Fix this. Tighten up. “I’m sorry, Cal. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“That’s right,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Now I really need that ride so I don’t hurt you later. I hope Vargas is done.”
The back room wasn’t that different from the rest of this sadistic nightmare, but it had a wall for privacy. There was also what looked like a medical curtain, behind which Brady could see a heavyset, bearded shadow, pumping away.
Almost done.
That was Vargas. It had to be.
Cal swore under his breath when he saw the shadow and took a step closer, his hands folded tightly together. He waited until Vargas had taken a breath between grunts and called out, “Are you almost done with him?”
“I’ll be out when I’m finished,” Vargas groaned. “I’m showing him how it’s done.”
Him. Sonofbitchmotherfuc— They’d been talking about a person, Brady realized. Not a machine or accessory. Vargas was using Cal’s favorite person.
Brady was genuinely concerned he might be sick. He grimaced in disgust, using the opportunity to look for his target’s clothes. One break, he prayed. One break and I can get the hell out of here and find Ken.
There. Vargas’ jacket was neatly folded on a chair in the corner. His phone was right on top. There is a God. Brady walked around the scene, pretending fascination with different implements on the table beside the chair. He angled his body until the jacket and phone were behind him.
Almost there.
Vargas was grunting on top of that poor son of a bitch and Cal couldn’t seem to decide if he was upset or aroused as he moved a little closer and looked around the curtain.
It was now or never. While Cal was absorbed with getting his “turn”, Brady stepped back until he felt the fabric of the jacket brush his jeans, slipped his hand into his pocket and turned his small phone on. It vibrated once, confirming it was working.
One minute. That’s how long Ken told him it would take to clone the phone. Every name and phone number, every account and every message Vargas got would be theirs. Most importantly, so would his GPS.
One minute was too long, Brady thought, keeping count.
As he waited, he came to a realization. Whether things worked out with Ken or not, this was his next job. Stopping this. Making these men suffer and lose everything they thought protected them from punishment. Stopping this.
There was no reality where they would get away.
One minute. The phone buzzed silently in his pocket, two quick pulses to let him know it was done.
Finally.
Vargas finished with a gasping, “I think he likes me better, Grimes. But you can have a turn now if you want.”
Cal was already slipping off his jacket and unbuttoning his pants when Brady put a hand on his shoulder. “Cal?”
Cal’s cheeks were flushed when he sent Brady a pleading smile. “Would you be too jealous, Brady? You’re the only man I want. I just started playing because you made me wait.” He lowered his voice. “Now I sort of have to do this or he’ll think he’s won.”
Grimes would look so much better with a broken nose.
Get out. Say anything. “Oh yeah, I get it. But I have to take a piss so I was hoping you could start without me. Just don’t finish until I’m back. I’d like to see that.”
Cal nodded, relief and arousal making him amenable. “I want you to see it, so you’ll have to hurry. I promise it’ll be your turn as soon as I’m done. Restrooms are to the right of the elevator, next to the kitchen. Don’t wander—just come right back here when you’re done or Clive might try to steal you.”
Brady smiled and nodded, then turned and walked away without another word, his mind racing to find a way down that elevator to freedom. He was thinking he could trick one of the guards into the bathroom, knock him out and take his key card. It would have to be quiet and quick, and there’d be no room for mistakes, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.
It would be easier than staying in this club.
He frowned when he got to the elevator. The guards weren’t there. He walked toward the restrooms to buy more time, his gaze skimming the bare walls. Where were those damned armed wrestlers when he needed them?
Brady pushed open the door and found himself flat on his face with a knee in his back before he could react or make a sound.
“Brady?”
The knee disappeared and Ken was there, rolling him over and smiling with those perfect lips. “Are you ready to go yet?”
He stifled his wildly inappropriate laughter as relief temporarily replaced his rage. Ken was there, in a black t-shirt and black pants, ready to save the day. “You’ll never know how ready. I cloned the phone but we need a key card.”