“My usual,” I yelled back, grinning around the salted rim of my margarita in reference to Mateo.
She laughed and went back to scouting.
“What about you?”
“Someone’s daddy,” she responded, downing her drink in one go.
“You two are a terrible influence. Come dance with me.” Peyton took our empty glasses, sat them down, then began pulling us to the lower level where the less crowded dance floor was. Between drinking, dancing, and a group bathroom trip or two, time flew. I was well on my way to tipsy, cursing my iron tolerance for the delay.
It was when we were on our way back to our table for a break that a hostess intervened.
“Miss Rias, I need you and your friends to come with me, please.” Without waiting for our response, the woman spun on her heel and began walking away.
We shared a look.
“Miss Rias.” Her sharp tone reached back to me over the music when I had yet to move.
The woman sashayed her way to a black elevator for employees only. She inserted a silver key and the doors engaged. We stepped in, and she hit the button for floor four.
“We look badass,” Melody giggled, much more inebriated than me, gesturing to our reflection in the four mirrored walls.
The doors slid open to a dimly –lit empty hall with shiny marble flooring and potted trees wrapped in diamond lighting. There was a wide golden staircase at the end, with two large tinted glass doors. Without a word, the woman stepped out and followed.
“Do you think this is what the walk to Heaven is like?” Peyton joked.
“No, the hostess sucks,” I said, making him laugh.
A brown brow quirked as the woman looked back at me with the same expression of disdain she’d had since coming to get me.
“Look,” Melody whispered, nodding to a darkened corner by the double doors. Blinking, I took notice of the man I’d completely missed blending in with the shadows. He was in simple suit pants and a plain button-down. The gun at his side told me more information than the shitty hostess.
My eyes drifted to the other corner and sure enough, there was another man looking both bored and at full attention. They turned their heads as we approached, and stepped forward in perfect sync.
I briefly noticed ‘Encore Players Lounge’ engraved on a golden plaque outside the doors.
“The patrón is expecting them,” she said as way of introduction.
One of the men said something in a different language, and knocked on the glass twice.
Not a second later, one of the doors swung open and a man dressed in the same fashion looked out at us.
“Come,” was all he said, beckoning us inside.
It felt like there was a stampede in my stomach as we walked forward. The room was large with glass walls that overlooked the entire club. There were blackjack, roulette, and craps tables. HDTV’s hung from the ceiling, and there was a round metallic bar. The room was complete with plush furnishings.
I didn’t know where to look. There were a total of six men in the room, all in dark suits–minus the jackets. Two women I surmised were hired to be topless and clad in bunny tailed thongs sat on one of the sofas. Another two fully clothed women sat away from them.
Two diamond platters of cocaine already in lines sat on a coffee table as party favors. By the look of the three smudged piles, someone had already indulged.
My eyes finally locked with a set of golden ones and strayed no further.
He grinned at me, cupping my face in his hands and bringing his mouth to mine and pulling me flush against him in a majorly possessive greeting.
“Peyton, Melody, nice to see you’re still around,” he acknowledged them.
I gave him a questioning look in regards to that, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Come, get comfortable.” He took my hand and led me to the bar. I tried to ignore the guns, cash, and kilos openly exposed for us to see but they were right in my face.
