Open Case File [COMPLETED]

Undercover (Part 8)

This is a bit of a conclusion for the last five chapters so you might want to catch up on those before reading this.

Enjoy! 😄

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The purr of the Porsche commanded attention as it glided to a stop outside of the club. Donovan threw it into park and grabbed his phone. As he glanced at the screen, he noticed the date and swore under his breath. Shoving the issue aside, he stepped out and buttoned his suit jacket. A valet rushed forward, almost bowing to him in greeting.

"Scratch it and I'll take one of your fingers," Donovan said with a calm that contradicted the threat.

The valet paled and nodded, taking more caution than was necessary as he climbed into the driver's seat. As Donovan stepped onto the curb, the line of waiting patrons all watched his progress. Everything about him screamed money, the Armani suit cut to accent his lean build. The Rolex on his wrist winking in the glow of the neon sign. His Italian leather shoes polished to a shine. Dressed in over a few hundred thousand dollars of attire, Donovan wore it all with an air that this was his casual outfit.

The bouncer at the front door nodded and pulled back the velvet rope allowing Donovan entrance without a single hesitation. Inside the bass pounded against him, demanding that his heart match the beat. The dim lighting was cut with the lights that crisscrossed on the dance floor, flashing over the bodies that were pressed together in an
indistinguishable mass.

Donovan cut through the mayhem as if he were the owner, people stepping out of his way without realizing that they were doing it. As he passed by, eyes followed him, wanting to know more.

He stopped at a back door guarded by two men that would never find a shirt in their size or never attempted to. One of the men stepped forward and Donovan held out his arms. As he was patted down, the other guard stared at Donovan as if he could see into the innermost depths of his thoughts. Donovan stared right back without wavering.

Finished, the guard backed away and the other opened the door. With a nod, Donovan swept through. As the door was shut behind him, the din of the club was muffled. Before him was a quieter and small bar, with only one bartender behind it.

A girl in a tight dress walked through a set of drapes at the far end of the room and motioned for Donovan to enter. He did and on the other side was a cloud of cigar smoke and a poker table already filled with men.

Though all varying in sizes, shades, and suits, they all had one thing in common, they believed they were in control. They were above the law. They were unstoppable.

The man across the way from Donovan who could only be described as the heir to the bunch, younger by decades and smug his in place in the world. He took the cigar out of this mouth and blow a cloud into the already clogged air.

Donovan fought down his surge of emotions when he saw the man, seeing all too clearly the bruises that had been put on Carter's body because of this man's father. Instead, he smiled.

"Ricky Stone," Mickey Castello said, smiling.

Donovan held out his arms and returned the gesture with a devilish grin.

"In the flesh," he said.

The round-faced man waved his heavily jeweled hand towards the only empty chair.

"Sit, we were just starting," the man said.

Donovan took his spot with a confidence that almost said he had been the one to offer these men a place at the poker table. The girl from the doorway strode over to him, smile at the ready.