Enslaved (Colombian Cartel #6) - Suzanne Steele Page 0,11
lines as if hewn in granite. His voice was a baritone of warning—what he was warning them of neither girl had any idea. Something dangerous crackled in the atmosphere, and the welcome mat was sure to be pulled out from under them before the night was over. His friendliness only added to the ominous ambiance ‘The Club’ held within its walls and corridors. Page couldn’t help but wonder how many victims had been taken to a hidden room and interrogated. Beneath the pristine veneer, she was sure there were bloodstained walls with mysterious screams of torment from the past ghosts that walked the hallways in the midnight hour.
The women were focused on Roxanne, who was less of a threat to them; even if she could beat them senseless and stand over their bloody bodies in a victorious cage fighter posture—she’d probably even receive a round of applause from the patrons.
Roxanne knew the air was thick with the tension of her husband’s silence, and she knew it was making Page and Judy uncomfortable. She almost felt sorry for Page and Judy. Roxanne had become used to her husband’s dark nature and sinister presence years ago. She turned around to lead them to their table. She could feel the heat of her husband’s gaze on her back as she walked away. He was always watching her, studying her, deducing her. He would use anything he could against her when he subjected her to his sadistic side later.
Page and Judy settled into a booth against the wall, looking around with a sense of awe and wonder. The area they were seated in had the perfect hue of lighting. There were three stages with beautiful women dancing. Though the men sat transfixed by the dancers' moves, they were all well behaved; no grabbing and shouting obscenities here. Most of them were dressed in suits that cost more than Page made in six months. There were even entrepreneur millennials, well-dressed men in button-down shirts with ties. Clearly, everyone here had taken the dress code seriously. They knew they would never grace the door of ‘The Club’ if they didn’t adhere to the rules. This was the place to be, and all the rich, influential, beautiful people knew it. The rock stars of Louisville were a staple any night of the week. ‘The Club’ alone had taken the Ramirez brothers and those who worked for them to millionaire status. The Colombian cartel aspect of the family dynasty wasn’t just about money; it was about power and respect—the Ramirez brothers had it all.
A waitress rushed over to join Roxanne.
“What can I get you, ladies?”
“A double Bloody Mary,” Page said without hesitation.
“I’ll have a Peach Martini,” Judy said.
“I’ll have a peach martini too,” Roxanne smiled at the waitress. The waitress beamed as if Roxanne’s acceptance had made her night. Getting close to the boss’ wife was a position coveted by any of the servers.
Page took a moment to study Roxanne. She had waist-long red hair that lay in ringlets, green eyes, and the intensity of a panther stalking prey and exploring its surroundings for enemies in the vicinity. Page was sure the woman had learned trouble was only an eyeblink away, and being ready for it could mean the difference between life and death.
“Roxanne,” Page waited for a second to ensure Roxanne knew her next statement was sincere, “Thank you for your hospitality. To be honest with you, it's humbling. I know this is pretty much a member’s only club, and the fact your men even let us in is an honor. Thank you.”
“To be honest with you, it was my husband who did that,” Roxanne replied matter-of-factly.
Page felt a spike of fear pierce her. “Why would he do that?”
“I’ve learned to pick and choose the questions I ask him whenever my curiosity is piqued. I have no idea why he did it.” She was lying, but the ladies couldn’t tell—better for them to see her as an ally. Roxanne knew her husband would be using her as an in to find out what the ladies were up to. She would try to learn how it was going to affect the Colombian cartel— as well as how it would affect Mano, an intricate part of the organization. Antonio Wayne had worked with women for years. He knew ladies would tell each other things they would never share with a man. ‘Ladies night out’ held a different meaning for him: Intel.
“Your husband is very intense, scary even.” Page knew