Chapter Twenty
The beat starts up at nine p.m., which seems early. I don’t know how invitations are handled for wild s*x parties—an X-rated vellum strip with calligraphy? A secret f*******: group for the rich and depraved? However it happens, people spill out of cabs and black limos, dressed in sparkly clothes and shiny leather that will no doubt come off soon. Last night the street had been clear; tonight the Den is the host of the town.
There’s a sick feeling in my stomach, because this party is pointed.
It’s a message as real as the slip of paper with a number scribbled on it. One that says Damon Scott answers to no one, not even his father. Especially not his father.
It says he isn’t going to help Avery, as plain as day.
Not an especially hard cipher, this one. A s*x-drenched f**k
