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“I do,” Maverick says, shoving his shoulder. “I leave you the ugly ones.”
“We don’t have ugly ones,” says his uncle.
“I didn’t say I’d bring them to you,” Maverick says. “Doesn’t mean I’m not leaving them for Angel. He just has to go find them himself.”
Mr. North shakes his head and turns to me. “Would you like a rundown of the job before my wife and brother arrive? They’ll want to see you dance, see what you can do, before we put you on stage.”
“Yes, please.”
He gestures for me to follow, and we step through the door Angel came through, which leads to set of pristine black marble stairs with a delicate brass railing on one side and a mirrored wall on the other. When the other two men step inbehind us, I tense for a second, instinct putting me on high alert. I’m alone with three strong, dangerous men, and some part of me knows I should be scared. Maybe some part of me is scared. But a bigger part of me knows that I’ve already endured what they could do to me, that it’s nothing new, and that I was willing to do anything they wanted when I stepped into the tattoo parlor and asked for a job.
I survived the Dolces. I’ll survive the Norths.
That’s what survivors do.
Lennox continues as we ascend the staircase. “We have a lounge singer and two performers who dance on stage with her or entertain our guests. If you’re a good fit, we’ll find you a placement until you’re proficient on the pole. We’ll need an ID to make sure you’re of age, and we run background checks and do regular drug testing. We pride ourselves on delivering the highest quality experience to our exclusive clientele.”
We reach the top of the stairs, where a door with a little slot at eye level waits for us. Lennox knocks, and the covering slides back, and a pair of eyes stares out at us.
“Guests have a password to get in,” Lennox explains. “It changes each night.”
Without having to say a word, the door swings open for him, though. We step inside a large, octagonal room with a different color door set into each wall. The lounge area is spacious and sparse, lit with ambient lighting along the edges of the ceiling and the bar. At one end of the room, a full-figured singer in a shimmering blood-colored gown croons in a deep, throaty voice to a handful of men seated at the tables in front of the stage, her arm making lazy, sensuous strokes through the air. She’s flanked on either side by a woman in a black bodysuit, each one moving in liquid, serpentine rhythm.
We take a few steps down into the sunken sitting area, where plush leather couches circle a gleaming coffee table.Lennox explains that business meetings take place there, with a waitress designated by the guests to serve them for the evening. We cross the space, still empty this early in the evening, and find ourselves facing three short walls with a door in each other. Suddenly I feel like I’m in some kind of riddle where I’m about to be asked to make an impossible choice.
If you choose the red door, everyone dies except the person you love; if you choose the blue, everyone lives but him.
“Pick a door, any door,” says the guy they called Angel, shooting me a grin. “At Infernal Vices, we’ve got all seven of your favorite sins to choose from.”
“The last door is the stairs that lead out of here,” Maverick says, gesturing back the way we came. “It’s not too late.”
But it is. He might not know it, but it was already too late before I even set foot inside.
“These are our private VIP rooms,” Lennox explains. “Each offers a different experience.”
“That one,” I say, pointing to the green door straight ahead.
“Ah, Envy, always a good choice,” Angel says, pulling out a keyring and unlocking the door. “And in this case, the best one, since it doesn’t have a regular girl. The others have been filling in.”
I take a deep breath and glance at Maverick. He gives me an encouraging smile and nudges the small of my back again. I bite down on my tongue, hold my head high, and step inside.
nineteen
Rumor Has It… The once-notorious PARTY OF THE YEAR is happening tonight! Will the newly elevated rebel boy reclaim his crown and his place as Willow Heights royalty? Only the truly elite (like this girl!) will be there to find out. Follow so you don’t miss a single Drop of Tea!
Colt Darling
“You coming to the party?”
“I don’t know,” Devlin says, looking up from where he’s bouncing a baby very gently in his arms, like it might break if he does it wrong. “Crystal doesn’t like to be away from the kids for long, and she’s breastfeeding so she can’t drink…”
“So you’re like a whole-ass dad, huh?” I ask. “What’s that like?”
“It’s not easy, but I wouldn’t trade it,” he says, wiping some drool from the baby’s chin and smiling down at him.
“Even knowing what it caused,” I muse, staring at the innocent little blob of human dough in his arms. He doesn’t regret leaving. That’s one of the hardest parts of all this. I want to instantly forgive him like Preston has, to just be glad he’s alive, that he’s here. But his leaving caused so much devastation. I keep telling myself he didn’t do it, that he didn’t know the Dolces were doing it, and it’s their fault, not his.
Part of me believes it.
