Chapter 19 #3
I look to X. “The dancers don’t set their own extras pricing?”
X chuckles with something I can only call pride softening the edge of his eyes. “Oh they do. Duchy’s just one of the best at making them think she’s innocent.”
One of the best? Is the other Lucy?
No, I can’t imagine Lucy is playing guys like this.
She barely even knew how to lap dance. If she did do this kind of stuff, though, it wouldn’t matter to me.
This is a job, obviously, no feelings involved.
But… no, I just can’t see her being able to pull it off without getting nervous and scampering away.
“You made me cream on my shirt! This is Gucci!” he scoffs. “I’m not paying extra for that on top of what I already paid.”
“Oh, sorry, I thought shirts like this would be a dime a dozen for you.” She shrugs. “Either, way, you know you have to pay or you can’t come back. Please, I want you to come back. You’re my favorite. We always have such a good time.”
He seems to eye her. “What about my silver chip?”
She slides her hands up his chest again as if she’s flirting with him, but… yeah, pretty sure she’s just wiping more of the mess he made off on him. “Oh, sweetie you can always use your silver chip. You know that. I’m always down for a little Smoke.”
He chuckles. “Alright then. What about next Friday? I’ve got a meeting with one of those execs that I’m pretty sure is going to go extra well for me. I’ll want to celebrate with my best girl.”
He boops her nose, and X mumbles under his breath, “For fuck’s sake.”
Then he goes in for a kiss, and X’s fingers twitch over his chips.
“Cut to standard viewing,” Castle orders idly, while the guy’s lips are centimeters from Duchess, and the screens switch to the way they were when the pictures opened up over them, but I don’t know where Duchess’s booth went.
X’s hands are in fists as he turns to Castle, but Castle has stood and swirls his drink next to the window.
“X, you’ll outfit Hatter with a headset.”
“Yes sir,” X answers, his jaw ticking as he glances to the screens.
“Thank you.” After a moment of looking out of the picture window dispassionately, he calls for me.
“Hatter, you’ll appreciate this.”
I stand to meet him at the window, because what the fuck else am I going to do?
This entire meeting has felt like it was happening around me and I’m just along for the ride.
I have no idea why he even revealed his little operation to me, but I have the distinct feeling I’m going to really fucking regret it.
At the window, Castle points to where Lucy is on stage, this time wearing a bunny costume that almost makes me smirk with how on the nose it is.
“Your girl’s starting her first set for the night,” Castle says idly, but my blood freezes in my veins. I swallow.
“My girl?” I scoff. “She ain’t my girl. She’s just a stripper.”
Fuck, I hate even saying any of that out loud, but hopefully Castle buys misogynistic piece of shit and lets go of any thoughts he has about me liking Lucy.
His brow raises slightly and he appraises me. “Is that a fact? So you get into fights with random patrons over… ‘just a stripper?’”
I shrug. “I do when they’re being assaulted by ‘just an asshole.’”
“Hm… you must have some rage built up if you were ready to pounce so quickly.”
I smirk and cross my arms. “Call me an opportunist, I suppose.”
He chuckles lightly. “I can appreciate that more than you know. In fact… Jabber?” he asks without turning around. “Were the transfers successful?”
Jabber grunts something that sounds like an assent.
“Excellent.” He sighs and we watch Lucy in her all-white costume, complete with bunny ears, a white corset, white gauzy tutu, and white fishnet thigh highs with her pointe shoe heels. They’re incredibly daunting and don’t even have the heel part which makes her look like she’s on her tip toes.
What would heel-less shoes feel like with her strong thighs over my shoulder, me in between her legs, digging into my spine…
When Castle speaks again, he shakes me from my thoughts, his voice chillingly calm.
“Now you know what we really do here in our game of chess—although, I don’t know who you are, I suspect you already guessed.
My dancers extract information as well as they do these sorry saps’ money, some better than others.
As you saw, Duchess is highly skilled at what we call ‘Mirroring.’ Making the person feel like they’re being listened to and seen. ”
If that’s Mirroring… “What’s Smoke?”
His mustache twitches. “A special blend. Don’t worry, you won’t get high on it unless you smoke the hookah we’ve designed. You’re just smelling sweet air when you’re around it.”
“Okay… what does it do?”
“It… loosens the tongue. Makes people more susceptible to their impulses. Information becomes water through the hands. Most of our dancers don’t need patrons to use Smoke to extract intel, but the patrons who can’t pay or are harder to crack, those are the ones who are offered it with the silver chip given to each client when they walk through the door. ”
So that’s what that one was for. Mine’s still in my pocket because I had no idea what to do with it. No, I definitely know. Absolutely not a goddamn thing. I’m going nowhere near that shit, and I’m shocked with Lucy’s family history that she goes anywhere near it either.
Shit, does Lucy even know? Is Lucy in on this too?
She can’t be, can she? I mean, she did try to ask me questions in the VIP room, but she was so bad at it.
Like she was almost as intoxicated on me as I felt on her last night.
But does that mean she doesn’t do it or that she’s just terrible at that part of her job?
And if she did know there’s no way she would’ve said some of the things she did in the Flower Room. Right?
“So to protect them,” Castle continues, “Jabber just added to offshore accounts in every single employee’s name in this building.”
Jabber sets both phones down on the table like weapons. His hands—the size of dinner plates—flatten on the surface, fingers spread wide, perfectly still.
“Including yours,” Castle adds. “Of course they’re the aliases provided to us, but the IRS would likely have an easy enough time figuring everyone’s legal name once they got a few technical breadcrumbs from me.
Jabber then bought stock and placed bets based on the tip that Nigel Heathers just gave Duchess.
If you say anything about this, hurt my girls who you so disgustingly identified as ‘just strippers’ or my business in any way, I’ll have you arrested for insider trading and the near murder of Frankie Sousa—”
“Who the hell is Frankie—”
“You know him as Frog,” he says pointedly.
“And don’t interrupt, Hatter, it’s rude.
Frog is in the hospital at the moment, doesn’t remember a thing about what happened to him, but I was able to put things together with the cameras from inside the club.
The cameras on the dock don’t work, and I suspect that’s where the incident happened.
In any case, I’ll use all of what I know against you to keep you in line to protect my business and people inside, if needed.
And I’ll throw Alice’s and X’s involvement in for good measure. ”
X stills behind me, and my mouth dries.
Fuck.
“But don’t think I’m without kindness. Those accounts are a carrot and a stick here, loyal employees get their share of the profits too. The Rabbit Hole as I’ve built it is a game of chess.” He smiles at me then. “Congratulations, Hatter, you’re already on the board.”