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“Uh …” I started, but Amethyst held up her hand to stop me.
“Don’t talk about it. Those bastards are fucked up. You want to live, you don’t talk about them.”
Who were these women?
“Besides, look at her. She’s as sweet as a damn sugar cube. Those men fuck like animals. She would be broken if a Hughes fucked her,” Amethyst said.
I fought the urge to put a hand protectively over my still-flat stomach. No need to draw attention there. At that moment, my stomach growled.
Both ladies looked at me.
“I’ll show you to the kitchen on my way out. I’m sure one of the old ladies is already in there, cooking,” she said.
That was a rude way to describe whoever was cooking for the people in this … club?
The two women in front of me had to be prostitutes. They looked the part, but I would admit they were much more attractive than I imagined real prostitutes to be. Kind of like Pretty Woman. Maybe that movie wasn’t so far from reality as I had always thought.
“God, I hope it’s Nina. She makes the best biscuits,” Dylan said.
They began walking, so I decided if I wanted to eat, my best bet was to follow the two of them.
When we started down the stairs, Dylan glanced back at me. “I’m surprised Liam didn’t post a guard at your door.”
Frowning, I wondered if I needed one. Was there something to be afraid of here?
“The boys are going to salivate all over themselves,” she added.
I looked at the way her body curved in the right places, and her breasts were spilling from the top she was wearing. “I think they’ve got plenty to look at around here already.”
She laughed then, tossing her head back, as if I were a comedian. “You don’t know much about men. Give them something sweet and innocent-looking with a face and body like yours, and they lose their damn minds,” she said. “Sure, they fuck us and enjoy our performances at the club. We fulfill sexual fantasies for them, but we aren’t innocent. We sure as hell don’t look sweet. They can’t teach us or own us.”
I was stuck on performances. “What performances at the club?” I asked her.
Amethyst paused at the bottom step. “You know nothing about your daddy, do you?” she asked me.
“I’m here to fix that,” I replied honestly.
She smiled at me. “We’re strippers.” She waved at Dylan. “And some of us also perform in adult movies. The Judgment owns five strip clubs, a film studio for the adult movies they produce, and a host of other things,” she replied. “Your daddy is the president.”
The president? Of strippers and adult movies, which I was going to assume meant porn. I should have asked more questions last night.
Did Blaise know this? God, I hoped he did and was okay with it. If he found this out after letting me stay, he might forget his promise not to kill people.
“I, uh, didn’t know all that,” I admitted.
She continued walking and I followed.
“Liam’s gonna spank your ass for that,” Dylan warned Amethyst.
“God, I hope he does,” she replied. “Lately, he only lets Demi in his bed.”
Dylan groaned. “He’s gotta get bored with her eventually. Besides, she’s almost, like, thirty. She’s fucking old.”
“Second-best thing is Micah.” Amethyst paused then and looked at me. “Micah is the VP—vice president. So, fucking him ranks. He’s had Dylan in and out of his bed for the past year.”
So, that was what he had meant when he called Micah his VP last night.
I wanted to cover my ears. These women had to be around my age, and they had sex with my father? Surely not. Almost thirty? How old was he? At least forty? Micah was much younger. I understood that. But my father? Ewww.
“Kitchen is this way,” Amethyst said as she walked down another long hallway.
They didn’t speak until we reached a red door.
“I’m not eating, but I’m sure Dylan will join you. I’ve got to make sure my stomach is flat for tonight.”
Dylan sighed as we walked into a big, bright kitchen. “It smells like fucking heaven,” she called out.
The two women in the kitchen were not old. One might have been in her mid-thirties, but she was attractive. Dark blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. Tight black shorts and a yellow halter top, tied just below her breasts. She was tanned and toned. The other lady, who looked up from the large pot she was stirring on the stove, had dark red hair cut into a bob, freckles. She was wearing a black tank top with a pair of white cutoff jean shorts that I could see some of her butt cheeks hanging out of. She might be thirty. Maybe. I saw no old ladies anywhere.
“Nina, you’re a goddess,” Dylan said, walking over to the blonde, who had just set down a pan of biscuits.
