I ponder that, tapping my lips as I stare at my living room wall. The wall where I hang all the information I know so I can see it while I try to figure out where my sister is.
Could Rose be at Rapture?
If she was taken by a trafficking group, could they force her to work at Rapture like a sex worker? I mean, maybe.
I pull up the location and see that it’s really not all that far away from the tattoo shop.
I shouldn’t try to go into an adult club.Not much surprises me. I’ve heard literallyeverythingin my years of working as a tattoo artist. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve done everything.
You’re not going there to have sex. You just need to look around.
Without overthinking it, I walk into the bedroom and pull the one black dress I own out of the closet and hang it on the doorjamb. This is the kind of versatile dress that I can wear to a company holiday party, or a wedding, or a funeral. It fits me well, it’s not too uncomfortable, and it’s simple enough that it should be okay for the club.
I have ankle boots that sparkle and have a little heel on them, so I pull those out, too, wishing that I could go in my usual Chucks, but they absolutely won’t do.
I have to blend.
After a quick shower, I use dry shampoo on my hair and tease it into long waves down my back. I’m handy with a black eyeliner pencil, red lipstick, and a flick of a mascara wand, and then I stand and stare at myself.
For me, this is dressed up.
Not bad.
Of course, I don’t even know if I can get in the place. It’s probably invitation only, or you have to pay a shit ton of money for a membership and they have security up the wazoo. I have no idea how the rich handle these kinds of things. I know it won’t be as simple as getting into the fights.
They’ll probably laugh at me.
But I have to try.
So, I pull on the dress and decide that I can’t wear panties with it, resigning myself to going commando. I spin in front of the mirror and can’t help the satisfied smile that pulls at my lips when I see that not only is the ink on my arm on full display, but the dress is backless, so you can see the flowers down my spine as well. I think it’s sexy.
I grab the little black clutch with a long gold chain, which I use for any kind of occasion that requires a bag with this dress, and stuff my ID, lipstick, credit card, and some cash into it.
As ready as I’ll ever be, I lock the apartment behind me and pray this isn’t the biggest mistake of my life.
If there wasn’t a subtly lit sign above the door, I’d never know this place was here. It’s not flashy like the other places on the Strip. There are no flashing neon lights at all, and I kind of like that it’s discreet.
After I pull in a breath of courage, I walk inside and stumble to a stop.Holy fancy, Batman.
This lobby is all black and gold andbeautiful. There’s a sleek desk where a showstopper of a woman stands, petite with hair almost the same color as mine, offering me a warm smile.
“Hi there, welcome to Rapture. I’m Beth. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Beth.” I let out a nervous chuckle, and she gives me a sympathetic look.
“Is this your first time here?”
“Yes. Obvious, I know.”
“What’s your name, honey?”
“Oh, uh, Violet.” I’m too nervous to think fast enough to come up with a fake name. “Violet Walker.”
She taps some keys in her computer and then nods. “I see you here.”
“Wait.” I feel the blood drain from my face. “You do? I don’t—how—what?”
Beth is completely at ease as she reads her screen. “Looks like the boss has given you VIP access, which is pretty freaking awesome.”
