“Welcome.” Connor, the owner of the club, met us at the door to usher us inside. He was a stout man, standing about eight inches shorter than me, with a pot belly and a beard that touched his chest.
“Thanks for doing this.” Ret shook his hand, towering over the man.
Ret had filled me in on Forbidden and Connor’s background. He used to own a bar in town and was an active participant in the swinger’s scene in Marksonville. When the b**m explosion happened, he decided to open his own club and mix his two favorite activities—drinking and s*x.
Connor had a partner in the business, a former Navy SEAL named Trent Newsome, who was interested in helping us nab Matías. He was waiting inside the main lobby as we entered. “Welcome,” Trent said with a curt head nod.
He sized me up, and I did him. T
