My nostrils flared. “Anything’s possible.” I’d never encountered an incubus, but a club like this pulsing with all that female sexual energy would be the perfect feeding ground for one.
Eww, I hated demons. The idea of anything sexual with them was vile. I hoped this would be a quick investigation, so we could get back to the bigger threat—finding the location of a portal. Nova’s friend, Gianna, had been held by demons and sirens, including her mother, who had told Gianna that a portal would be opening soon, and more demons could be swarming in.
Great. Just wonderful. Demon tourists.
We still hadn’t narrowed this possibility to a definitive time or place—or if it was a rumor. After all, Gianna’s mother was hardly a trustworthy source. But if true, and demons slipped through, the consequences could be disastrous.
I scanned the exterior of the brick club and assessed our approach. “First, we’ll go in and scope out the scene,” I told Nova. “Just pretend we’re a couple of ladies out to have a drink and a good time.”
She grinned. “I can do that.”
Once we exited my car, the salty scent of the ocean reached me, followed by a gust from the sea that had me wrapping my arms around myself. This club stood in an area of industrial complexes near the coast.
We entered a venue that could be described as Alice in Muscle-land. Half-naked men with tanned, ripped bodies, hence living up to the name of the club, danced for women at various tables while another performed on the stage. I inhaled, attuned to any unusual scents. Cheap perfume and cheaper beer invaded my nostrils. Nothing that heightened my wariness of a prowling baddie.
The closest dancer wore a sliver banana hammock. He rolled his body in some sort of sensual grind that the nearby women responded to with raucous enthusiasm. After he maneuvered before each one, he slipped away with more dollar bills sticking out of his cloth.
Dragging my gaze from that show like a rubbernecker passing a highway pileup, I searched for anything or anyone suspicious.
During the next song, Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive,” a man strolled onstage in a cowboy outfit. While he bumped and ground his goods, Nova and I found a table near the back, a good vantage point to scope out the scene and hopefully not have any hot dogs swinging in our direction.
A man wearing tight white spandex shorts with what appeared to be concealing a cucumber welcomed us and took our drink order. I quickly grabbed a sticky menu off the table and ordered a Mai Tai. Nova ordered the same.
The song faded out, and the cowboy strutted away with far fewer clothes and several more dead presidents dangling from his briefs and boots.
The next song began, “I’m too Sexy.” An attractive guy with blond hair past his chin, dressed as a firefighter walked on stage. He pouted like a model and strutted as if working the catwalk.
Nova dropped her head into her hand. “Oh, no. It’s Lucas.”
Lucas
This firefighter performance was one of my favorites. Ladies loved a man who could rescue them from a blaze, and it riled them up. The scenario amused me as a half-dragon shifter, since I embraced fire rather than feared it.
This uniform worked well for the performance. The big coat, helmet, boots, and suspenders provided plenty for me to strip as I danced my way down to my G-string. The best part was the accessory—a giant hose.
I tossed it around as I worked the stage, squirting those who shouted the loudest with a spray of water.
Wait, who was that at the back of the club? My eyes bulged. Was that my—landlord? What in all of Hades Crazies was Nova doing here?
Awkward.
Why would she come to this club? She knew I worked here. Besides, she was dating my roommate, Diego. That surly vampire would not be happy with me shaking my party goods in front of his girl.
I wouldn’t let Nova distract me from my performance. This was how I made a living and enjoyed it. What guy wouldn’t? I earned a nice sum of cash showing off to the adulation of many women. As I danced for those closest to the stage, the thrill of the performance got me going as did the praise. The more the dollars were tossed on stage or shoved at me, the more I got into the act, swaying my hips or adding extra oomph to my thrusts.
I continued my performance to raucous applause. Although there weren’t any large and sometimes raunchy bachelorette parties tonight, the small groups of women sounded just as loud with their enthusiastic hollers.
I glanced back at where Nova sat. Who was the cute brunette sitting beside her? She scanned the club with a serious expression that stood counter to all the happy ones. Why wasn’t she paying attention to my performance? Forget avoiding Nova, now I wanted to know what was up with her friend.
As the next performer came out on stage, I stopped by tables, shaking my moneymaker. Ladies ran their hands down my chest and dangerously close to the thunder down under as they stuffed dollar bills into my G-string. The more women I danced with, the more fun we had. That was what was so great about this job—everyone left happy.
As I headed toward the back of the club, Nova attempted to shield her face with her auburn hair. Too late, I’d already spotted her. Was she embarrassed to be caught here?
Ah, I could have fun with that. I sauntered over to their table. The brunette’s gaze was now fixed on me. That was better. I put a lot into my performances.
I shimmied in front of Nova and her companion—nothing ostentatious that would have Diego banging on my door later. I bent down and teased Nova, “What are you doing here? Making sure I make my rent money this month?”
Her face glowed like fiery lava even under the dim light of the club. “No, of course not. I’ll explain later.”
