“Fine.”
Chapter Eight
Rodion
“Are we getting out or are you just going to stare up at the place all night?” Zahkar grumbles.
I didn’t even realize we pulled into the parking lot.
“Put your game face on, brother,” I grunt, shaking away the boredom of this place that clearly puts me to sleep. “Time to shake shit up.”
We climb out of the car and I adjust my watch. Since we’re in the butt fucking boonies, I wasn’t sure if we’d be overdressed in suits, so Zahkar and I are both wearing slacks and dress shirts. Our clothes cost more than most people spend on cars, but I still feel underdressed.
“Are you sure you want to play tonight?” Zahkar asks as we approach the entrance to The Vault.
There’s something off with him, and I can tell he needs a distraction.
“We didn’t come this far just to turn around before we even step inside,” I tease.
The guy manning the door sizes us up and must decide we’re worthy because he waves us inside as he opens the door. The Vault club has modern décor and mirrored reflective walls that seamlessly blend with the polished floor, creating the illusion of space. There’s a reception area before you enter the bar, which is a nice touch. Leather couches line a wall. A busty but well-dressed woman greets us, and we’re charged an entrance fee before we can pass through to the main bar. There’s no advertisement in the foyer for this place’s darker delights because Viktor hasn’t made it an official service yet. We will be bringing people over to help him with that. But he caters to clientele “in the know” by personal invitation or request.
Viktor has said he wants to offer a “members only” option when he adds to the delights part of the club and I like that idea too. We slink inside and let the ambience wash over us.
Music, with a steady beat, moves through the building setting a relaxed vibe. It’s busy for being so late. My eyes scan the private areas secluded along the back wall. Very nice.
Taking a seat in a round booth in one of the far corners, we gauge the atmosphere. It’s electric, sultry, and pulsing.
A woman dressed in a black short skirt that teases her upper thighs sashays over to us. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she purrs, making sure to swipe her tongue across her bottom lip to entice.
“The owner. Is he in?” Z asks, straight to the fucking point.
Her face falters for a millisecond. “Is there a complaint you wish to make?” Gone is the sexy woman who approached and in her place is a worried employee.
Reaching out, I grasp her wrist, setting my fingertips over the urgent pulse thundering there.
“Not about you.” I wink and she blushes. It’s visible even in this dark setting.
“Oh, well, Mr. Harris is by appointment only, I’m afraid.” She frowns at me. “I can get the bar manager if you wish.”
I look around her slim form to the bar and see a flurry of activity. “I think Mr. Harris would want to see us. Tell him we’re here.”
Her brow furrows. “Let me go find the bar manager. He can help with that.”
Releasing her, I sit back in my seat as Z leans over into my space to whisper to me. “Appointment only. I like it.”
“You like being seen Z. No one needs an appointment to find you in our clubs.”
Just as he’s about to reply, a crashing sound draws our eyes to a tray on the floor, glass shattered around it, and a flustered woman offering a barmaid to help to clean it up. My eyes drag over the long fucking legs that thicken with toned muscle at her thighs, curved hips, tapered waist, and round juicy tits nearly spilling out of her black dress.
Thud.
It can’t be.
Chapter Nine
Alonya
Ileave the haven of the back office and almost collide with Jasmin rushing through the door from the bar area.
