Catlady_4_: I’d seen that guy around. He was on a site called Prey To Play. Dumbass would post full nudes in the livestream chats.
User_error_0104: Sounds like a douche.
Catlady_4_: Ya. My friend mods for some of the camgirls. He said the guy was a fucking lecher. Pretty bad if you get a rep like that on a fuckin’ cam site, yk?
I scrolled to earlier posts in this thread. Most of the users appeared to follow popular cam streamers, and the Prey To Play website showed up in several conversations. Judging from the chat room itself, it didn’t seem to have connections to the dark web, but I couldn’t be sure. So, how were supposedbad playersin the Prey To Play streams ending up dead?
This was becoming a rabbit hole deeper than I expected… and I wasn’t sure I wanted to follow it to the bottom. But the memory of that one pained noise from the camgirl I was watching punched me in the chest, making it throb with guilt and misplaced protectiveness for her. It could have been the sight of all the terrible comments aimed at her that provoked me. No… that couldn’t be entirely true, either. I had my fair share of horrible things I’d said to women in similar lines of work. Whatever wiring got twisted in my brain while watching Vixen’s stream last night, I was now wholly invested in finding out more about her for my own reasons. Scrolling back to the bottom, I skimmed through some other comments from users on the board until I got to the bottom.
Catlady_4_: There’s a rumor that Prey To Play is tied in with some mob, and that’s why they’ve been able to stay live for so long. Idk, but I’ve never seen anyone talk about hacking into the site to see who’s involved on the back end. Kinda creepy that guy was on the site and ended up dead, tho.
Velcroboi_222: I say good riddance to that asshole, Sumpton. Talk shit get hit.
I opened a new tab on the browser and typed in the victim’s father's name, barely getting to the second letter of his last name before search suggestions showed up. Article after article ran down the page, every news station in Nevada seeming to cover the supposed foul play. Clicking through the first five hardly gave me more information than I’d already gleaned, all telling of a young man destined for greatness, whose life was cut too short. Don Sumpton was indeed a popular real estate investor in Vegas, and his son Gabe appeared alongside him in several pictures from charity events and press releases on grand openings. Both were classically good-looking with dirty blond hair—Gabe’s longer and curling around his ears—and matching blue eyes. I could hardly imagine a young man like that lurkingon porn sites and making lewd comments just by looking at him. Surely he was able to get laid with little effort.
It was becoming clearer that I’d need to find my way into the back end of Prey To Play. The same instinct that’d kept me alive all these years screamed that there was some connection between the cam site and Gabe Sumpton, and by association the Red Riot, since his family was embedded in the Las Vegas economy. There was no way the mob wasn’t involved in his father’s business in some way. They wouldn’t let this Don Sumpton make as much money as he did without demanding a cut of it.
I was going to hack into Prey To Play, and hope I didn’t end up like Gabe.
I wasn’t sure what progress I’d make visiting the Masked Marrow again. It had been almost three days since I left my contact information with the club’s supposed boss, hoping he would actually pass it along to set a meeting with the Red Riot leader. Admittedly, I didn’t know much about the person, even with my extensive research, and Andrea was less than helpful by withholding whatever he knew. It was almost like he wanted me to fail. That thought left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
All I could gather from my research about the Red Riot's elusive leader was a rather gritty and gory reputation when it came to protecting sex workers. No gender, no physical description, and no indication of whether they were part of the shifter community. I had to assume they were, given the relation to Andrea’s part of the black market that specifically catered to the shifter world’s underbelly. We were recognized as our own legal entities in almost every country in the world, an impressive feat given that it's only been about ten years sincethe discovery of our existence, but there were still some gray areas and loopholes when it came to proper identification and legalization. Most governments were trying to figure out how to govern us, given the previous hierarchy falling to more predator-like shifters taking leadership roles in whatever community the shifters lived in. I could assume, given their control of the Las Vegas shifter population, that this mafioso was among the top tier of the food chain with the likes of Andrea and his wolf kin. That limited the options to another wolf, bear, or possibly fox, although the last was the least common in North America. That’s how I ended up fostered by a wolf pack myself. There were no other known fox shifters that could take me in after my parents died.
I didn’t like not knowing who I was dealing with. It put me on the back foot. The lack of progress was frustrating to say the least. And being frustrated was a feeling I was unfamiliar with as far as mob business went.
The bouncer was different tonight, and it didn’t seem like my name was on a blacklist as he eyed the license I handed over. I decided to keep to my real name while trying to get in with the Riot. If they found out I was lying, there was an even slimmer chance they’d let me speak to their boss. The burly man gave it a cursory glance to match the picture to my face before handing it back and nodding to the door, already reaching for the next person’s card as I entered.
While the club was just as crowded as on my last visit, the layout was completely different tonight. What had been an open dance floor in the center was replaced with several circular tables of varying sizes, meant for either couples or groups of up to six, that were strategically placed to focus on the massive stage taking up the far wall in front of the oceanic mural. Heavy black curtains with elegant silver brocade hung behind it, framing a woman in the center stage with an old-style microphone on a stand gripped in her gloved hand. She was a bombshell, all of her waving blonde hair lay over a bare shoulder as the rest of her curvy body was poured into a silky red dress. She crooned some slow jazz song into the microphone, her husky voice an enticing counterpoint to the slow rocking beat of the piano and drums.
The whole atmosphere elevated the space beyond what I imagined a mafia-owned club to look like. I can't say I'm mad at it.
A waitress passed in front of me, wearing a tasteful dress reminiscent of a flapper, carrying her full tray to one of the nearby tables. Her face had a simple black mask, but the tempting smile on her red lips stayed in place as she quickly passed out the drinks and chatted with the patrons. All the waitresses were dressed similarly, further confirming this was some kind of themed night for the club. Even the two male bartenders behind the bar had white button-ups with rolled sleeves and black sleeve garters accenting their biceps.
All of this coordination made the female bartender stick out like a sore thumb, despite the fact that she also wore a simple black mask covering the top half of her face. Her hot pink cutoff shirt revealed a curvy waist beneath a light black riding jacket, giving the impression she wasn’t expecting to work the bar tonight. The woman flipped liquor bottles and mixed drinks with a flourish while chatting animatedly with a couple sitting in front of her. She looked very much in her element, and I hadn’t noticed I was standing in the middle of the entrance watching her until a man bumped into my shoulder. I barely acknowledged his muttered apology and drifted over to an empty seat at the end of the black marble bar top.
Something niggled at the back of my mind, like when a popcorn kernel was stuck in my teeth and I kept worrying it with my tongue. She seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t for the lifeof me remember where I saw her. From her scent—spicy with a hint of manufactured vanilla—I could tell she was a fox shifter like me. That threw me off, considering the other two bartenders were very much human. Foxes rarely enjoyed mingling with humans, like most predatory species. Humans tended to be very uneasy around our type, and it triggered the inherent hunter instincts we worked to keep under control.
“What are you drinking tonight?” The larger of the two male bartenders stepped into my line of sight, a polite smile on his face as he leaned in. “Staring’s gonna cost ya. And trust me, you don’t wanna get caught staring at that one.” His finger jabbed over his shoulder, gesturing at the woman. “She bites.”
His good-natured chuckle made it clear he wasn’t trying to be intimidating. I offered a smirk of my own. “Thanks for the advice. Can I get a gin and tonic?”
The man nodded and turned to his coworker. “Hey, Lorelai! Pass the gin.”
“Lorelai…” I found her name leaving my lips, luckily. too low for anyone else to hear. Discreetly, I took another deep pull and filled my lungs with her scent in an attempt to reconcile it with the woman I met the other day. Sure enough, recognition sparked as the fresh bouquet of alluring pheromones tickled the back of my nose and set my mouth to salivating.
This was the same scent as the masked woman in the office!
She shot a thumbs up, not really paying attention as she grabbed for the bottle while talking and laughing with another woman sipping wine. Not seeming to care where it really landed, the woman he called Lorelai leaned back far enough behind the other bartender totoss the bottle underhandedto the man serving me. The bottle tumbled through the air, and the bartender caught the neck with a sure grip.
I was the only one gaping at her blatant disregard for the possible mess of a broken bottle.
“Glad I played catcher!” he joked. “Who would have thought years of baseball would translate to bartending?” Then he proceeded to make my drink like it was a common occurrence to have liquor tossed at him.
It was very obvious that the woman, Lorelai, didn’t like being still. A shoulder roll, her fingers drumming the countertop, a hand reaching up to twirl a loose piece of curly red hair framing her face, something on her was always moving. Usually, someone like that would make me anxious, setting off my own quirky ticks, like picking at my nails. But with her, it was as if she sucked all that extra energy from me to fuel herself like a perpetual motion machine. All I wanted to do was sit at this bar, undisturbed, and watch her.
It didn’t take long for her to notice me. “Hey!” she called out, shimmying her way behind the other two bartenders to my end. “Need a refill?” Her finger pointed at my almost-empty glass. “What did you have, gin and tonic?” The husky tone of her voice had a slight lilt to it that made every part of me perk up and take notice.
I could feel my brow rise in surprise. She was certainly not hiding the fact that she was a shifter. Not that we had to hide, but being so blatant in a place that employed humans as well threw me off. “Yes, that’s fine.” I finally answered. Ice rattled in the empty glass when I lifted it again. I hadn't even noticed I drained it while watching her work the bar.
