Chapter 5
FIVE
The desert sun sets behind me as I step through the back door of Vortex, the anticipation of that space of time between the day ending outside of these walls and life expanding inside them filling me.
The club is stirring but still caught in the calm before the storm. I grab a rag from behind the bar and start the ritual of washing down everything while the DJ starts up the first track. Soon, the bass thrums through the floor, the pulse quickly syncing with the beat of my heart.
It’s early in the night, but Vegas doesn’t give a fuck about the time. The club’s dim lights and swirling neon make you forget the outside world, creating a cocoon of escapism I’ve come to rely on.
“Hey, Sylus, make sure to fill up the bottles. We ran out of vodka yesterday,” Sienna calls over.
I nod, aware that I could tell her to get her own shit, but I drop the rag and head to the back. The storage room is cool and quiet as I grab a couple of bottles, mentally checking off what we need.
After only three months at this job, it’s become routine. Nothing special, nothing amazing, but what I needed when I started here—a distraction—something to keep me occupied, to keep me from sinking into the abyss.
The nights are the worst.
The money doesn’t matter, and neither do my coworkers.
I’m not here to make friends. I’ve got friends, the kind who are more like brothers.
But right now, we’re all mourning the same person, each of us dealing with it in our own way.
And since everyone except me decided they needed space to grieve alone rather than lean on each other, I had to find my own way to cope that does not entail the shit I used to do in the past to keep me from spiraling.
Maybe that makes me as selfish as the rest of them.
Alaric hides in his room, even more of an asshole than usual. Ezra throws himself into work, always busy with one more case, one more lead. And the twins? They are lost in their plans for revenge that may get all of us killed.
Just like their Uncle Oscar.
The man who was more of a father figure to all of us.
He and Ezra saved me from my reckless ego and a future behind bars or worse.
They showed me I could use my talents for good.
They pulled me out of the darkness, away from my abusive father and neglectful mother, giving me a chance at a life I never thought I could have.
I owe them everything. Without Oscar, I wouldn’t be living in a mansion in Vegas at fucking twenty-five, free from the worries of money and hunger that had haunted me for most of my life. He gave me a chance, a way out, a family. And now, the weight of his absence is a constant ache in my chest.
Don’t think about it, Sy.
Returning to the bar with the bottles, I set them down as I continue my prep while the club slowly comes to life around me.
“Hey, handsome, a mojito and your phone number, please,” a hot blonde purrs as she leans on the bar.
“Mojito coming right up,” I reply, tossing some mint into the glass and giving it a quick muddle.
She watches me work, a mischievous grin on her lips. “Are you working all night?”
“Yeah.” I flash her a quick, fake smile as I add the rum and ice.
She tilts her head, her hair falling over one shoulder as she leans closer. “Good to know how much time I’ve got to convince you to take me home.”
I chuckle, shaking my head along with the cocktail before pouring the contents of the shaker into a glass and sliding the drink across the bar to her. “That’ll be twenty bucks.”
“Worth every penny.” She winks, her eyes lingering on mine a moment longer than necessary.
Goose bumps start to form on my arms, and I know right away it’s not because of the woman I’ve just served. I wipe my hands on a towel and let my eyes drift toward the entrance as if drawn by a magnet, drawn to her, the one thing I allow myself to obsess over these days.
She steps into the club, her skin shimmering with glitter that catches the light, and the crowd parts around her as if she’s their queen.
The woman who literally sparkles and shines in the darkness of my night.
And with that one glance at her, I’m already sporting a semi. It’s been months since I’ve touched anyone but myself, grief taking its toll. Before everything fell apart, I had my fair share of women, never more than once, never serious. I tend to get bored way too quickly for anything else.
That face, though.
That perfect body, the way she moves—it’s been three months since I first saw her, and she still hasn’t become boring. Not once. I doubt she ever will, especially since she’s not fucking interested in what I’m offering.
You ever wanted to fuck someone so bad shit is on your mind all fucking day?
Yesterday, she seemed more intrigued than on any of the other nights.
Of course, I’ve noticed how she looks at me as if she likes what she sees, but every time I try to flirt with her, it doesn’t seem to register.
And it’s not because she’s dense. It’s quite the opposite.
She’s sharp and funny, at least from what I’ve seen watching her night after night.
She’s a party girl, loud and flirty, and she never goes home alone.
The way she does it, you might think it’s all a game to her—picking up guys—like it was for me when I picked up girls.
But I know a fellow tortured soul when I see one.
It’s in her eyes. Those haunted eyes look so sad, even when a grin spreads across her face.
It’s as if I’m the only one who sees it. Or I’m the only one who cares.
Maybe that’s what fascinates me about her.
Or maybe it’s because she’s the hottest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, and she’s fucked everybody in this club but me.
I probably spend too long obsessing over Sparkle because the blonde who was in front of me and so determined to sit my shift out is gone.
Oh well.
If I start hooking up again, it wouldn’t be with her anyway. It’d be with the brunette already surrounded by a crowd of guys on the dance floor like every damn night. She and her glitter are a flame, and every straight guy’s dick turns into a moth when she walks in.
God, I need to work on my metaphors.
I’m ready to grab the Jack, but she doesn’t even look my way, and where she usually gets herself a drink first and then flirts around to find a guy to take home, taking her time, tonight it seems she’s… in a hurry?
One guy is dancing at her back while another stands in front of her, talking. She doesn’t appear interested in what he’s saying. Instead, she reaches up and pulls his head down to her, kissing him while she grinds into the guy behind her.
Holy shit, that’s hot as fuck.
Their hands roam over her body, sliding over her cami and under the hem of her short skirt, and fuck, what I would give to be one of them. The idea of getting my hands on her, feeling her body move against mine the way she does with them.
Goddammit.
Shifting uncomfortably, I adjust my stance so I can subtly rearrange my hardening cock behind the bar.
The last thing I need is to pop a full-on hard-on while I’m supposed to be working.
Except it’s impossible not to react when I see her like this, lost in the music, her hair a wild tangle around her face, her eyes closed, lips parted while one of the guys licks up her throat.
I imagine she tastes sweet with a hint of whiskey, and my mouth waters at the thought.
Clenching my jaw, I will my body to calm the fuck down, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
There’s a hunger in her movements that’s raw and almost painful to watch.
Something seems off with her tonight. She’s not truly enjoying herself.
Once more, I’m the only one who seems to see the cracks in her facade and how her eyes don’t quite match the intensity of her actions. She seems to be trying to drown herself in sensation.
I know that feeling all too well.
She takes the guy she was kissing by the hand and drags him into the women’s bathroom, leaving the second standing there like an idiot while he watches them go.
It’s nothing new. I’ve seen her disappear with guys in there more than once.
And honestly, I prefer it to the thought of her taking someone back to her place.
This city is full of assholes with bad intentions.
Though with her being a stripper, she’s probably used to dealing with pricks and knows how to handle them.
A stripper.
I don’t know why that surprised me. I would make money with that body, too, if I were her. Is she doing extra? Is that what this is? Is she looking for clients? Tonight, is she that desperate because she’s out of money?
I try to focus on anything else—serving drinks, watching the ever-growing crowd, chatting with Sienna—but it’s no use. My mind is stuck on Sparkle, and I can’t easily breathe until I see her come back out of the bathroom, guy in tow. She looks disheveled and fucked but not content.
I swear I would take better care of you.
Lucky Guy, who just fucked her, on the other hand, looks blissed out. Fuck, I would crawl over broken glass to lick his dick, simply to maybe get a taste of her.
And I’m not into cock.
The guy who was dancing behind her earlier storms up to them, yelling and getting into Sparkle’s face.
She tries to slide away from between them, but Angry Guy grabs her wrist, keeping her there.
His fingers dig into her skin, and even from behind the bar, I see pain flash across her face.
The guy she fucked walks off as if she isn’t his problem anymore.
Hell no.