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The car stopped in front of the hotel and I got out, mentally preparing myself for the next four hours. Four. Fucking. Hours. If the money wasn’t so good, I would have cut his ass off at one hour and even that was pushing it, fraying my already thinning patience with life.
Taking the elevator up, I made my way to the designated room and knocked, reminding myself I had three very important reasons as to why I was there in the first place.
G opened the door with a smile that would have made anyone else feel special. It didn’t work on me, mainly because I knew there was absolutely nothing special about meorthis fucked up situation. If anything, that smile made the salty liquid in the back of my throat try to creep back up. His tie was already loosened and from the smell of strawberries, I assumed he’d helped himself to some champagne.
“Hey there, handsome,” he said, stepping back to let me in the room.
“Hey yourself.” I plastered on a smile and strolled in as if I wasn’t fighting with myself every single fucking second. I thought of my siblings again and I gave myself a mental slap. G wasn’t awful compared to some of my other clients. It would be fine. Four hours in a luxury hotel was nothing compared to nine goddamn years, especially since the first two were spent in dirty alleys and the back of cramped cars.
Closing the door, G stepped up behind me, slipping his hands around my waist and pulling me backward. His dick was already getting hard and I hadn’t even fucking touched him yet. If I played my cards right, maybe he’d end up sleeping most of the time.
With that goal in mind, I turned toward him, smile intact. Pressing my lips against his quickly, I let myself imagine he was a mysterious foreigner with piercing blue eyes instead of accepting the reality in front of me. If I held on to Mystery Man’s face in my mind, hopefully it would be theonlything I remembered from this encounter once the drugs kicked in.
God, I hoped they kicked in fast.
5
MAREK
Slidingto a stop in front of a nightclub called Delirium, I backed my Ninja in at an angle between two brand-new black SUVs, sharing their illegal parking spaces. I killed the engine and propped it up on the kickstand, scanning the street quickly for any traffic cops. Seeing none, I pulled my helmet off and raked my hands through my hair as I stared up at the club. I usually didn’t work in this part of town but I’d met clients nearby so I was vaguely familiar with its reputation.
Unlike Dalton’s snobby, upper-crust atmosphere, Delirium was in the heart of Ukrainian Village and catered to young and wealthy foreigners looking to party, though it was rumored to have ties to the Russian mob. I wouldn’t be surprised. It seemed like every ethnic group in Chicago had their own mafia. It was the only way to get ahead in a city with rampant corruption at every level.
Since it was still early afternoon, the club technically wasn’t open for business. I checked the time on my watch and walked up to the front doors anyway, knocking on the thick glass. I’m sure they’d rather I be early than late for the interview. And if itwasthe mob, I’d rather be early than late too.
A huge guy with a shaved head and a dark beard pushed the door open, looking me up and down. “Yeah?”
“I’m here for an interview for the bartender gig.”
He nodded and pushed the door open the rest of the way, holding it open for me. “Natasha!”
A striking brunette in a painted-on red dress sauntered out from around the corner with a smile. “Marek?”
I nodded.
“Come with me.” She crooked a finger at me and led the way through the empty club. Well, empty except for a small army of staff setting up for some sort of event taking place all weekend.
Most of the interior was some shade of black or translucent. Glass and chrome tables paired with black chairs and sofas. Black floors. Black stairs, aglow with neon light strips. A wall at one end of the club had been filled with water and bubbles. As we walked, the bubbles slowly faded from one neon color to the next. This place had to be trippy as fuck at night, even without drugs.
“How long have you been a bartender?” Natasha asked over her shoulder, weaving through the tables and cutting across the dance floor on staggering heels. For her sake, I hoped she wasn’t one of the waitresses. I couldn’t imagine pulling a whole shift in shoes like that.
“Uh, since I was eighteen.” I stopped gawking at my surroundings and zeroed in on her question again. “Sorry. Seven years.”
“That’s good. Experienced.” She stopped and gestured to a man at the bar. His back was to us, but even still, he cut an impressive figure in the dark teal suit he wore. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” I flashed her a smile and made my way over to the man in question, clearing my throat when I got closer. The second he turned around, my stomach flipped. Any hope I had of getting this job vanished.
“Fuck me.”
It was Mystery Man.
He gave me a very obvious once-over before smiling like the cat that ate the canary. “Marek Sommers. So we meet again.”
“Yeah, I’ll see myself out.” I turned to go but his hand hooked my bicep and stopped me in mid-step.
“Don’t be foolish. You’re here for an interview, are you not?”
I looked at his hand pointedly. His large, tan hand, covered in tattoos. I hadn’t noticed at Dalton’s since the lights were always so low but with the overheads turned on, the ink was perfectly visible. It was a stark contrast to the expensive clothes he wore and the Bvlgari watch on his wrist. He looked like the type who dropped a couple hundred on a haircut every four weeks, never mind whatever he spent on the rest of his extensive grooming habits, so the tattoos waved at me like a giant mafia flag.
