In Too Deep, Book 1, Part 4

[image: VitalikRadko]

Chapter 6 - Helping

Flavor of the month… she’s the boss’s flavor… she’s the boss’s…

I can’t remember the exact sequence of events that happened after hearing those words. I’d texted Brandon, telling him something had come up and I needed to go. I’d chugged the entire double IPA and the espresso before leaving. I remember standing in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror as I seriously contemplated vomiting.

And then I was staggering out onto the street like someone had knifed me. I think I was trying to hail a cab. Blink, blink, blink, the night went by like that.

Before an actual taxi could pull up and whisk me back to my empty life, a black BMW SUV pulled up to the curb. The window lowered smoothly and a familiar face peered out at me through the darkness. “Get in,” she said.

“Julia?” My wife’s FBI rival and handler? The one who'd wanted this assignment over Amanda, but was five years too old for it? What the hell was going on?

“Get the fuck in.”

I got the fuck in.

Julia didn't speak at first, and for the longest moment, I wondered if I was dreaming—that this whole night was a dream—or a nightmare—or just something that I could wake up from and have a normal life right there, waiting for me.

I looked over at Julia, illuminated every few seconds by a passing street lamp. She wore black—black jeans, black shirt, black leather jacket. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, emphasizing her prominent forehead and her Barbie Doll beauty. Her eyebrows were darker than her hair, and right now, they were gathered together tightly. Julia was pissed off.

We accelerated onto the 101, the powerful engine of the BMW pushing me back into the bucket seat. That sensation was exactly how I'd been feeling the moment I realized that my wife was playing the part of a stripper. Things were moving too fast to do anything but hang on.

Uncertain how to behave, still reeling from what I’d learned, I fell back on humor. "So what are we in? An X3? What are they paying FBI agents these days?"

My joke was completely ignored. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I flinched. "I don't know. You're the one driving."

"No, asshole. You were obstructing a federal investigation, not to mention putting your wife's pretty ass in danger."

Something in me snapped. I’d been through too much. My wife was fucking the boss of a fucking strip club. “No, it's not me who put her in danger,” I said. My body shook as adrenaline pumped through my veins. I drew a ragged breath. “That's all on you guys.”

And that’s on Amanda.

I was falling again, lost, the danger flowing out of me like a slowly leaking tire. I sank into the seat and stared out the window as LA glided by, waiting for Julia to yell back at me. Let her. I didn’t care anymore.

But she didn’t say a word. Not at first. I barely knew the woman, my impressions mostly formed from the stories that Amanda brought back when they were preparing for this assignment. I was pretty sure she wasn't the quiet type, but then again, I didn’t know what to trust from my wife anymore. Maybe Julia was feeling guilty. Good. Let her.

I went on. "It wasn't my idea. I was there with a coworker and a client. We were trying to win him over." I glanced at Julia, daring her to judge me. She still didn't speak. "Anyway, I didn't speak to Amanda. Not even a word. She didn't even come over to my side of the room."

Julia started to speak, but I cut her off, rushing on.

"And I learned some things that could help with your investigation. One of the dancers, Irina, solicited me, but said that that stuff only happens outside of the club. Inside, they're totally legit.” I knew I was sounding defensive, but I just couldn’t stop talking. “I could even go back, to, you know, meet up with her. Help with the investigation."

“You'd do that for us?” Julia asked. There was too much sweetness in her voice for it to be genuine. “You'd have sex with a hot, Russian stripper in the name of justice? How noble.”

If you’re okay with my wife fucking for this case, maybe I’m entitled to it, too. But that’s not what I said. "No, not to have sex. I mean, we'd set it up, right? You guys could bug me, and I could get her talking, and—”

"You haven't really thought this one through, have you?" Julia said.

"It could work."

"Are you done?"

I felt incredibly low. I sank deeper into my seat. "Yeah."

She said, "So you set up a possible contact with this stripper. What alias did you go by?"

"Huh?"

I could hear the roll of her eyes in her tone. "What name did you use?"

I cringed. "'David.'"

"Good cover. And the guys that you came in with, did they use aliases as airtight as yours?"

When I didn't answer, she just clucked. Her point was made.

"David, I know that you're concerned for your wife. That's natural." This time, I didn't detect sarcasm. "You're afraid for her. She's in a bad place. But you need to understand, you're going to get her killed if you do that again. Do you understand?"

“Sure, but I don't see how—”

"That's exactly the problem. You don't see. Do you even realize how much you looked at her while you were in there? How you couldn't keep your eyes off her? Our man inside knew to look out for it, but who knows? Maybe someone else noticed, too."

I thought of Irina and her last statement. My blood ran cold. "The stripper..."

"Yeah, she probably noticed. Strippers are observant like that. A pretty catty bunch."

"Fuck." I put my face in my hands. "Fuck!"

"I know, right?" The car slowed down. We pulled off the highway. "But we don't know how badly we got fucked. You did go in there on completely legit business. If you'd gone alone, that would have been a huge red flag, but you were there with your womanizing friends—”

"Colleagues."

“—and if we're lucky, no one important saw you stalking your wife.”

"I was just trying to help," I said.

“You were trying to pry,” she growled. “You wanted to see how bad your wife was behaving.”

That made me feel ill. She wasn’t wrong.

“If you want to help,” she continued, “then stay away. Let us do what we do best. That's what we were trained to do. That's what we do for a living."

She pulled into my sleepy neighborhood—the modest homes and little shops and garden apartments looking strange this late at night. No one was watering their lawns or walking their dogs. No kids were playing in the front yards. For one, quiet moment, Julia's BMW was the only car on the street.

"David, did you say anything to the stripper about your wife? I want you to think hard. Anything we should be prepared for?"

I thought hard, taking the question seriously. "No, I didn't say anything about her." I remembered the last thing that Irina had said before I left, though, the memory arriving with queasy fanfare. "Irina said something about Amanda being the 'boss's flavor of the month.' What does that mean?"

“I’m not going to spell it out for you, but let’s just say she surprised me. I didn’t think she had what it takes. Guess I was wrong.”

“Julia, is she sleeping with him?”

She pulled up before our three story apartment building, engaged the parking brake, but didn’t turn off the engine. “That’s classified, but come on, David, why are you even asking that? In my experience, it’s much better not knowing.”

“But—”

“I worked a UC case a few years ago. We went after an LA madam, Donna Marie. I went in as one of her girls.”

I felt my eyes widen, even as I tried to play it cool. I imagined Julia stepping into a richly appointed hotel room wearing a tiny dress and tall heels, taking money from overprivileged men. 

“Some of the guys I went out with were other UC operatives. We could fake it.”

“Of course.”

“We could fake it some of the time.”

“I...see.”

“Finally,” Julia said. “It’s the job, David. One your wife is good at.” I heard the bitter envy. “Let her do her thing, and don’t think too much about it.”

Maybe Julia had meant it in the way of: Amanda is capable, don’t worry about it. I knew Amanda was the type to put everything she had when she set her mind to it. In this case, what did everything she had mean? 

“Pretty hard thing to do.”

Julia shrugged. “Then think about it. The Gold Club is very selective, and two months in she’s working the VIP rotation. Guys have already offered her thousands to spend the night with her. When this is all over, you get her for free. Think about that.”

If she’d meant for that to be comforting, she’d missed her mark by a mile. But I didn’t think she’d meant to comfort at all, especially when she added, “And who knows, maybe she’ll learn a few new tricks.”

I thought of the blowjob she’d given me, and all of the passionate sex.

My throat felt raw. “You’re a terrible person, you know.”

“At least I’m not trying to kill your wife.”

“I was just trying to—”

“Help,” Julia interrupted. “Right. Having no control like this must suck—it always seems harder for the guys. If you really want to help, stay the fuck away. Three strikes and you’re out. Got it?”

I stood in the driveway, feeling completely helpless. But she was right. I was being a reckless amateur. "Thanks for the ride."

Julia's smile was fake and wide. "Any time. Let it be our last together. Good night."

And like that, I was alone. Again. 

Chapter 7 - Revelation 

If I hadn't been totally fucked up before the night of the Gold Club visit, I was completely unhinged after. It's funny thinking back on the time before I knew what I knew, back when I could only speculate about what Amanda’s assignment was.

I was always worried then, but the worry was an abstract thing, the way I worried about the weather before going on a vacation. The way I fretted about being the new guy at work and not fitting in.

As I learned more details, the worry only hardened, but new emotions started to worm their way in. Fear, for one, and nausea on Amanda’s part. Then came the sense of betrayal. I was upset both for her because of what she had to do, and upset with her for doing it so readily.

Julia had assumed that it was paranoia and helplessness that was riding me. Maybe she was right—at least partly. Maybe it was some ingrained sense of maleness that compelled me to do something, to protect my wife, a compulsion that ironically had put her in even more danger.

More revelations piled on.

She's the boss's flavor of the month.

I’m not going to spell it out for you, but let’s just say she surprised me.

Amanda is doing her job.

I longed for a time when I could reduce my state of mind to those broad, reductive strokes, but everything was all jumbled up now. I was sad, I was angry, I was shocked, I was turned on.

And I wasn't sure that I'd ever sleep again.

By the time the sun rose, I still didn't know what I was going to do, or even how I truly felt about all of this, so I did the thing that was routine to me. I showered. I shaved. I put on a tie, and I went into work.

Brandon had called in sick—no surprise—so I had to give an account of last night to my boss alone. I gave him a vague, high level one, figuring that he didn't want to hear the incriminating details—and especially not the fact that Brandon had offered a highly illegal narcotic to our most valuable, prospective client.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I didn’t have a clue what I did, but one moment, it was lunchtime, the next, it was dinner. I worked late, despite my exhaustion, and when I got home, I crashed. That was the ideal. No time to worry by myself. No time to wallow. I was there, then home, then asleep.

The next day, Friday, the numbness finally wore away. I woke up. The warm, California sun poured in through the windows. Birds chirped. A sprinkler was going off somewhere outside. And my wife was still not there.

Panic set in. Panic that she'd never come back. Panic that my stupid actions had...had...had killed her. My first irrational thought was to drive over to the Gold Club and see if she was there. Fleeting visions of interrogating the bouncer flashed through my head before I calmed down. I checked the website. Raven was still scheduled to work tonight. And tomorrow. But when had this been updated? Maybe it was old. Maybe they just hadn't had the chance to remove her name from the rotation.

Not knowing what else to do, I took a shower. Amanda was in with people who murdered agents rather than run from them. That was bad company, and I'd walked into it like some kind of idiot. I could tell myself that it was all Brandon's idea and that my boss had forced me to go, but if I'd really wanted to, I could have excused myself from the trip.

No, I wanted to know, and now wished that I didn’t.

Brandon was at work when I got in. He walked into my office looking fresh and cock-sure of himself. "We landed it, Davie. We fucking landed it."

It was a testament to how wrapped up I was in my own anxiety that I didn't know that he was talking about. Then it came to me. Javier Garcia. Right.

I said, "So he had a good time?"

"You kidding me? Javi loved it. You should have stuck around, man. The night only got crazier. We ended up hooking up with those two strippers after hours." He leaned in. "I actually did blow off a stripper's ass. It was fucking boss, man."

"So they were hookers?"

"Yeah. Total pros. And they were into each other, too. No faking that lesbo shit. It was unreal."

While that sounded hot, I was glad that I'd gotten out of there when I did. "Good job closing the deal."

"Javi comes in later this afternoon to sign some papers. We're going out partying again. You should come."

"No, I don't think so. I've already got plans," I lied. Then, because I couldn't help it, I asked, "Gold Club again?"

Brandon grinned. "That's the plan. Nice place to celebrate."

My scalp started to burn even before I asked my next question, but this was the best way to find out whether she was okay—so I told myself. "Going to get Javi a dance with that brunette?"

"Now that's a good idea. Hope she's working tonight."

She is, I didn't say.

"Now are you tempted? Pretty sure I can get us into the VIP tonight. Just need to drop enough cash, and Javier’s splitting it tonight. Oh, and now that I know how this works, maybe I'll be snorting coke off her killer ass."

It should have bothered me, should have rubbed me the absolute wrong way to listen to this pig of a man objectify my wife. It did. It also stirred up other things—anger that she was even there, letting men objectify her. Anger at myself for being angry. Something else, too, linked to pride and arousal and jealousy—that heart-pumping thrill that came when someone would check Amanda out.

Guys have already offered her thousands to spend the night with her. When this is all over, you get her for free. Julia’s words. Who knows, maybe she’ll learn a few new tricks.

It was all confusing.

Brandon read my hesitation the wrong way. "You so want to come along. I knew it. Come on, man, live a little."

Julia again, helping me settle my mind. You're going to get her killed if you do that again.

"Sorry man. I'm sure you'll have fun. But definitely text me later with an update."

"Suit yourself." Brandon left with a shrug.

That night, a Friday night, was a mixed bag of emotions. My worry for Amanda's well being was still there, an undercurrent that would never go away until she was back home and safe in our bed. 

But at some point, I’d convinced myself that she must be alright. That my actions hadn’t led to real consequences, and what was left was a swirling mixture of jealousy, anger, and, yes, excitement. Brandon and Javier Garcia were at the Gold Club, flirting with Amanda. He was a resourceful guy, so probably figured out how to get into the VIP section to get closer to her. I thought about Irina and her offer to meet me after her shift. The two strippers had probably made the same offer to Brandon. That was the game, right? That's what Amanda was there to bust. Would she make the same offer just to keep up appearances.

I didn't think she would. I couldn't see the upside of compromising like that. Or maybe I was just telling myself that because it made it easier to deal with Brandon flirting with her.

Whatever the reason, I hung onto my phone, waiting for something—anything—from Brandon about the night. I wasn't about to go "undercover" again, so this was the best I could do.

Around 11:30, I got my first text.

[Brandon]: IN THE VIP!! 

The photo that accompanied it startled me. It was an image of Javier Garcia, with his quiet smile, and a stripper, whose back was to the camera as she straddled Javier’s lap. Her raven tattoo gave her identity away as surely as the image of her face would have—Amanda.

She wore a black, thong bikini bottom with loops at her hips, and a matching string bikini top. One hand was reaching behind her, already tugging on the tie between her shoulder blades, and her dark hair teased and wavy over her pale back.

Javier looked thrilled, giving the camera a thumb’s up and a goofy smile.

My heart palpitated at the sight of it. I zoomed in on every detail, checking the tattoo as if I’d discover that this was an entirely different woman. But it was the same bold, black curves and swirls that formed the raven. This was my wife, and she was there with my fucking coworker.

That was painful to see, and jealousy racked me until a new paranoia flitted into my brain. Did she know that Brandon was my coworker? Did she remember that I’d come into the club with these same guys just two days ago? And if she did, and had still agreed to dance for them, what did that mean? Was she pissed at me? Was she punishing me?

I didn't text back. I didn’t dare to. What if she saw whatever I’d said? Did she know that Brandon was sending this photo to me now?

Again, I didn’t sleep well that night. I held onto my phone, waiting for another text. Waiting and thinking about all the things that Brandon wanted to do with her. It came at 2:30 in the morning, rousing me from my half-sleep.

[Brandon]: im so fucked up lololol

I didn't know how to read that, so of course it went to the worst place: Brandon in a hotel room, high off his ass as he watched our newest client drill Amanda on the bed. I shut my eyes, imagining how her hair clung to her face as she moaned, as she got off on her undercover assignment. Her body glistened with sweat. Her eyes squeezed shut as a powerful orgasm tore through her. 

I hated myself, but the image got me hard. I hated myself enough that I got out of bed and actually took a cold shower to stop myself from thinking that way. My wife was being used for her body—if not by guys like Brandon or the criminal scum she was going after, then by the Feds.

But just as I hadn’t been forced to go to the Gold Club, Amanda wasn’t forced to go back to Javier’s hotel room, right?

The anger helped me deal with my more confusing emotions—that shameful, undeniable sensation of arousal. 

The shower worked a little to clear my head, but I was still haunted by these strange emotions. I checked my phone one last time to see if there were any more texts. Seeing none, I actually managed to get some sleep.

I did dream, though. Snippets from real life, snippets from fantasy. Julia and I watching Amanda enter a hotel wearing a tiny dress, flanked by Javier and Brandon. Julia turning to me and saying, It’s the job, David. I blinked, and we were suddenly standing in the hotel room itself, Amanda stripped and on all fours, sucking Brandon’s cock as Javier held her hips and fucked her from behind.

Brandon looked at me, his pupils dilated, his hair a wreck. I’m so fucked up!

Amanda sucked off his dick and turned, not to look at me, but back at Javier. Her brow was heavy and lined, her beautiful face tense with her building climax. Fuck me, she said to the man behind her. Fuck, you feel so fucking good.

My chest caught. Julia said, You know Amanda better than anyone. Let her do her thing...

Fuck. Meee!

I launched out of sleep like I’d been doused with a bucket of ice cold water. I was sweating enough that I looked around for the offending bucket. I sighed, crawled out of bed, and took another shower.

I oscillated between despair and fatalism, from jealousy to arousal to disgust with myself for being aroused at all. 

This wasn't the first time that I’d felt this way when thinking about Amanda, but I had to think all the way back to a time before we’d started dating. I still remember the day I’d first met her in our Torts class. Talk about love at first sight—or the lusty college-version of it. Ty had been with me at the time, and of course, Ty laid claim to her before I’d even pointed her out.

“Dibs,” he’d said with that goofy smile of his—the kind of smile that you just wanted to join in with. I acquiesced to Ty, being the man about campus that he was. I didn’t begrudge the guy, it would be like getting angry at a cloud for raining on me. Still, Amanda was harder—especially after we’d met her and learned what an amazing person she was. 

Unlike Ty’s other conquests, Amanda didn’t give it up right away. She played hard to get, which made me fall for her harder—and kept Ty interested in her more despite being put off. At the time, I think that those three months had been the longest he’d gone without hooking up with another female. In my head, it was only a matter of time, and I hated that. 

And yet, a part of the whole thing made her even more exciting.

That’s how I felt now—torn between hating the thing I knew was inevitable, and turned on by it.

I wasn’t an idiot. She was working in a club with strippers who moonlighted as prostitutes. She was the boss’s flavor of the month. Part of her cover involved her fucking other men.

Men like Brandon. He was an asshole, the kind of guy who’d say something mean-spirited and claim it was a joke. The kind of guy who solicited strippers for sex. Yet even still, the thought that Amanda had slept with him arrived with a jolt of adrenaline. 

[Me]: so how was she last night?

I’d never texted Brandon on a weekend. I was the new guy, and we weren’t friends. This occasion called for it. I wasn't going to get any rest until I knew, even if it was something I didn't want to know. 

It took Brandon two torturous hours to respond.

[Brandon]: awesome. she was into it, too, man. can’t fake that kind of excitement, if you know what i mean

Then, a couple seconds after, he went ahead and explained what he meant.

[Brandon]: she was so fucking wet

[Brandon]: liked talking dirty, too, man. she fucking begged for it

I imagined Amanda—my Amanda—on her back as Brandon fucked her, her big breasts bouncing, her long legs wrapped around his back. I could hear her screams, her cries for him to fuck her harder, deeper. I imagined her raking her fingers through her sweat-damp hair as she arched her back and came. 

She was into it. The cover made her do it, but she liked it. 

I...liked it too. My gut burned, but so did my groin.  I… I had to tell myself I liked it, too.

Or a part of me did.

I put the phone away and tried to keep my mind on other things. Like what was I going to eat tonight. Or what could I possibly do in the empty hours between now and Monday morning when I could distract myself with work.

I needed to talk to someone before I did something stupid again, like show up at the Gold Club. By the time Saturday evening came around, I knew that I wasn’t going to make it. I was already back to scouring the Gold Club’s website, looking for the names of managers or owners or anyone who’d be considered “the boss”—as in “the boss’s flavor of the month.”

I even went so far as driving over there again, assuring myself that I wasn’t going to go in. I almost did, instead forcing myself to be satisfied with a slow drive by, like a sad window shopper.

If I drove by again, I’d go in. I knew I would. So I called the first name to come to mind, and possibly the only man I could have talked about this to anyway.

"Hey, David. Twice in one month. To what do I owe the honor?" Ty's jovial voice was infectious, even over the phone. I almost made something up and bailed on this plan. I probably should have. 

"Um…”

"Spit it out, man. You're giving me a woody."

The final part of book 1 comes out next Tuesday, June 18.