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“You would do best,” he whispered, so low only I could hear it, “to not insult your ally. This board hates you. We all know that. And if I give them the go-ahead, they can end Dazzlers in one blow. So be careful what you say.”
His breath reeked of alcohol. I was powerless, and Mac knew it. Everything he said was true. If I crossed him, it would destroy my father’s legacy. I remained silent, hating every second that passed as he held my gaze.
At last, I looked away.
Mac took it as a sign of victory and announced to the room, “Folks, Tate here is gonna be joining us for our special event.”
Some of the men nodded, and a few clapped as though this were some sort of bar mitzvah, like I was going to finally be an adult about things. The brandy was moving back up my throat and filling my mouth with an acrid taste. All these years, I’d managed to avoid the virginity sales, but now I was backed into a corner.
Darian murmured, “Okay, I guess… I guess I’ll come too.”
“That’s a boy!” Mac hollered.
Regret rang in my ears. If I’d stood up to Mac, God knows what would’ve happened, but at least it would’ve given Darian the chance to opt out. In tacitly agreeing to attend, I’d sealed both our fates. Poor kid.
“We’ve got some real beauties,” Mac continued as he took his seat once more. “Fine pieces of ass. One of you is gonna love deflowering it.”
Kenneth called out, “Okay, enough fun and games. We’ve got businesses to attend to.”
I leaned back in my chair, my mind on Kiki. What would she say if she knew about this deal I just made with the devil?
It wasn’t worth thinking about. As Kenneth began to discuss the policies of allowing fake IDs, I gazed at the ceiling and wished desperately for some other life.
CHAPTER 7
Kiki
THE TRENCH coat swirled around my calves, and though I was entirely covered in khaki, I felt exposed. I crossed my arms over my chest, paranoid that the guests had X-ray vision and could see how skimpy my attire was. Although I supported women’s right to do sex work because, come on, I’m Vegas born and raised, I was also resisting the urge to scream out, “I’m not a stripper!”
In other words, it wasn’t my finest moment.
I strode across the floor of the casino, maneuvering between already drunken couples on their honeymoon, who looked to be less in their first week of marriage than the final weeks of a drawn-out divorce. There were squabbles and cigarettes and cheap perfume and too many ass cheeks.
Moving past the tables and slots, I made my way to the right-hand wing of the casino, where the shows were held. There were, at any given time, three acts going on in the theaters. Usually some abbreviated musical, one pop star in residency, and a circus or acrobatic act of some kind. One was always family friendly, one was sexy, and the other was a toss-up between the two poles, or something so unusual as to defy qualification.
Obviously, the show I was working tonight fell squarely into the “circus” and “sexy” categories. Oh, joy.
I walked under a golden arch made of two naked female statues stretching out to one another, gilded tits hanging low and faces marked with ecstasy. What a promising sign of things to come. Past the arch was a long hallway, hung with posters of the various performers, all petite Asian women in low-slung bikini briefs with their hands coyly splayed across their breasts. One of the posters read, in Chinese-style font à la Kung Fu Panda — “Journey to the East!” I cringed at the patronizing marketing and quickened my steps.
At the door stood the person I presumed to be the front of house manager. She wore a short black dress and sensible heels. It was easy to infer her position in the theater because only production staff are allowed to be even moderately covered up. The woman greeted me with a terse nod.
“Are you Kiki?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes ran over my coat. “And you’ve got the outfit on?”
I blushed. “Yes.”
“Right then. Follow me.”
She turned on a heel and began to march into the club space.
“Why’d you get assigned here tonight?” she called over her shoulder, never slowing down. “We don’t need an extra waitress, but Jack phoned ahead and told me you were going to be doing a shift.”
She said the word waitress like an epithet.
“Tate is making me,” I explained with a sigh.
That got her attention. She stopped and swiveled back to me. “Tate. As in, the owner of Dazzlers?”
“Yeah.”
She quirked a painted eyebrow. “What’d you do?”
“Mouthed off.”
Her expression landed somewhere between concerned and impressed.
“Well…” she began. “Just don’t do that here. We run a tight show, okay?”
