Chapter 98 A Killer’s Trail
DAVID
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, the soft hum of the car engine doing little to soothe the storm brewing inside me. "You haven’t even asked about the guy’s name," I muttered, throwing a sidelong glance at my younger sister.
Janet adjusted her lipstick in the visor mirror, her calm demeanor a sharp contrast to my simmering frustration. "We’ll figure it out when we get to Midnight Manor," she said breezily, snapping the visor shut. "No point in jumping to conclusions before we’ve got the facts."
I clenched my jaw, focusing on the winding road ahead. Midnight Manor wasn’t just any club it was Clara’s favorite haunt before…before she was taken from me.
By the time we pulled into the club’s neon-lit parking lot, my nerves were stretched thin. Janet stepped out first, her heels clicking confidently against the pavement. "You’re unusually hands-on with this," she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. "You usually have your guards or assistants handle stuff like this. What’s different now?"
"She’s different," I said, my voice low but firm.
Janet scoffed, looping her arm through mine. "That’s sweet, but it’s not like you to get sentimental, big brother. What’s next? Flowers and poetry?"
"Don’t push it," I warned, though the corner of my mouth twitched.
Inside, Midnight Manor pulsed with life. Lights flashed in every color imaginable, illuminating the throng of bodies swaying to the pounding bass. The scent of spilled liquor and expensive perfume clung to the air, a sensory overload that made me grit my teeth.
We wove through the crowd, Janet waving off a drunken admirer as we approached the bar. The bartender, a wiry man with a sharp jawline and tired eyes, leaned in to shout over the music. "What’ll it be?"
"Two cocktails," I ordered, my voice cutting through the noise.
Janet tapped her nails against the counter as the bartender worked. When he slid the glasses our way, I leaned closer, my tone dropping to something more conspiratorial. "You ever want to make more money than you do in a night?"
His hands paused mid-wipe of a glass. "Depends. Why’re you asking?"
I smirked, taking a deliberate sip of my drink. "How much do you make on a busy night like this?"
He chuckled dryly, setting the glass down. "Five hundred, give or take."
"What if I told you I’d give you five thousand? Right now."
The bartender stiffened, his eyes darting around the crowded room before settling back on me. "Five thousand? What’s the catch?"
"No catch. Just information."
His brows furrowed, suspicion written all over his face. "We don’t sell info here. House rules."
"House rules don’t pay your bills," I said coolly, tossing back the rest of my drink.
The hesitation cracked. He motioned subtly for me to follow him, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Janet nudged me, her eyebrows raised, but I ignored her and followed him to a back room, the noise of the club dulling as he shut the door.
The bartender turned to face me, his expression wary. "Why do you want to know about her?"
I pulled Clara’s photo from my pocket, the edges worn from too much handling. "Everything you can tell me about her."
His face paled as he took the photo. "Clara. She’s been dead for six months. Why are you digging this up now?"
"Because I know she didn’t just die," I said sharply. "She was murdered, and it happened here."
He hesitated, shifting on his feet. "I don’t want trouble"
"You won’t get trouble from me," I cut in, my voice low and steady. "But you will get five grand if you tell me what you know."
He exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, fine. Clara…she was with Desmond Stefan. He’s the big-shot lawyer who’s always throwing money around here. She was his girl."
The words hit like a gut punch. "She was with Desmond?" I repeated, my jaw tightening.
"Every night," he admitted, his eyes darting to the closed door. "They partied hard, but I don’t know what she saw in him. The night she died…I was outside, taking a smoke break. I saw his men dragging her body out back. I hid. I had to."
My fists clenched at my sides. "Desmond killed her. And he had the nerve to frame Paul," I muttered.
The bartender held up his hands. "That’s all I know. I swear."
I reached into my pocket, pulling out an envelope and shoving it into his hand. "Your secret’s safe with me," I said, brushing past him.
Janet caught up to me as we stepped into the night air. "Why would Desmond blame Paul?" she asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
I started the car, the engine roaring to life. "Because it’s all part of his game. Paul’s father is the prize he’s after, and framing his son was just another move on the board."
Janet studied me, her brows furrowed. "So, what now?"
I gripped the wheel, my voice like steel. "Now? Now, I make my move. Desmond’s going to learn the hard way you don’t mess with me and walk away unscathed."