Tiffany looked at the gifts, flowers, gowns, jewels and bottles of champagne with a scornful gaze…the most expensive diamond jewelry and purses she'd ever seen, some items she knew cost more than a couple thousand dollars…some were tens of thousands. Since the night Phillip had introduced himself at the club, he sent gifts daily to her hotel room, filling it with flowers and fancy-wrapped boxes.

She didn't touch a single one; Jazzi left the presents unwrapped and displayed on the bed and couches in the suite.

What was he up to? He'd already 'bought' her from the club…

"You're expected to wear one of these tonight," Jazzi commanded. She was in the lounge, taking a diamond necklace from a famous teal box, matching bangles next to it. Tiffany scoffed at it, resenting 'her' name on the bag.

She thought about her own necklace, the one Jazzi gave her on her birthday. It was safe at home, in her room. She hadn't seen her room, her house, in almost a month, and the thought made her want to cry. Then she thought about her home in California, and she had to stop the mental spiral before she truly lost it.

On one of the couches was her costume for the showcase, the one Jazzi had made for her, the one Tiffany would secretly change out of tomorrow night before going out on stage –

Just thinking about it made her hands shake. She couldn't believe it was tomorrow. She felt uncharacteristically panicked and unprepared. She hoped Kiki and Jade got a hold of the supplies, the suit she requested - the thought of the feds swarming campus didn't bring her any comfort.

She wondered about her sanity as she put it from her mind and crossed to the bathroom. "I'll consider it."

She almost tripped backward as Jazzi suddenly gripped her arm from behind and turned her around - her dark eyes boring into hers.

"It wasn't a suggestion," Jazzi murmured so quietly her lips barely moved. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, he's the endgame. Do as you're told. I haven't gotten you this far just to watch you fuck it up by playing hard to get."

Tiffany yanked her arm away, her mouth agape as she stared at her…Jazzi looked thin, ready to break.

"Perhaps that's how he likes it," Tiffany mused darkly. "A woman who plays the game instead of folding."

Jazzi scoffed, her smile almost crazed as she shook her head. "My dear, he's the one who invented it."

Tiffany scowled at her retreating back and turned to the bathroom.

Their relationship strained more and more every day, their words to each other cold and bitter. Their interactions were tense and short, partly because of the bugs they knew were in the room, privacy a false pretense, but also because they were furious with each other. Tiffany resented Jazzi's nights away, only coming home after four in the morning and smelling of cigars and booze, resentful when she acted like she was the only one making sacrifices. She could only guess Jazzi's irritation was from Tiffany's refusal to fully cooperate.

But there was something else, something Tiffany couldn't even guess at. More than resentment… something that made Jazzi irritable, furious.

That night they were escorted to the Wilks' penthouse where they were having a party. Tiffany didn't know which one…they had penthouses, townhomes, and suites all over the city. Her fingers fidgeted with the burgundy Swarovski crystal beads on her dress, perfectly tailored to her measurements.

When they arrived, the doormen stepped forward to help them out of the Escalade. Surprisingly, the bodyguards stayed in the car as Jazzi sashayed into the lobby with Tiffany trailing behind her.

"Stop fidgeting," Jazzi hissed.

Tiffany looked around at the gold and rose lobby, everything shining and gleaming as couples flitted from the front desk to the manned elevators, laughter bubbled up to the glass dome dozens of floors up, and glass elevators went up and down with rich guests. Glasses tinkled in the lobby bar and lights twinkled in the glass windows, and her own image reflected back to her perfectly.

She looked so tired, so thin.

They stepped onto an elevator at the far end of the hall, and the doorman recognized Jazzi. Tiffany stared out the glass walls as they went all the way up to the top floor, the bustling lobby falling away.

She felt numb. How could she be wooed by any of this? How could anyone be impressed and romanced by such grotesque displays of money and power and wealth, just to ignore the scum that hid beneath it?

She glanced at Jazzi's drawn face, wishing she could hide her disgust as well as she did.

Jazzi didn't say anything as they stepped out and the elevator closed behind them. Tiffany followed her down the hall, the only doors at the end. Jazzi's long black silk gown trailed behind her, her back moving smoothly and deadly like a tiger's shoulders stalking an animal.

There was music blasting from the other side of the double doors and another doorman faced them stoically.

Jazzi turned to Tiffany before they approached, her cold fingers tugging her dress here and there, her breasts pushed as high as possible, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, tickling her bare skin.

"Just listen and keep it light," Jazzi whispered. "You won't like what you see…keep your emotions in check. Play it smart."

"Like we have a choice," Tiffany muttered as Jazzi took out a lipstick tube and painted final touches on her lips. Tiffany didn't have a clutch - the less suspicion of a phone the better.

Jazzi squared her shoulders and turned towards the doors, muffled laughter growing in volume as they were ushered in.

Tiffany couldn't fake a smile as her eyes swept over the scene in front of them: women in lingerie walked around in heels, some from the club. Men dressed in suits lounged on expensive leather couches with scotch glasses in their hands, some from New York, some from other parts of the country…and a few from other countries entirely.

There were silent butlers walking around the room with trays of champagne, cocktails, and hors d'oeuvres, the lights low and moody, and jazz and rap music played in intervals. Cigar smoke floated around like clouds, covering the deeds that happened beneath them.

Their penthouse was just another club. But more selective, and even more secretive.

Cage was laughing with a group of men around the polished wooden bar to the left, half-naked women leading men up a polished staircase behind it.

Tiffany spotted the Wilks brothers through the windows on a glass balcony. Phillip's predatory eyes were already on her.

Chill bumps bloomed over her skin and she pulled herself together enough to break away - she strolled over to the bar where Cage was, feeling Jazzi's glare on her back.

Cage appraised Tiffany as she approached him, for once not wearing his stupid black Armani sunglasses. She hated the sight of his handsome angular face, marred by the snake behind his blue eyes.

"Now it's a party," he said sarcastically.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, smiling pleasantly at the men around them. She reminded herself she wasn't a bird in a cage…no, it felt worse. She was a bird in a den of wolves, all staring at her. The other women in the spacious room pointedly avoided looking at her and Jazzi.

She reminded herself of her part: the queen, the one with all the right secret moves. The one who doesn't 'see anything', but everything. The thought made bile rise in her throat.

"Champagne?" Cage asked as he turned to the bartender.

"Yes –"

She froze at a warm hand low on her back. "And a new scotch. Double."

Cage turned and he took the empty scotch glass from his boss's hand - TIffany felt Phillip's gaze burning her skin. His hand on her back traveled lower and felt sickeningly possessive.

"Perhaps you'd be willing to treat us to a real show this evening," one man said as he chewed on a cigar, his drunk eyes trailing over her slowly. "Show these rookies how it's done."

The men laughed as Phillip's hand trailed up Tiffany's spine to the back of her neck, squeezing gently. "She only performs for me now. But for the right price, I might reconsider."

The men instantly bristled, realizing their error quickly: she belongs to Phillip now. They dropped their eyes and became busy elsewhere, their attention drifting to the available tails in the room. One clapped Phillip on the shoulder in congratulations.

Funny, she should've felt relieved to have so many men leave her alone at once. But she felt the opposite.

They were afraid of him.

Cage handed Phillip a scotch glass and her champagne, and she wrapped her hand around Phillip's offered elbow, her heart beating painfully. She didn't know where Jazzi was but hoped she wasn't far away.

Phillip led her to one of the couches in the middle of the room, bodies clearing instantly to give them seats and privacy. He grinned at her easily as they sat in the center of attention. He wasn't nearly as loud and boisterous as his brother Roger, who was laughing from another couch with two girls on either side of him. But Phillip was just as vain.

Tiffany sat next to him and he offered her the glass of champagne. Her eyes drifted up his tux-clad body as he lounged next to her. His hand went to her neck again, his arm resting on the back of the couch.

He was handsome, like a Ken barbie doll, but much more cunning; his hazel eyes were cruel even when soft, with no sincere warmth to be found in their hollow depths. She couldn't allow herself to relax but she hid her discomfort by crossing her legs, angling towards him, and pressing her thigh against his. Her mouth was dry but she resisted taking a sip of her drink.

"How does it feel?"

She waited, reading his calm face. She arched an eyebrow and he smirked at her.

"To be the most envied woman in the room?"

She kept her breathing even, her voice cold and light. "There are other women here?"

Phillip's answering smile was amused, his eyes glinting darkly. He took a swig of his scotch as his thumb grazed her neck.

She felt sick. She thought of whose touch she'd rather feel – and she banished him from her mind, afraid Phillip would see him in her eyes.

"And how does it feel to be owned by the most powerful man in the city?"

Her reaction was too natural to hide - she instantly bristled.

A strange expression crossed his face, his eyes flashing. Triumph...and excitement. "That's more like it."

Cage appeared, leaning over the back of the couch to murmur in Phillip's ear. Tiffany looked away and tilted the crystal glass into her mouth, feigning disinterest.

"What should I tell the good doctor about the new shipment from –"

Phillip lifted his hand from Tiffany's neck, silencing Cage.

"Have him speak with my assistant," Phillip's eyes darted across the room. Tiffany knew he was looking at Jazzi. "She'll assist him with any details…but if he insists on a meeting, take him to my office. I'll be there shortly."

Tiffany steeled herself as she turned back to them, her hand finding Phillip's knee. Both Cage and Phillip looked at her. She met Cage's gaze…his pupils for once undilated.

"Send him some company in the meantime."

Phillip brought his glass to his grinning lips.

She pushed away her thoughts for the rest of the night and kept it light, as Jazzi instructed. She leaned towards him, close enough for him to smell the perfume he'd sent her, she caressed his knee, his thigh…his eyes wandered over her body as she led their conversation with clever innuendos and coy laughter.

She got the feeling that he was toying with her, like a cat watching a mouse. Something in his eyes made her afraid. Something told her he wanted to have her…and hurt her.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, caressing her knuckles with his lips.

"Excuse me, beautiful. I'll be back."

She watched him disappear upstairs and made sure his brother wasn't paying any attention as she snuck through the bodies to the downstairs bathroom. She noticed the berth the guests gave her now that they knew she belonged to the boss…none of them dared approach her. But Cage's eyes watched her like a hawk...she pretended not to notice him; she suddenly felt suffocated.

She exhaled shakily once she locked the bathroom door and went to the sink to press cold wet hands to her neck, the sound of running water almost drowning out the drunken laughter outside. She looked up in the mirror and saw a new kind of rage in her eyes.

Have him speak with my assistant…

She had told herself she was the queen on the board. But now she wondered who was moving the pieces.


At three in the morning, Tiffany followed Jazzi outside to wait for their bodyguards… But having had just enough champagne, Tiffany was feeling enraged and risky. Maybe even a bit foolish. A dangerous combination.

She quickly hailed a cab coming down the street with one hand and with the other she towed Jazzi by the wrist in a death grip, her legs threatening to tear the tight gown as she moved. She opened the cab door and practically pushed Jazzi into the backseat.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"What the hell are YOU doing?!" Tiffany shouted, the first real emotion she'd been able to let out in weeks without fear of being heard or listened to. She looked at the face of the stunned taxi driver in the rearview mirror. "Midtown, I don't care where."

Jazzi stared as the taxi took off into traffic, her brown eyes wide and vicious on Tiffany. "Have you lost your mind? You'd dare risk -"

"Risk what? My life? Your life? Something tells me they'll look past it."

"What are you -"

"How many?" Tiffany shouted over her. "How many shipments have you overseen? How many have you informed Martin of? Have you even informed him of any?"

Jazzi's jaw tightened so hard that Tiffany imagined the sound of cracking bones. "Keep your mouth shut. That is none of your concern –"

"The fuck it isn't. You've been lying to me, to the girls, to Martin –"

"You think they'd just let me in? Did you really think they'd just trust me? You have no idea what I've had to do to get in their inner circle, which isn't a fucking picnic, and now you are deliberately trying to undo it –"

"Joselyn, talk to me."

"No, don't do that – You don't get to do that. You have to trust me, not the other way around. I am so tired of having this conversation with you."

"We could've ended this months ago, couldn't we?"

"No, we couldn't," Jazzi steeled herself under Tiffany's gaze. "We needed evidence, not guesses. That's what I've been doing. Pull over!"

The taxi came to a screeching halt and Jazzi threw a twenty into the front seat. Tiffany reluctantly followed her out onto the sidewalk as she pulled her cell phone out of her clutch.

"Another mess to clean up," Jazzi muttered as she put the phone to her ear, glaring at Tiffany.

Tiffany stared numbly down the street, car horns and voices echoing off the buildings around them as Jazzi made up a reason for why they weren't in the lobby.

Tiffany allowed herself to think of Jack, as painful as it was. To hope to see him again seemed so thin and impossible, but the thought of more women disappearing was worse. Much worse.

Jazzi hung up. "They'll be here shortly. Keep your mouth shut and let me do all the talking."

"How many?"

Jazzi looked at her evenly, her lips tight and her eyes resentful.

Tiffany stared at her as her heart broke in her chest. She laughed once, seeing the confirmation on Jazzi's face.

"We're never getting out… are we?"

Jazzi said nothing.

Tiffany shook her head. She didn't know this woman anymore - her best friend.

"We're never getting out," Tiffany whispered, fear and anger roiling inside her chest. "It doesn't matter who we have on our side, does it? All this time I thought we were doing something good…when you've been serving them women on a fucking silver platter."

Jazzi struck her so quickly it took a moment to feel the sting on her cheek, to realize her head had turned her body around with the force. She spit blood on the sidewalk and turned back to Jazzi with pure hatred.

Jazzi's face might as well have been made of stone.

"Keep your mouth shut…and let me do all the talking."

The Escalade pulled up and they got in without another word. Cage watched them carefully from the front seat.

"Went for an evening stroll?" Cage asked lightly. Despite the smirk on his lips, his eyes were steely on Jazzi's face.

"I called, didn't I?" Jazzi held his gaze for a long moment.

Cage waited while Tiffany's heart thudded throughout her body - she turned her face to the window, hoping to hide the frantic look she knew was in her eyes; with one call, he could have any of the guys –

"Is the January shipment set for LA?"

"It's taken care of," Jazzi said over him quickly, glaring.

Tiffany stared out the window, frozen. They never spoke of business in front of her.

Satisfied, Cage turned to the front and motioned for the driver to go.

If Tiffany had had any doubts about her secret number at the Gala, she had none now.


Spot took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing it out slowly into the freezing night air. He was full from the shrimp boil - Racetrack's requests from the seafood market.

"Prepare ta have tha best dish in the world," Racetrack had said when Spot came home with brown paper bags and an annoyed expression.

"It bett'ah be after tha dough I just shelled out for ya –"

"Yeah yeah yeah, roll up your sleeves and start shelling some more."

Potatoes, corn on the cob, fresh baguettes, butter, more shrimp than he ever thought he could eat…Spot was about to burst, the apartment full of satisfied moans as the guys lay on the couches. Thanks to the granny in Louisiana Racetrack used to visit as a boy, it was some of the best home-cooking the guys had ever had. Especially from Racetrack.

Spot escaped to the roof to digest…and clear his head.

He hadn't known Jade for long, but he knew she was truly terrified. It made his heart heavy, and he wasn't used to feeling that way, not over a dame.

But Jade...oh man. Like fire in his hands. Her eyes were burned into his brain. And the fear in them he saw today.

Was this how Jack felt all the time? Fuckin' hell…

He thought of Tiffany too, the look on her face that night in his car parked at the train tracks…

I have to try.

"'ey."

Spot dropped his eyes from the skyline and rubbed his furrowed brow. He knew he'd come up to find him.

"'ey, Jackie Boy."

Jack hefted himself up onto the ledge, swinging his legs over. Spot held out his cigarette carton. Jack took one, lit it, and they both sighed heavily.

"How is she?"

Spot licked his lips and stared out at the sea of lights across the river. "Terrified."

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"Ya get a look at tha bag o'goodies?"

Jack blew out a cloud of smoke, sighing again. "Yeah. 's a lot ta take in."

"No fuckin' kiddin'." Spot shook his head, remembering the instructions and the earpieces... "Pretty sure this is the deepest shit we've ev'ah been in, Jackie Boy."

Jack flicked ashes over the edge into the night. "Who knew it'd be on tha same side as tha feds?"

They both snorted.

"an' Denton, of all people," Spot laughed and shook his head. "Who coulda guessed it? Not in a million years."

"At least we're in tha shit together."

Spot turned to him, slapping him on the back as he put his arm around Jack. "Wouldn't be anywhere else, Jackie Boy."

Jack nodded, "almost like old times."

"An' we're gonna make it to tha new times too, got it?"

Jack met Spot's sure gaze. "Got it."


Across the city, Honey sat straight up in bed, eyes wide and frantic as she realized - it was just a dream.

Again, the same dream. The same place. But it had felt real.

She gripped the pillows and blankets around her, trying to slow her breathing as she played it again in her head - the images she'd been obsessing and pouring over for the past week.

A room...a room of beds - bunkbeds - windows at one end, clothes and blankets strewn everywhere. Shadows, like ghosts, moving around the room, talking all at once, laughing. They sounded happy. She heard Jack's voice, Mush's voice...and Cage's voice. Where were they?

Then something happened - the tones of their voices changed...They were looking for someone, for 'her'.

The room changed - cold air, dark as night, boat horns echoing far away, the sound of water slapping against wood. A dock.

A woman with long dark hair dressed in long skirts with a shawl about her shoulders stood at the end of the dock...

And for the past week, the dream ended the same: as she approached the woman, she lifted her hand and saw she was holding a pistol, the silver barrel glinting. The woman turned -

As the gun went off, Honey woke up.

She never saw the woman's face, but she had a feeling who she was.

Still sweating and shaking, Honey reached for her cell phone on her bedside table. She dialed and held it to her ear, listening to it ring and ring...

"Honey? Are you ok?"

"We need to meet," she said, trying to keep her voice low and steady. She didn't want to wake Kiki and Jade in the next rooms. "I-I know the showcase is tomorrow, and there's so much to do - but I need to see a place, a place you know."

There was a pause on the other end. She could hear the guys' voices in the background. Her heart ached.

"I've had the same dream for a week, and I think it means something - it has to mean something... A room - a room of bunkbeds."

He inhaled slowly. "The Newsie Boarding House."

"Are there docks nearby?"

Another pause, a hesitation. "Yes...Honey, what -"

"Do you know who killed her?"

Silence stretched between them, but Honey's heart thudded loudly in her ears.

"It was a woman, wasn't it?" She remembered her hand in the dream...the fair skin, the long tapered fingers shaking as they gripped the pistol.

No response.

"David?" Panic rose inside her.

"No."

He was lying. But she didn't press -

"We -" His voice caught in his throat. "We never found her body."

Jack had said the same thing. It bothered them: the uncertainty of what really happened, the unfinished business of their past. Of course it did...they loved her.

Perhaps she could help them, and prevent it from happening again.

She closed her eyes and steadied herself. "I need to go there. We'll have to move fast."

David sighed. "Alright. I'll pick you up."