Chapter 8 In the Den #2
While the club was just as crowded as on my last visit, the layout was completely different tonight.
What had been an open dance floor in the center was replaced with several circular tables of varying sizes, meant for either couples or groups of up to six, that were strategically placed to focus on the massive stage taking up the far wall in front of the oceanic mural.
Heavy black curtains with elegant silver brocade hung behind it, framing a woman in the center stage with an old-style microphone on a stand gripped in her gloved hand.
She was a bombshell, all of her waving blonde hair lay over a bare shoulder as the rest of her curvy body was poured into a silky red dress.
She crooned some slow jazz song into the microphone, her husky voice an enticing counterpoint to the slow rocking beat of the piano and drums.
The whole atmosphere elevated the space beyond what I imagined a mafia-owned club to look like. I can't say I'm mad at it.
A waitress passed in front of me, wearing a tasteful dress reminiscent of a flapper, carrying her full tray to one of the nearby tables.
Her face had a simple black mask, but the tempting smile on her red lips stayed in place as she quickly passed out the drinks and chatted with the patrons.
All the waitresses were dressed similarly, further confirming this was some kind of themed night for the club.
Even the two male bartenders behind the bar had white button-ups with rolled sleeves and black sleeve garters accenting their biceps.
All of this coordination made the female bartender stick out like a sore thumb, despite the fact that she also wore a simple black mask covering the top half of her face.
Her hot pink cutoff shirt revealed a curvy waist beneath a light black riding jacket, giving the impression she wasn’t expecting to work the bar tonight.
The woman flipped liquor bottles and mixed drinks with a flourish while chatting animatedly with a couple sitting in front of her.
She looked very much in her element, and I hadn’t noticed I was standing in the middle of the entrance watching her until a man bumped into my shoulder.
I barely acknowledged his muttered apology and drifted over to an empty seat at the end of the black marble bar top.
Something niggled at the back of my mind, like when a popcorn kernel was stuck in my teeth and I kept worrying it with my tongue.
She seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I saw her.
From her scent—spicy with a hint of manufactured vanilla—I could tell she was a fox shifter like me.
That threw me off, considering the other two bartenders were very much human.
Foxes rarely enjoyed mingling with humans, like most predatory species.
Humans tended to be very uneasy around our type, and it triggered the inherent hunter instincts we worked to keep under control.
“What are you drinking tonight?” The larger of the two male bartenders stepped into my line of sight, a polite smile on his face as he leaned in.
“Staring’s gonna cost ya. And trust me, you don’t wanna get caught staring at that one.
” His finger jabbed over his shoulder, gesturing at the woman. “She bites.”
His good-natured chuckle made it clear he wasn’t trying to be intimidating. I offered a smirk of my own. “Thanks for the advice. Can I get a gin and tonic?”
The man nodded and turned to his coworker. “Hey, Lorelai! Pass the gin.”
“Lorelai…” I found her name leaving my lips, luckily.
too low for anyone else to hear. Discreetly, I took another deep pull and filled my lungs with her scent in an attempt to reconcile it with the woman I met the other day.
Sure enough, recognition sparked as the fresh bouquet of alluring pheromones tickled the back of my nose and set my mouth to salivating.
This was the same scent as the masked woman in the office!
She shot a thumbs up, not really paying attention as she grabbed for the bottle while talking and laughing with another woman sipping wine.
Not seeming to care where it really landed, the woman he called Lorelai leaned back far enough behind the other bartender to toss the bottle underhanded to the man serving me.
The bottle tumbled through the air, and the bartender caught the neck with a sure grip.
I was the only one gaping at her blatant disregard for the possible mess of a broken bottle.
“Glad I played catcher!” he joked. “Who would have thought years of baseball would translate to bartending?” Then he proceeded to make my drink like it was a common occurrence to have liquor tossed at him.
It was very obvious that the woman, Lorelai, didn’t like being still.
A shoulder roll, her fingers drumming the countertop, a hand reaching up to twirl a loose piece of curly red hair framing her face, something on her was always moving.
Usually, someone like that would make me anxious, setting off my own quirky ticks, like picking at my nails.
But with her, it was as if she sucked all that extra energy from me to fuel herself like a perpetual motion machine.
All I wanted to do was sit at this bar, undisturbed, and watch her.
It didn’t take long for her to notice me.
“Hey!” she called out, shimmying her way behind the other two bartenders to my end.
“Need a refill?” Her finger pointed at my almost-empty glass.
“What did you have, gin and tonic?” The husky tone of her voice had a slight lilt to it that made every part of me perk up and take notice.
I could feel my brow rise in surprise. She was certainly not hiding the fact that she was a shifter.
Not that we had to hide, but being so blatant in a place that employed humans as well threw me off.
“Yes, that’s fine.” I finally answered. Ice rattled in the empty glass when I lifted it again.
I hadn't even noticed I drained it while watching her work the bar.
Lorelai gave a broad smile. Something almost like mischief sparked in those bewitching green eyes. “Coming up.” Without looking away, she called out to one of the other bartenders. “Oy, toss me the Plymouth!”
I chuckled despite myself. Definitely not being subtle with figuring out the drink by scent. It was the exact liquor brand as my first drink. “Heads up!” The man tossed the bottle, her hand plucking it from the air with apparent ease.
She was cocky and flashy. On anyone else, it would be a major turnoff. But something about that self-assuredness drew me in just as much as her enticing scent did. “Do you live in the area?”
Great, like that didn’t sound creepy at all. Talking with live people is so difficult.
Fortunately, Lorelai didn’t seem to think I was being too nosy. “Not super close, but most of my haunts are in this area. You?”
“I’m here for business, but thought I’d venture out tonight.”
An easy smile curled her full lips, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. Those had a much more calculating look to them. “Yeah? Well, enjoy your drink,” she nodded to the glass. “Put the next one on me. As a token of our chance encounter.”
And with a flourished bow, she moved back down to cover her side of the bar.
I couldn’t hold back the amused grin that broke through my restraint.
Even pressing the drink to my lips didn’t quite get rid of it.
That warm, fuzzy feeling was quickly doused, though, with a surprised shout from the front of the club.
A shout shortly followed by the unmistakable sound of an automatic rifle spraying its bullets.
Deafening crashes followed by water splashing on the ground filled the air alongside frantic screams and yells to get out of the club.
Bodies of unfortunate guests who hadn’t ducked quickly enough began to hit the floor, blood pooling and making the polished concrete too slick to run across without falling.
“The fuck?” The bartender who served me first leaned over the bar to get a better look before quickly ducking down behind it. “Hey, gear up!” he shouted to the other two, who were doing the same.
Total chaos had broken out on the floor, with patrons hiding behind chairs and shoving over the tables to hide themselves.
Everyone at the bar scattered as well, screaming and throwing glasses in their scramble to find cover.
I didn’t bring my gun in—assuming they were going to pat me down at the door anyway—but I had a switchblade I managed to sneak in up my jacket sleeve that I pulled out to snap open.
Using the stool I sat on, I boosted myself over the bar top and crouched with the other bartenders.
I realized now what the first one meant by 'gearing up.'
All three had donned bulletproof vests, two holding handguns in a ready position. Lorelai was the first to vault herself back over the counter… and she was the only one not armed. At least, not with a gun.
“Shit!” The other man hissed, looking over at the two of us. “Girl is batshit crazy! Will, message Taylor and tell him to get a fucking team here now!”
Will, the man closest to me, yanked his phone from the back pocket of his slacks and rapidly typed on the screen. “Done! You cover Lore, and I’ll make my way up to the balcony.”
I chanced a peek over the bar to get my bearings and take note of where the shooters were spreading throughout the club.
Lorelai had ducked behind the closest table with another terrified couple, and I realized belatedly she was, in fact, armed.
With a fucking tire iron. She was crouched on a knee and braced on her left arm, the other gripping the iron as she took a quick look around the overturned table.
I could only watch in shocked horror as she sprang up and stepped behind one of the gunmen that passed by, a gun pressed to his shoulder and his attention sighted down the barrel. Rookie move on his part.