“How’s business?” he asks, eyes dancing with excitement at what he thinks is the possibility of drawing the Irish into his web.
“Good,” I say, keeping a cool expression on my face.
“Do you own this?” Liam asks, glancing around at the club.
“Wonderland?” He smiles. “No. But I do conduct a lot of business here.”
“I didn’t realize we were meeting in a brothel,” I say, watching girls lead men through a door near the back. Disappearing into a hallway lined with private rooms.
Giovanni laughs, a gold chain glinting from inside of his open shirt. “It’s a gentlemen’s establishment, my friend. Best girls in Boston! Let me know if any strike your fancy.” He winks and I look away.
“I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you.” Giovanni takes a sip of his drink. “Heard you O’Rourkes got yourself into some hot water recently with both the Russians and the Italians.”
I fix my gaze on him, giving nothing away as he begins to squirm under my dark intensity, realizing he’s tiptoed into dangerous waters.
“You owe me girls,” I say, leaning forward in my chair and watching him shift. He can’t hide his discomfort.
“Listen, I didn’t know you were one of the vendors.”I wasn’t, but he doesn’t know that. “We hit a little snag, and the delivery is going to be—delayed.”
“What do you meandelayed?” Liam growls, looking surprisingly convincing, and Giovanni looks anxiously between the two of us. “There was a—a complication, with the latest shipment,” he rushes out, watching our faces for our reactions.
I shoot a dark look Liam’s way when the corner of his mouth ticks up at Giovanni’s admission, though it’s an effort to keep a straight face myself.
“We’re a little low on inventory at the moment?—”
“That sounds like ayouproblem.” I take a sip of my drink.
Giovanni pales.
Liam zeroes in. “So, the auction is… off?”
His eyes widen as he takes in the three of us. “Who told you about that?” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.
I ignore the question, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “We want in.”
Gio swirls the ice in his empty glass nervously. “It’s not that simple, buyers for such an event need to be vetted. There’s a process.”
“So vet me.”
Giovanni mumbles some more about “process” but I don’t hear him; movement on the stage across the room catches my attention, forcing me upright.
Look away.
I don’t.
Since the moment she walked out on that stage seconds ago, she’s had my full attention.Why?I’m still trying to figure that out.
I don’t normally care for strippers but the way this one moves… She doesn’t move like the others. I notice each careful step, how she stretches up on her toes before she turns, the subtlest little flick of her wrist. I’ve spent hours watching Briar dance. Over and over and over... the same routines, the same moves, practicing, perfecting, obsessing…
The girl on stage arches her back up against the mirrored pole and I lean forward in my chair, sliding my glass onto the table and resting my elbows on my knees.
It’s her.It’s Briar. I haven’t seen her face but I don’t have to.
Iknowit’s her.
Rage boils, warring with shock and something darker, sharper twists deep inside me at the realization.Why is she here?Briar doesn’t work here, she’s not a stripper, but yet she sure looks like she knows what she’s doing up there.
She turns and I finally catch a glimpse of her face. It’s her, but it’snot. Gone is the girl I’ve been watching all week. The quiet focus, intense discipline, and overwhelming innocence—gone. This isn’t that girl. The black lingerie clinging to her body is a sharp contrast to the oversized sweats and dance clothes she’s been living in for the past two weeks. Her dark brown hair, usually pulled back and half falling out of either a messy bun or braid, is down, cascading in loose, polished curls down her back. Under the club lighting it looks nearly black, highlighting the equally dark winged liner accentuating her eyes.
