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His strides came to a sudden halt, as if pulled back by an invisible force. “Be right back,” he said with a nod and a smile before veering toward the queue of eager fans. His presence lit up the faces of his admirers, a sight I hadn’t witnessed in quite some time. It was a relief to see him fully immersed and thriving in his own environment.
Boston may have been his home, but it was evident why he had fled to California after the breakup. I knew he loved Boston and would never move away for good, but the life out here was the life he’d known since birth.
Declan crossed his arms as we waited by the main entrance near another couple of bouncers. “Doesn’t he ever get tired of that shit?”
“I don’t think so.” Chuckling, I slid my hands in my pockets. “Don’t think he knows any difference, to be honest.”
Chance was holding up a cell phone, with at least ten girls squishing themselves into him. He smiled, handing a blonde the phone, then took a piece of paper from another, signing it before giving it back to her. “Happy birthday!” He waved, then strode back over. “Alright.”
Declan squinted. “Why do they give a fuck if you like vegan cheese?”
He shrugged. “They give a fuck about everything I do, don’t do, like, don’t like… all of it.”
I paused, and they stopped, turning to me.
“What?” Chance asked.
I cocked a brow, tilting my head. “Why is there a line of women waiting to get into a strip club? I mean, they usually come in smaller groups to Euphoria or with their men. I’ve never seen so many lined up like that.”
Declan patted my shoulder blade. “It’s a three-level club.” He led us toward the door, the bouncer pulling it open, waving us by. “Sky Lounge is on the fifty-second floor,” he continued as we stepped into the black and gold mirrored elevator in the side entrance of the Grand Marquis Hotel. “It’s blue and white. Decorated like the sky,” he shrugged, leaning on the wall, “you get it. It’s a normal whatever club. Techno and shit. Dark Angel’s on the fifty-third and I’ve never been in it.”
“Me either,” Chance interjected.
“And then there’s Penthouse,” Declan continued, as we watched the red digital numbers climbing on the wall next to the door. “And well,” he smirked, “in my own opinion, that’s where the magic happens. It’s what I think your vision is for the Euphoria addition.” He crossed his arms high on his chest. “God, one can hope anyway.”
As the doors slid open, we stepped into a dark and sultry lobby area. The walls were adorned with monochromatic paintings of nude women, their outlines barely illuminated by a cascading chandelier. A red-hued light bar stretched across one side of the room, over a hexagon archway, casting an intense glow that faded into a cool blue light further in.
To my right, a group of people sat on plush dark couches, chatting, and sipping colorful cocktails. Three tall, slender women stood to my left in black, shiny bodysuits; two blonde, one brunette. They were stationed behind a counter with a coat room behind them.
“Hello,” one of the blondes greeted.
“Chance and Declan,” the brunette sang, rounding the counter. She threw her arms around them, kissing their cheeks before she settled her gaze on me. “Oh, and who are you, handsome?” She spoke in a thick Russian accent before turning to the girls, speaking her native tongue. Then she brought her gaze back to mine.
“Luke.”
“Luke, you make me wish I work for you tonight.”
“I’m flattered but?—”
Declan nudged me in the side. “Anya, we’re here to see Ekaterina for a meeting.”
That caused her to drop my hand. “Pity,” she said, staring into my gaze. “Follow me.” She spun around, her long ponytail swinging as she strode like a supermodel on a runway toward the glowing hallway.
Following behind, I noticed two gold Russian Presidential Security Seals on each side of the corridor. What the fuck are we walking in to? I glanced back at my brother and Chance, who didn’t seem concerned whatsoever.
I sighed, feeling a mixture of discomfort and curiosity as we walked down the glowing red hallway. Cold metal cages lined either side, with bars and chains hanging from the ceiling. Naked women, collared and controlled like animals, moved to the rhythm of the pulsing music in perfect synchronization.
Anya led us through the main open room, filled with curved black leather couches facing a central stage. I tried my best not to stare at the pole on the platform, where a skilled and confident woman spun effortlessly in neon green and pink body paint. The flashing lights and blasts of air added to the spectacle as her hair blew wildly. Blue and yellow lights twirled around her. I forced my gaze away, remaining alert.
As we filed through the crowd, I saw elevated glassless windows that framed the room, giving an unrestricted view of everything happening. We climbed five steps and turned left into a private viewing area, flanked by two guards dressed in all black with earpieces and AK-12 assault rifles.
One threw a palm in my face, barking, “Stoyat!”
The three of us did as commanded, though none of us knew the meaning of the word. It was obvious.
A third man appeared from behind. “Spread.”
I rolled my eyes with a smile as I extended my arms and parted my legs. The guard patted us down one by one. Though I typically carried a gun, Declan had warned me to leave it behind tonight. I grumbled under my breath, glad that I had ultimately listened to my younger brother’s advice.
