Bad Faith (Mason Ashford Thriller Series Book 1)

  Bad Faith

  A Mason Ashford Thriller

  Nick Stevens

  This novel’s story and characters are fictitious. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary.

  Copyright © 2021 by Nick Stevens

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The vibrating beat of the house music hummed through Chloe’s body. The hem of her dark blue dress inched up her legs as the beat carried her around the dance floor. She’d forgotten the number of drinks she’d had. The bodies packing the dance floor around her helped her forget. Flying solo tonight, she tried forgetting Jasper and focused on celebrating.

  Other single women packed the dance floor in Club Trinity, the popular college bar in Adams Morgan. Famous for its rum punches and Wednesday ladies’ night, the club attracted students from nearby universities. Those students lured young District professionals looking for a night out. Many of them hoping for more.

  The DJ wound down his bass-heavy track. Chloe wiped the sweat from her pale forehead with the damp napkin wrapping her drink. Tossing it aside, she wound her way to the bar for a refill.

  The crush of bodies from the dance floor followed her to the bar, overwhelming the bar staff with orders. The alcohol coursing through her made her sway with the crowd.

  Chloe squeezed her way into the crowd, making it to the bar at the price of a few stepped-on toes. Standing on one foot as she rubbed the other through her shoe, she made eye contact with two men standing at the bar.

  “Hey, I’m Anthony. This is Steve. Can we buy you a drink?”

  “No. No thanks. I’m just having one then heading home.”

  “Heading home? Come on! It’s still early. Let’s get some drinks, then we’ll all get out of here.” Steve stood behind Anthony, nodding as he leered at her.

  “No. Thank you.” Chloe craned her neck, praying for eye contact with a bartender.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t want to have a drink with us? You don’t like guys?”

  “I like men. Not boys.” Chloe’s confidence waned the moment the words left her mouth.

  Steve reached over Anthony, grabbing her arm. Chloe yanked it back, her elbow knocking over a drink resting on the bar behind her.

  Ignoring the laughter from Anthony and Steve, she turned. “Oh! I’m sorry about that.” Chloe said to the back of a blonde-haired woman standing at the bar.

  The woman turned, patting her arm dry with a stray napkin.

  “No worries. Not your fault anyway.” Her crystal eyes flashed on the two men. “Get lost. She said she’s not interested.”

  Steve looked at the woman like he’d seen her before. Ever hopeful, said, “What about you? Can we get you a drink instead?”

  The blonde sneered back. “You assholes really know how to make a girl feel special. Just fuck off already.”

  Anthony pulled Steve away from the two women at the bar, muttering something about trying another club down the street.

  Chloe sighed. “Thanks for that. Can I replace that drink I spilled? It looked like you just ordered it. That’s if I can get anyone’s attention.” Chloe attempted an apologetic smile through her drunken haze.

  “I’ll help with that. And there’s no need to thank me. We have to look out for each other.” The woman stood to her full height from a slouch, putting her a full head taller than Chloe. Chloe always felt self-conscious about her shorter stature, but even in her absurd and painful heels, this woman towered over her. As the mystery woman raised a slender arm, a handsome bartender raced over.

  “What can I get you?” His dark eyes lingered over his customer a bit too long.

  “Two specials,” she said, dismissing him.

  “That was impressive. I’m Chloe.”

  “Bethany,” she said, extending a hand. Chloe blushed, embarrassed at her sweaty hand compared to Bethany’s confident grip.

  The bartender returned, setting two large plastic cups in front of them. The murky concoction threatened to spill if moved.

  “This one’s on me, ladies,” throwing a wink to Bethany. She ignored him.

  Bethany grabbed the cups, lifting both from the bar without losing a drop. “Lucky us.”

  She turned to Chloe. “Want to get a table?” She nodded to the back of the club, filled with darker booths. Without waiting for an answer, she drifted to the booths, navigating the bodies still clamoring for drinks.

  The crowd parted before Bethany, and Chloe coasted in her wake.

  Bethany slid into a private booth in a corner, lit with a single plum-colored light strip. Chloe’s attempt at a graceful landing ended as more of a controlled fall on the pleather bench seat.

  “Are you here alone?” Bethany extended a lithe arm along the back of the booth, grazing across Chloe’s shoulder.

  Chloe’s eyes narrowed in sudden irritation. “Unfortunately. My boyfriend and I had a big fight, but I’m celebrating either way.”

  “What are you celebrating?” Bethany took a small sip from her drink. Following her lead, Chloe gulped at hers.

  “I got into Stanford law school. I leave in the fall. That’s what the fight with Jasper was about.”

  A biting laugh escaped from the corner. “What’s a Jasper?”

  Chloe glanced up as Bethany gave her a playful pinch on the arm. Bethany slid closer, the backs of her legs squeaking against the faux leather. Chloe returned a half-hearted smile.

  “He’s been my boyfriend for ten months. We met at school and things just clicked. He talked about us going to law school together at Georgetown, but I’ve had my heart set on Stanford. My dad went there. And it’s California. When I told him I was leaving for school, he got mad. He said I never cared about him.” Chloe’s head dropped. She picked at her nails, not daring to meet Bethany’s gaze. Chloe felt like a child next to her. “I guess this all sounds silly to you. Like puppy love gone wrong.”

  “Breakups are hard for everyone. Do what you want. Set your own path. Carpe diem and all that shit.”

  “I didn’t say we broke up.” A pained stare met Bethany’s cool green eyes.

  “What do you think? If he’s not here with you, he’s somewhere else.”

  Chloe gulped at her drink, tears forming as she wrapped her arms around herself. Bethany slipped next to Chloe, draping an arm around her shoulders in comfort.

  “Hey, it’s going to be okay. These things happen to everyone. It won’t even be a memory when you’re a rich and famous lawyer.” It may not be a memory tomorrow, Bethany thought.

  Chloe wiped at her tears, smiling up at her new friend as Bethany rested a cool hand on her thigh.

  “Let’s celebrate! Getting into Stanford is a huge deal! Let’s finish these drinks and get back o
n the floor. I’ll bet you I can get more free drinks out of that tool bag of a bartender.”

  “He’s kinda cute,” Chloe said with a giggle as she downed her drink, slamming the empty cup on the cheap black table.

  “See? You’re over what’s-his-name already.”

  The pair made their way back to the dance floor, with Bethany leading Chloe by the hand. The music carried them into a rhythmic, pulsing dance. The constant beat hypnotizing Chloe as the drinks flowed. Bethany pushed away any men that tried to cut in.

  After another hour on the dance floor, the two were back at their old booth, feet aching and sweaty. Bethany motioned for Chloe to come closer. Heat rose from Chloe’s stomach as the bare flesh of her upper thigh touched Bethany’s. Her hand landed on the inside of Bethany’s leg, not daring to move, fearing rejection. Bethany clasped Chloe’s wrist, pulling it closer, urging her on.

  As their lips met, Chloe’s body tingled. Her breath quickened. Bethany’s legs yielded and Chloe’s hand explored further.

  Bethany’s hand wound around Chloe’s hair, pulling their mouths deeper. Chloe felt her tortured toes curl in her heels, in awe of this gorgeous woman.

  Breaking the kiss, Bethany’s fiery breath grazed Chloe’s ear.

  “My apartment is right around the corner. Let’s go.”

  Flushed, Chloe could only nod.

  Minutes later, the two walked out the door, Bethany holding up a barely conscious Chloe.

  Chapter 1

  Mason surveyed the Saturday night crowd on the main floor from his perch on the mezzanine. The guest DJ, some new headliner from London, had the floor packed with dancing bodies. Two weeks into her six-month residency, the new DJ turned the crowd into an extension of whatever she played, evoking cheers and screams at the just the right moments.

  A happy crowd tipped well, something the bar and waitstaff appreciated.

  The all-female bar staff, clad in body-hugging one-piece uniforms, kept the drinks flowing while fending off clumsy advances from most of the single men in the nightclub.

  His earpiece, connecting him to the rest of the security team, stayed quiet. Calm nights were rare for a Saturday night. Mason doubted the relative peace would last with hundreds of people packing Gridlock. With college graduation season a short month away, excited and exhausted students wanted to blow off steam. That always created problems for his staff as the dance floor turned into a modern savanna, complete with mating rituals and posturing alpha males.

  Clay joined Mason at the railing. “Mason, how’s it going my man?” Clayton Eakes was the self-proclaimed visionary behind Gridlock, a twelve thousand square foot monument to throbbing electronic music, scantily clad women, and indulging the great and good in Washington D.C. Over the last five years, he’d created Gridlock with little more than guile and a willingness to violate every safety law in the District.

  Built on the site of a former bank, Gridlock spanned four distinct levels, starting at the massive main floor. Chandeliers dripping with crystals hung from the cavernous ceiling, accented with gyrating lights bouncing off polished surfaces. The old vault door, polished to a high sheen, rested behind the elevated DJ booth. Clay reveled in inventing stories about what he kept in the vault, tailoring them to his audience.

  The mezzanine overlooked the main floor, with its own private bar and seating. White floor tiles gave the space a crisp, refined vibe. Mason’s preferred sentry location offered a commanding view of most patrons and staff. From here, he could direct his ten-person security team to any problem on the floor.

  The Lounge, on the second floor, contained a stretched stainless-steel bar and dark wood floors. Wall to wall windows stretched the length of the building, overlooking the street below. The Lounge offered a quieter spot, complete with a range of Spanish music, to recover from hours on the dance floor.

  The top floor held the penthouse, a private VIP lounge reserved for D.C.’s power brokers. Lobbyists and defense contractors were frequent guests, seeking to curry favor with powerful Senators and White House appointees. Failing that, they’d invite overworked staffers to drink on the company dime.

  Bumping his fist into Clay’s hovering hand, Mason said, “Quiet night so far for such a packed house. Let’s hope it stays this way. The new DJ is killing it.”

  “Ah yeah, Vanessa. She’s a real pro. Keeps turning down my private tours of the vault.” Clay winked at Mason.

  “Then she’s smart, too.” Mason laughed. In the three years he’d worked at Gridlock, Clay never touched his employees. He talked a big game, but Mason never found him anywhere other than his spin class, his apartment, or with his true love, Gridlock.

  “Anyone here I should know about?”

  “A couple senior staffers from Senator Wilke’s office were in the Lounge earlier, wooing some girls from Howard. If anyone else shows up, I’ll let you know.”

  Mason memorized the faces of anyone serving in Congress and their aides. It was a habit he’d picked up in his former life, and he’d expanded it to include a handful of lobbyists and anyone else making recent headlines. Clay claimed it was why he kept Mason around - for public relations. If he recognized someone Clay should meet, Mason directed Clay in for the introduction.

  Junior staffers for senators didn’t fit the category.

  Mason traded another fist bump with Clay. “I’m going to walk the floors.”

  Stepping into the elevator reserved for staff and VIPs, Mason descended to the main floor. A crush of bodies greeted him as the doors slid open.

  Mason’s earpiece lit up as he worked through the crowd. Rob’s voice came over the radio. “Naomi’s having trouble at table fourteen.”

  Thumbing his talk button, Mason replied, “I think I’m closest. I’m on it.”

  He heard a group of energetic women shouting at Naomi, one of the servers, as she balanced a tray of full drinks and empty glassware. Naomi had been with Gridlock for a few months and experienced her share of drunken college girls. She saw Mason across the floor, sending him a silent message, mentally waving him to the table for a hand with the gaggle of entitled Gen Z ladies haranguing her.

  “Ladies, is there something I can help with?”

  Naomi mouthed a silent thank you as she peeled off, eager to drop off drinks for one of her tables.

  A raven-haired girl in a low-cut blue dress staggered to her feet, wobbling on clear acrylic high heels. The shoes added at least four inches to her height, bringing her to the middle of Mason’s chest. “I want to speak with a manager.”

  “I’m a manager. How can I help?”

  A honed fingernail shot out, pointing to the spot where Naomi disappeared into the crowd. “That bitch - I mean that woman - won’t serve us. She said we’re drunk, and she can’t serve us without a manager okaying it.”

  Mason took a deep, cleansing breath. Of all the things he dreaded at Gridlock, dealing with Over-served Girl and Friends stayed at the top of his list.

  The girl tapped his chest with a bedazzled fingernail. “So, what I need from you is to get us some more drinks. Because we are celebrating!” Her arms shot up like she’d won an Olympic event.

  A chorus of cheers rose from the collection of drunken college girls around the table. One girl, head resting against the friend seated next to her, opened her eyes enough to raise an empty glass before passing out against a different shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, ladies, but legally, I can’t serve you. You’re well beyond the legal limit, and your friend is passed out. If I serve you, we could get in trouble. I’m sure you understand.”

  Mason tried to calm everyone down. It never worked, but he was obligated to try.

  The group’s ambassador spun on precarious heels to berate her intoxicated friend. Her feet tangled in the stretched acrylic spikes, sending her face-first onto the table. The side of her face smacked against the polished metal before she crumpled on the floor. The unmistakable sound even penetrated the music.

  A collective gasp rose from the o
nlookers. A few people started laughing behind their phones, making sure they filmed everything. Mason’s teeth dug into the side of his cheek, suppressing his own reaction. He thumbed his radio. “I need a hand at table fourteen.”

  Lucas, a new hire, materialized next to him as the ladies helped up their friend. “Hey boss, what’s up?” Lucas worked hard to impress his boss.

  “These ladies were just leaving. Escort them to the exit and make sure they settle any tab with Naomi before they go.”

  Another intoxicated girl launched herself at Mason, this one with copper hair. “We’re not paying for shit! You shoved her! I’m pre-law and I saw the whole thing!”

  “Oh yeah?” Mason responded, pulling the young woman aside. “See those?” He pointed to the ceiling. “Those cameras saw everything too. They saw your drunk friend trip over herself and land on a table. You think you’re the first group of drunk college kids we’ve seen in here? I don’t think you want to push this. You might be pre-law, but we have real lawyers. We feed them girls like you.”

  The threat of being on camera in her current state extinguished the girl’s fire. She rejoined her friends, yelling at the injured one as she pressed a bar towel against the gash in her face.

  Clay’s voice entered Mason’s ear as he stared down from the mezzanine, “Another day in paradise, eh Mace?”

  Checking the image on his phone, Darius compared it against the faces around him. He’d spent hours at Gridlock, and his phone’s battery drained along with the cash in his pocket. Looking up, he saw Rashad leaning over the railing, drink in hand, talking with two girls that couldn’t look less interested in him.