Chapter 34
WE’RE ALL MAD HERE
KOEN
Now
“We should wait for Aidan,” Liam says, a look of unease in his eyes as we arrive outside of Wonderland, the strip club Giovanni uses like it’s his personal conference room.
“Aidan’s not coming,” I say. “He’s staying at the Lake House with Rory. You, me and Alex can handle Giovanni Moretti. Aidan needs some time to sort shit out with his new wife.”
“I’m sure they’re getting in plenty of cardio,” Liam muses, shooting a wink at Alex who rolls his eyes.
We step into the club and immediately are approached by a blonde with huge tits. They’re spilling out of the tight black dress she’s squeezed them into. “Mr. O’Rourke,” she says, her smile eager. “Mr. Moretti is expecting you. Please come this way.”
It’s a Friday night and the place is busy. As we get closer to VIP, I notice they have some high roller football players in. It’s causing quite the stir among the dancers in the club as they try and hustle their way into the lap of one of the professional athletes.
The blonde leads us to a private table, off to the right of the center stage, in the VIP section.
Another blonde is curled around the pole in front of us, her body contorted in ways that defy gravity, but my attention is on the Italian in a sleek navy suit headed our way with a huge smile on his face.
“Koen! Good to see you.” Giovanni offers his hand and I take it. “Welcome to Wonderland.” He winks at me but I just scowl at him. I’m not known for my warm personality.
“Giovanni.”
“Come, come.” He smiles, motioning for us to sit.
We take a seat. Liam and I on one of the couches opposite the one Giovanni sinks into. Alex slides into one of the arm chairs.
“How’s business?” he asks, eyes dancing with excitement at what he thinks is the possibility of drawing the Irish into his web.
“Good,” I say, keeping a cool expression on my face.
“Do you own this?” Liam asks, glancing around at the club.
“Wonderland?” He smiles. “No. But I do conduct a lot of business here.”
“I didn’t realize we were meeting in a brothel,” I say, watching girls lead men through a door near the back. Disappearing into a hallway lined with private rooms.
Giovanni laughs, a gold chain glinting from inside of his open shirt. “It’s a gentlemen’s establishment, my friend. Best girls in Boston! Let me know if any strike your fancy.” He winks and I look away.
“I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you.” Giovanni takes a sip of his drink. “Heard you O’Rourkes got yourself into some hot water recently with both the Russians and the Italians.”
I fix my gaze on him, giving nothing away as he begins to squirm under my dark intensity, realizing he’s tiptoed into dangerous waters.
“You owe me girls,” I say, leaning forward in my chair and watching him shift. He can’t hide his discomfort.
“Listen, I didn’t know you were one of the vendors.” I wasn’t, but he doesn’t know that. “We hit a little snag, and the delivery is going to be—delayed.”
“What do you mean delayed?” Liam growls, looking surprisingly convincing, and Giovanni looks anxiously between the two of us. “There was a—a complication, with the latest shipment,” he rushes out, watching our faces for our reactions.
I shoot a dark look Liam’s way when the corner of his mouth ticks up at Giovanni’s admission, though it’s an effort to keep a straight face myself.
“We’re a little low on inventory at the moment—”
“That sounds like a you problem.” I take a sip of my drink.
Giovanni pales.
Liam zeroes in. “So, the auction is… off?”
His eyes widen as he takes in the three of us. “Who told you about that?” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.
I ignore the question, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “We want in.”
Gio swirls the ice in his empty glass nervously. “It’s not that simple, buyers for such an event need to be vetted. There’s a process.”
“So vet me.”
Giovanni mumbles some more about “process” but I don’t hear him; movement on the stage across the room catches my attention, forcing me upright.
Look away.
I don’t.
Since the moment she walked out on that stage seconds ago, she’s had my full attention. Why? I’m still trying to figure that out.
I don’t normally care for strippers but the way this one moves…
She doesn’t move like the others. I notice each careful step, how she stretches up on her toes before she turns, the subtlest little flick of her wrist. I’ve spent hours watching Briar dance.
Over and over and over... the same routines, the same moves, practicing, perfecting, obsessing…
The girl on stage arches her back up against the mirrored pole and I lean forward in my chair, sliding my glass onto the table and resting my elbows on my knees.
It’s her. It’s Briar. I haven’t seen her face but I don’t have to.
I know it’s her.
Rage boils, warring with shock and something darker, sharper twists deep inside me at the realization. Why is she here? Briar doesn’t work here, she’s not a stripper, but yet she sure looks like she knows what she’s doing up there.
She turns and I finally catch a glimpse of her face.
It’s her, but it’s not. Gone is the girl I’ve been watching all week.
The quiet focus, intense discipline, and overwhelming innocence—gone.
This isn’t that girl. The black lingerie clinging to her body is a sharp contrast to the oversized sweats and dance clothes she’s been living in for the past two weeks.
Her dark brown hair, usually pulled back and half falling out of either a messy bun or braid, is down, cascading in loose, polished curls down her back.
Under the club lighting it looks nearly black, highlighting the equally dark winged liner accentuating her eyes.
Her eyes.
They’re unfocused. She smiles, bats her pretty little eyelashes at the men at her feet, but it’s almost as if she’s looking through them.
Her mind is elsewhere, disconnected from the body crawling along the floor, pandering for men’s attention.
They call out to her, requests, beckoning her closer, wanting to touch her, waving dollars at her. But it’s as if she can’t hear them.
Her body, usually loose and free when she’s dancing, is tense; the delicate curve of her shoulders are stiff, and her fingers grip the pole in front of her just a little too tightly.
She’s on edge. My fists clench and my jaw tightens. I sit perfectly still, and I know I should look away but I can’t. Afraid that if I do, she’ll disappear and I’ll lose her again.
Fury burns hot under my skin but I force myself to stay in my seat.
“Gorgeous, right?” I hear Giovanni say, taking notice of my attention.
I don’t say anything, don’t look at him, keeping my eyes locked on her.
“She for sale?” I hear Alex say, and I break my gaze on Briar for the first time to shoot him a dark look. He just cocks his head at me.
Giovanni, to my surprise, looks uncomfortable. His mouth tightens when he looks up at Briar, not answering Alex’s question.
Instead, he turns his attention back on me. “You like her, yeah?”
Look away.
“That’s Bella.”
No. That’s Briar.
I force my eyes away from the stage again and reach down to pick up my drink.
The music finally stops and my little dancer disappears backstage, and it takes everything in me not to follow her.
Giovanni leans over to tell one of his men something. The man nods and disappears.
Moments later a couple girls are brought over, though none of them are Briar.
A girl with short, bright purple hair that has to be a wig slithers up to me, attempting to take a seat on my knee.
“No,” I growl, lightly shoving her away.
She’s not too broken up about it because a half a second later she’s crawling into Liam’s lap alongside the blonde he’s already got curled around him, whispering something into his ear with a smile on her face.
I want to find Briar. I want to find out why the fuck she’s here but I sense Giovanni’s eyes on me. I’ve already piqued his interest when I stared at Briar for too long.
He calls her Bella. How many fucking names does this girl have?
“So about those girls you owe me.” I fixate my narrowed attention back on to Giovanni.
The waitress appears, slipping a fresh glass of sambuca con la mosca into Giovanni’s hands but I don’t look up, enjoying watching Giovanni squirm under my hardened gaze a little too much.
“What can I get for you?”
I see her at the exact moment she sees me, and she straightens up with surprise, nearly dropping the glass in her hand.
Briar.
“Your best Irish whiskey,” Liam chirps, oblivious though he looks my way, tilting his head questioningly.
Briar doesn’t move, doesn’t write down the order. No, she just stares at me. A fawn’s response, deer in headlights, which slowly morphs into panic and fear as her eyes dart between Gio and me.
“Ah, Bella.” Giovanni’s Italian accent draws out her name, and I almost reach for my gun when his hand wraps around Briar’s wrist, tugging her down and into his lap.
I grip the arm rest on my seat in order to stay in it.
He smiles at her, but her body language is tense, and she leans away from him, attempting to slide back off his lap, but he tugs her back and she stops trying to get away. That faraway look reentering her eye.
My grip on my glass tightens.
“This girl can move.” Gio grins and I want to punch him. “Are you going to dance for us later, Bella?” he asks, gesturing toward the small elevated stage that’s actually the table between us.
Briar’s eyes dart between Gio’s and mine before she answers, her voice tight. “I’m on drinks right now, but maybe later.”