod from her, he leans against the glass wall across from me and says, “What do you need from us?”