Chapter 8
Levi
When Lucas and I initially established Pulse Nightclub, we went full fucking throttle with our baby. Becoming a beacon to the nightlife that thrived along The Strip.
Pulling up along the front curb, I exited my car and took in the matte black exterior, adorned with bright neon graffiti designed by local artists.
At night, blacklights from the base of the building illuminated the array of colors, making them pop with a vibrancy that could be seen from a mile away.
After entering through the double doors, I gradually made my way across the main floor, inspecting the three freshly polished silver cages that our in-house dancers utilized to provide entertainment and add to the overall ambiance.
Guests were not permitted inside, and they were locked at all times, primarily when our performers were using the space.
Over my shoulder and bordering the dance floor were several VIP booths, upholstered in black leather.
All of which had unobstructed views of the cages, for those who came to watch our dancers perform.
As I passed along the row leading toward the staircase, I ran my hand along the dark mauve suede accents—the texture as smooth as butter against my palm.
Ascending the stairs to the second level, I admired the drapes that hung from the ceiling, matching the accents of the main floor with strings of glittering diamonds intertwined within them.
Lining the hall of the second-floor balcony were five private suites, with one large group playroom at the far end. Opening the first door, I peered inside, confirming that the king-sized bed in the far corner was made. Deep amethyst silk sheets wedged neatly between the mattress and the frame.
These rooms were designed for one thing, and one thing only. Sex. Hanging along the wall opposite the bed were various toys for play, ranging from whips to ball gags. Below those were rows of drawers concealing a generous assortment of vibrators, dildos, and strap-ons.
Knowing the cleaners had already been through every room, tagging the doors with a clean slip, I didn’t feel the need to inspect each one, and so I made my way back down to the bar to wait for my brother as he checked in with the staff before opening.
Pulse had a zero-tolerance policy for unsolicited physical and sexual contact for guests and employees. Our suites required all those who entered to sign strict waivers, ensuring consent from all parties before entering the room.
No waiver, no access. Period. We didn’t give a fuck about what anyone did behind closed doors; all that mattered was that every individual was participating of their own free will.
There was no formal dress code for our staff, aside from no street clothes.
We preferred to extend freedom of choice and comfort.
They could strip down to nothing if they so desired, but only a handful actually did.
Most choose to keep to their lace lingerie, revealing swimsuits, and nothing further.
It was refreshing to see them take their own unique spin on dance attire.
None of our employees worked in the suites aside from the cleaners at the end of the night—paid exceptionally well for their services and their discretion. Although that’s not to say that our dancers haven’t taken advantage of being offered a night of explicit fun alongside our paying guests.
As for Lucas and me, we’ve never participated in the club’s activities.
To us, Pulse was primarily a nightclub where locals and tourists alike could let loose and dance.
The addition of the adult playground was secondary, created because some nights, especially when excessive alcohol was involved, things had a way of getting out of hand rather quickly.
“Everything looks good. The girls are getting ready in the dressing room…” Lucas jogged down the stairs from the second floor and took quick strides to where I had been leaning with an elbow propped on top of the main bar. “Any reservations for the suites tonight?”
The play suites were typically available on a first-come, first-served basis because we didn’t advertise them. But, every now and then, our regulars would call to reserve one of the suites ahead of time.
“No, not tonight.” I dragged a hand through my hair before pulling a piece of folded paper from the breast pocket of my blazer and passing it off to Lucas. “However, Chanelle officially submitted her two-week notice. We’ll have to audition for her replacement sooner rather than later.”
“Always a good time—auditions, that is.” Lucas chuckled, his expression clearly reminiscent of all the open calls he'd taken lead on since we had opened.
“For you, maybe. You’re leaving… When? Oh yeah, tomorrow, and this tour is a month long, right?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hold them without me. Auditions are fun, especially when you get the ones who think they can actually dance but can’t.”
I rolled my eyes—heavily, before taking the note back and crumpling it up in my fist, the sharp edges digging into my skin as I used the pain to tamp down my aggravation.
“Who knows, you might find us a wife in one of those auditions.”
After narrowing my eyes on my brother, I realized he had a point, always thinking two steps ahead of me. While looking for Chanelle’s replacement, I could also be auditioning for our lucky bride-to-be.
But what are the odds that I’d find her?
Brushing off the idea, “Highly unlikely. You’d have a better chance of finding her while you’re out on tour.”
“And then bring her home with a red bow around her waist; all tied up and pretty?” Lucas crossed his arms over his chest, and I could see his gaze drifting away, imagining his perfect woman—most likely in nothing but the bow.
“As if she wouldn’t come willingly,” I stated with a laugh.
“Oh, she’d come… a lot. I’ll make sure of that.” His smug smile alone said everything, always so proud of the way he knew he could fuck a woman into submission—we both could, especially when we had her between the two of us.
“Finish setting up the bar; I’ll be in my office putting together audition flyers and scheduling the social media posts.”
Pushing off the bar, I headed for the stairs, throwing Chanelle’s crumpled notice into the trash beside the entrance before shoving a hand into the front pocket of my jeans while the other grabbed onto the rail.
“See, you are excited!” Lucas cheered with a smirk, skirting around the counter and picking up the clipboard holding the evening’s opening checklist.
“Fucking thrilled,” I responded with blunt sarcasm, rolling my eyes as I gripped the metal railing, taking the stairs two steps at a time.
Now I needed to tailor this casting call to us, rather than the club. This isn't just business anymore, it's personal.