Doesn’t matter.
The point is, I’m not going on any missing posters or somebody’s airbrushed T-shirt.
What if he’s part of that rival mafia?
My eyes dart toward his arms. He’s not covered in tattoos like Benny, but he has gold rings on his pinky fingers. I won’t assume he’s in the mafia because of his jewelry. Vince wears two the size of Super Bowl rings and he’s not in the mob. I still have my eyes open and my head on a swivel.
Gus is sus.
A figure appears behind the VIP’s sheer privacy curtain. Strobe lights from the main floor spill over a middle-aged man with a Christian BaleAmerican Psychohaircut. He studies me hard, gray eyes sweeping my face. His lips thin before he angles his cleft chin at Gus.
“Time to go,” he says in Italian.
Gus considers the man towering over the couch. He carries himself with an air of self-confidence through broad shoulders and a lean physique tailored in a navy suit.
“I’ll see you around, B.” He stands. “I look forward to it.”
“I see you met Gus,” Rosalie says next to me. “He’s harmless but intense.”
“Does he come here often?” I pick up empty glasses and place them on the cart she brings.
“Mostly when Renata is here. He comes to see the dancers. We should be good in this section. These three will probably move to a private room.” She lifts her chin at the orgy pregame underway.
One man is sprawled on a couch with his tongue chasing a woman’s tonsils. The other two are side-by-side on a couch, taking turns sucking the woman in their laps’ nipples between kisses.
My eyes bulge. “People get down like that here?”
Rosalie giggles. “You’ll get used to it.”
Another man steps into our alcove. “You’ve been requested in VIP,” he says in Italian.
Rosalie nods. “I’ll find you later.”
“Not you. Her.”
I follow the line of his stubby finger aimed at me and turn around. He must be talking to one of the dry-humping ladies with their titties out.
“Me?” My eyes roll at his grunt.
He thumbs toward a red door carved in panels. “That way.”
“Relax.” Rosalie laughs. She lowers her voice. “I was scared my first time too. All you have to do is serve. Playing is optional.”
My head snaps back. “Playing? They got a basketball court back there?”
She laughs harder, pats my shoulder, and leaves me with The Hulk, who nods at the door.
You fucking owe me, Benny.
I suck in a deep breath and follow my escort while running through what other cars in my captor’s garage I’ll crash next on principle. Who knows what’s behind this big-ass door?
People peeing on each other.
Bodies attached to the wall by their scrotums.
Coke bottles rammed into asses.
The Hulk reaches for the brass handle and steps aside like I’m about to see the Wiz. I wish I could click these heels together to go back to Baltimore.
