I cast a hesitant glance around the packed club. No one is in sight. “I guess I can.”
“I’ll watch from here,” Trace says, then gestures to the crowd at the bar behind her. “Gotta stay here.”
“It’s fine.” I take a deep breath. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
With that, I pull together a tray of liquor, garnishes, and some ice. Trace gives me a nod as I walk away, heading for the second room in the VIP row. It’s a nice little strip of soundproof rooms far enough away from the main stage to give higher paying patrons more privacy. Sometimes there are bachelorette parties taking up the little red couches inside, and sometimes it’s a bunch of college interns trying to impress their new bosses.
I’ve seen just about everything, so it doesn’t surprise me to find a party of guys and young women huddled together on the red leather sofa sucking face. Everyone seems too preoccupied to notice me, but I certainly notice them. At first glance, they lookpretty average for a group of clubbers. The clothes, the shoes, the blatant disregard for privacy, are all signs that point to rich kids. Another night on the town spending Daddy’s money.
At least, that was my initial thought.
“Here she is,” says one of the guys on the couch. At the center of his party, he sits with a girl on his lap and a younger guy wrapped around his side, stroking his arm and shoulder.
“Here I am,” I say, putting on my best front. With a hard sway of my hips, I walk around the pole in the center and set the tray on the empty surface of a low table.
The guy who first spoke looks up at me with a gleam of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. Even with subpar lighting, his beauty is undeniable. Long, brown hair falls around his face in perfect, shiny waves, and he’s got a killer jawline, with a dimpled chin. I see the shadow of his cheekbones, highlighted by the low blue and silver light. It’s easy to see why he’s the center of attention. The arrogance that flashes in his eyes tells me that he knows he’s hot shit, too.
“What’s your name?” he asks, raking his eyes over my body. Normally, I’m used to being eye-candy, but something about his expression makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. I have a hard time believing he requested me by name, not because I feel unattractive, but because he isn’t the usual type to step inside a strip club. He’s too polished, too blue-blooded, which makes me wonder what he’s really here for. Orwho.
I turn, stepping up onto the little platform, and swing myself around the pole. “Everyone around here calls me Cheeks.”
The girl in his lap giggles, and the man jolts her upright with his leg. He hisses low, “Be nice.”
I ignore them, mostly, and distract myself with the dance. There’s music playing in the background, but it isn’t anything I immediately recognize. The rooms are built for privacy andhyped for the mood, not the music. If I wanted to lose myself in the sound, I would have to retreat to the main floor.
“Do they call you that because of your ass?” one of the other guys croaks. I do another spin, and in passing him, my eyes catch the sight of his mouth. It’s streaked black, reflecting the blue light with a purple-like glimmer. Beside him is the woman he was glued to, but she doesn’t move. In fact, it doesn’t look like she’s even breathing.
Is that… blood on his mouth?My mind whirls and the alarms are ringing at full blast.
“Christ, Julian,” the first man snarls, throwing the woman off of his lap. She lands on the floor with a thud and a loud ‘hey.’ I stop mid-dance, eyeing them all cautiously. I know the door is behind me, but with the first guy now standing, I realize how much bigger and broader he is than me. I wouldn’t make it two steps to the door if he is what I think he is.
“I said ‘be nice.’”
“Fuck you, Dante,” says Julian. The bigger guy, the beautiful one whose name must be Dante, grabs his friend by the throat and lifts him from the couch. With inhuman speed, he cracks Julian’s neck with his other hand, turning it completely around. I startle, stifling a scream of my own.
“I asked for one thing,” Dante sighs impatiently, dropping his “friend” to the ground. He crumples around his booted feet, kicked away as Dante turns back to his own seat. “Silence and compliance while I work. Is that really too much to ask?”
No one in the room answers.
Dante sits and waves at me. “Resume, please.”
I swallow my fear and shakily pick up where I left off. After a few beats, the mood resumes, as if the little outburst never happened. I keep my eyes off the bodies to my left hoping that by not seeing them, they aren’t actually there.
“Come a little closer,” Dante purrs. I hear the command underneath, and it isn’t one I feel like challenging.
Stepping down from the little stage, I move between his open legs. The other two with him are huddled together now, groping each other on the side, kissing or sucking each other’s blood. Probably.
“Right there,” he says, spreading his legs wider. We don’t touch, but I know what he wants, and I’m a little afraid to do so. “Just relax, precious. I only came to watch.”
“Okay.” My voice is little more than a whisper. I start up again, moving to the sound of the music the best that I can. It’s easier to focus on the sway of my hips and the movement of my feet than every single red flag waving itself around in my head.
“I bet you want to know who I am.”
I don’t answer.
“Rather,whatI am.”
Again, I remain silent. He snarls and snaps, grabbing my arm with such force that it knocks me sideways. “Don’t fucking ignore me.”
