ALTHEA
Stavros pulls the SUV into the dimly lit parking lot across the street while I do a quick survey of my surroundings.
This place looks seedy as fuck. My stomach turns, and bile slowly rises at the back of my throat. It’s a rundown brick building with a neon sign in the shape of a woman’s body wearing a bikini. Her top blinks on and off. Well, half of it does. It matches perfectly with the torn red awning cover flapping in the night breeze over the door.
The lot is semi-full for a weeknight. With one working light in the entire lot, it’s just another point to show how shitty a place this is. They can’t even keep the lights in the lot working. But then again, the smoke shop and bail bonds office we’re parked in front of also have their lots dimly lit. Which tells me everything I need to know.
They don’t want people to see what’s coming. Monsters are lurking in the shadows.
“All right, Miss Drakos. Shall we go?” Stavros asks. He’s turned toward the door with his hand on the door handle, and I almost feel bad for what I have to do.
“I’m sorry, Stavros, but I need you to stay here.” He turns to face me, confused. Without hesitation, I slam my elbow into the side of his temple, knocking him out cold. His body slumps forward. I catch his head before it hits the steering wheel and sounds the horn for everyone to hear and lean him back against the headrest.
I remove my seatbelt and reach across to the other side of the driver’s seat. Finding the lever and giving it a tug, leaning Stavros back a bit. To anyone passing, he will look like he’s sleeping. It’s not the safest place to stop and take a nap, but it’s better than the truth. The poor guy just got coldcocked by a woman and left for his boss to find.
Sliding back into my seat, I pull down the lighted mirror and touch up my lipstick, then give my boobs a little lift. I check that my weapons are secure before climbing out of the car and walking across the street. As I cross, I take a minute to scan the area and find there are two men on the door, and one smoking a cigarette off to the far left leaning up against the wall near the dumpsters. All three of them are watching me.
One of the doormen is smoking a cigarette, laughing at something the other one has said. They remind me of the Tweedle twins inAlice in Wonderland. Both are soft around the middle, one with slicked-back hair, the other with a crew cut. They’re both deep in conversation.
The taller of the two, Tweedle number one, looks me over from head to toe, licking his lips and adjusting his crotch as I approach. His hair is longer on top and slicked back. His gray button-down shirt is disheveled and has some sort of stain on the front. His eyes come back to meet mine, and he audibly grunts while adjusting himself. I’m picturing myself gouging his eyes out with my hairpins.
He brings his fist from his crotch to his mouth and bites down on it once then says, “Damn baby. You make sure totell the boss I volunteer to be your lap dance audition partner tonight.”
“You here for a job, sweetheart?” Tweedle number two asks. His arms are crossed over his chest, trying and failing to look intimidating.
“I’ll pay you. Name your price,” Tweedle number one says. I give him a fake smile. The urge to throat punch him is getting stronger by the second.
“I’m here to see The Bishop. He’s expecting me.” Both men’s eyes widen, then Tweedle number two opens the door to usher me inside, while scanning the lot as if he’s worried someone heard me. “Go to the back table, far corner to the left of the stage.”
“If it doesn’t work out with the boss, you come find me, sweetheart. I’m sure I could find a job for you to do,” Tweedle one calls out. I hear a grunt and a muttered, “Ow! The fuck?” behind me, but don’t bother to look back.
Inside the club is no better than the outside. The stage is surrounded by small two-seater circular tables, and color-changing LEDs lighting the edges of the stage. The whole place feels like I’ve stepped back in time. There are several booths along the outer walls of the room, with the bar at the back. It smells of stale beer and cheap cologne. At least there’s sawdust on the floor to prevent my heels from sticking to whatever is on the concrete.
Gross.
Three women are currently on the stage dancing and swinging around poles to eighties rock music, wearing nothing but thong underwear and high heels. Two women are walking around in black booty shorts, serving drinks and appetizers to the onlookers. I’m suddenly feeling far too overdressed.
I could’ve worn my harness and still felt overdressed.
The memory of the way Enzo reacted to seeing my harness makes me smile to myself. Until I remember how the asshole cut it to shreds. I ordered a new one online the next day, only to have my order canceled by the website an hour later.Twice.
The bartender makes eye contact with me from across the room and smiles, gesturing for me to come closer. He’s not a bad-looking guy, but something still seems off-putting about him. He’s clean-shaven, with piercing blue eyes and a classic crew cut. His white button-down shirt is clean and fits snugly against his body, allowing a glimpse of the lean swimmer’s build he’s packing underneath.
He doesn’t hold a candle to Enzo in the size department. In any department.
Damn. Three days later and I’m still thinking about all the wicked things that man did to my body. I’m curious to see what kind of punishment I’ll have to endure, having kidnapped one of his men and forced him to come here with me.
He could decide to kill you. He’s a fucking enforcer, for fuck’s sake.
I’m certain he’s going to be pissed the fuck off, but I doubt he would actuallyhurt me.Not in the traditional sense anyway. No, Enzo would rather play with his prey. Torture and teasing are more his style. And if he does decide to take things to the extreme, I’ll remind him exactly why he calls me little devil.
I take note of the exits and the guards at either end of the room. There are cameras in every corner of the room and two in the center.
Paranoid much?
In the booth to my left, sits an older man in a cheap suit. His tie is loose around his neck, and the top three buttons are undone. He has a topless blonde rubbing herself all over his lap. Her high pitch giggle is so obnoxious, I imagine silencing it by lodging his tie in her throat. They’re both so enrapturedwith one another, he doesn’t see the small red light of a camera embedded in the base of the picture frame hanging in the center of the wall between them. Places like this are known for having smaller, hidden cameras to catch footage that can later be used for blackmail. Papa has them all over in our casinos. He calls it his insurance policy.
Whoever he is, he’s about to be fucked in more ways than one.
