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“They vetted?”
“Of course. This isn’t my first rodeo.” Kristi bats her lashes at the bouncer, Trent.
There's a chorus of “Hi, Trent” from behind me as I try to stay behind Kristi, my poor attempt at blending in. I have no idea what to expect inside the Diamond Room, but I have a few guesses.
As I walk through the doorway, the girls’ chatter grates on my nerves. It’s distracting, ramping up my anxiety. I flutter my fingers to give my nervous energy somewhere to go. I can only hope that I didn't make a big mistake by coming in here. I can’t shake the nagging feeling that this is where I’m supposed to be. I’ll either spot Leo and call in the cavalry or not see him and sneak back out toward the tent.
Trent closes the door behind us, blocking out the sounds and the smells of the warehouse. I stick close to Kristi and the girls down a short hallway that opens up into a large room. I feel like I walked into one of those portals or other dimensions. There has to be three thousand square feet of space back here, but from the other side of the door, it looked like maybe a small living-room-sized area.
I gulp as I take in the five small semicircle stages along the back wall, each with a pole in the middle. A ring of small speakers line the edge of each stage, and an overhead horizontal lighting bar with what looks like several different types of spotlights. Each stage has a handful of chairs in front of it, and booths and loveseats along the sides. Two doors flank the one we came in, and I wonder if one is an exit.
“Trippy, hmm?”
I look at the girl next to me. Long blonde hair with a shaggy fringe frames her bright blue eyes. The black bondage dress hugs her ample curves. She’s a knockout.
She flashes me a half smile. “First timer?”
“What gave it away?”
She lifts up her shoulder and looks at me. “You've got that wide eyed look about you, ya know? Ever strip before?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’ve taken dance classes my whole life.”
Her gaze flies over me, assessing me. “Don't worry, new girl, most of the guys are pretty harmless. Flash a little ass and shake your tits. Dance and you go home tomorrow morning at least ten-k richer than you are right now. Not bad for a night's work, ya know?”
I turn away from her with a nod.
“And don’t worry, you don’t have to actually strip if you don’t want to. But the tips are so much better if you show your tits at least.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmur as I scan the tables. The lighting is dim, and fancy wrought-iron sconces have red light bulbs in them, casting a red hue over everyone and everything in its path.
We all head toward a small door next to the first stage, where I assume the dressing rooms are. Mostly men occupy the tables and booths, but I do notice a few women. A couple of girls dance on the far stages in decorative bras and thongs, and a few more girls walk around in lacy lingerie.
I glance at the faces of the people in the booths, promising myself that if I don't see Leo in the next sixty seconds, I'm going to leave. A large group of men at the booth in the corner laugh as they stand up, and my heart stops for a second when I see the familiar head of light brown hair with golden highlights. The streaks he got from all his time spent in the sun.
My heart restarts in my chest, beating heavily against my ribcage, and I trip over my shoe. I quickly right myself, but my new friend next to me follows my laser focus and clicks her tongue.
“No way, new girl. Those men over there will eat you alive on your first night. You're better off sticking to the men at the tables, not the booths.”
I peel my stare from Leo to look at her for a moment. “Why? Who are the men in the booths?” If I sound too eager, she doesn't comment on it.
“The bosses and anyone they invite as guests in here.”
“Hmm.” I’m only half listening as the beginning strings of a plan start to form.
She chuckles and shakes her head a little. “Oh no, new girl. What have you gotten yourself into?”
My heart is beating so hard, I hear it thundering in my ears. I wait on bated breath to see what other information I can glean from her before I make a hasty exit. Either out of this place with Leo or to ring in the cavalry.
“So that's Tommaso Santorini. He’s one of the three Santorini boys that run this place.” She circles the air with her index finger to indicate the warehouse.
I choke on nothing. She name-dropped Santorini like it was nothing. The guys made it seem like he was one of the most dangerous men. What did they call him? The eagle. No, that’s not right.
The vulture.
And here’s this girl who speaks about his kin like it’s nothing. I wonder if they have equally terror-inspiring monikers.
She raises an eyebrow at me while I recover, and once I stop coughing, she keeps talking. “I think their dad technically owns it. He owns most of Vegas, though. But the boys run it. This is the sixth time I've been here,” she says with a shrug. “They always treat us fair. And I usually leave the night with enough money to pay six month’s rent. Twice I made enough to cover rent for a year. But you”—she looks me up and down—"I'm not so sure you'll survive the night. You sure about this?”
