Sweet Little Lies

Chapter Thirty-One

This is the 3rd chapter in a triple update. Please make sure to read Chapters 29 & 30 first. Enjoy!

Content Warning: Violence. Mentions of violence against women.

Griffin sat down on his couch and laid out the files that Dev had given him on the missing dancer. Rosie. Real name, Cassandra Mueller. Age twenty. College dropout. He read every bit of information that Dev had found on her from where she grew up to where every last living relative of hers lives.

A picture of her was in the middle, long dark hair, a shade just shy of Ivy's. Green eyes that weren't quite as dark either. It was clear why she had been targeted by this guy. She was close to Ivy, but nothing like her all the same.

This woman held her own type of beauty, and Griff imagined how that must have infuriated the man. He didn't want a look-alike. He wanted the real deal. The night Rosie went missing was the same day Ivy posted about the proposal.

Rage had consumed the man, desperate for the woman he desired but couldn't have. A woman who was giving herself to a man who didn't love her. Didn't want her. Didn't deserve her.

Griffin could picture it clearly. He brought up one of the girls he hired that looked like Ivy Malone. In the privacy of his office, he sat down and drank, whiskey most likely, and ordered Rosie to strip. Then, maybe hours later, after doing whatever he wanted to his look-alike, aggression starting to wane, he looked her in the eyes and saw someone who was not her.

Without a body, Griffin could only speculate what exactly happened. But he leaned towards asphyxiation. It's a very intimate way to kill someone, and for someone who thinks the way the man does, he would get off on choking someone to death, picturing Ivy in her place to punish her for choosing someone else over him.

There had to be a witness. He would need to get the body out of his office somehow, and he didn't strike Griff as the type to do dirty work himself.

Packing everything up, cataloguing a few things into his phone first, he placed the file in his desk drawer and locked it. He then changed into night clothes, dark jeans and a black sweater. The shoes he put on were worn, and he made a mental note to get new ones, before he tossed his coat on, secured his gun and knives into place, and left.

†††

Old downtown was busy tonight. The club was packed with men and women, a red headed dancer taking the stage as he walked to the bar. His goal tonight was to get someone to break. He knew from CeCe that half the staff still remained from the former ownership. The other half belonged to new management.

His best bet would be to target one of the older staff members. They would be more likely to turn on the new guy. The dancers were off limits. They were too vulnerable. Griffin considered the bartender currently serving him, the same one from the first night he scouted the place. His mind immediately went to being alone with CeCe in that room, her on his lap, moving sensually over him.

His scotch went down roughly, a small grimace appearing once he set the empty glass down.

"Another one?" The bartender asked.

"Yes." He took the fresh glass and sipped it this time.

It would be harder to get an honest conversation out of the bartenders here. They made good money, good tips. Regardless of management, it would be hard to get them to risk their jobs - and lives - to give him intel. Strip club references often didn't look great on resumes when searching for new jobs.

His eyes travelled the crowded bar, eyes flicking up to see the tinted windows of the offices dark. No one was up there.

He recognized a few men in the audience. Businessmen, a politician's son, Anton Dvorsky. None of them would likely recognize him. Maybe the Dvorsky enforcer would, but he would keep quiet. He was Harry's shadow, purposely making himself unnoticeable to properly do his job.