Chapter 12 In the Streets
In the Streets
Grant
From what information I could squeeze from Andrea and the internet, most of Red Riot’s business in Vegas was focused on the escort industry, with the occasional arms deal.
Just about every sex or paid companion worker in Vegas was under their protection in return for a sliver of their profits.
Unlike Chicago, where human trafficking ran wild, and Andrea took full advantage of the chaos it created, workers here were far less likely to be snatched off the streets and never seen again.
That fucking idiot Frank didn’t try hard to cover his tracks when he recklessly pulled his bullshit stunt and put those women from Vegas in Andrea’s auction.
I had reason to believe that if I couldn’t get to their boss through the club, I could bribe an escort to provide me with an in with the Riot.
It seemed a better option than sitting on my hands waiting for a phone call.
It had been three days of total silence since my last visit, and it ended with me being caught in a shootout.
At this point, I felt like a damn joke, just waiting around for some unhinged woman to call me with the assumption she would actually put me in contact with the Red Riot boss.
Of course, the mob wouldn’t outright claim to own the Masked Merrow, legally speaking.
It took an entire day and several dead ends to even find an inkling of association between them.
Shell corporations within shell corporations finally spat out a legitimate name instead of a bullshit alias.
And that name wasn’t particularly helpful to me either, because I knew for a fact Taylor Brennan wasn’t the leader of Red Riot.
His name was, however, directly linked to a lounge further down the main strip, which I thought was interesting.
Why would someone so prevalently tied to a mob only choose to be associated with one business?
Personally, I think the Riot just likes to fuck with people.
They offer up this boon for anyone who wants to track them down, so they don’t raise suspicion.
As of now, the Davina Lounge was the only other lead I had.
If no one from the mob was there, maybe one of their allies would be.
I just needed to find an in with someone the Riot trusted.
People in various degrees of inebriation crowded the sidewalks along the main strip, and I had to grit my teeth every time one of them bumped into me.
I was one sloshed drink on my blazer away from punching someone in the face.
While the summer days blazed in Vegas, nights brought and unexpected chill as if offering an apology for the scorching afternoons.
I would hate to lose my only nice jacket to some sticky alcoholic drink.
Surprisingly, there were not many workers out on the streets blatantly advertising their services. That made things much harder than I had anticipated.
The most outrageous coincidence fell in my lap as I came up to the next street corner and turned left, not prepared for another encounter with the woman loitering in the middle of the sidewalk.
Her hair was pulled up into high pigtails that hung all the way to the middle of her back, the neon pink color just one of many factors that made this woman stand out.
Her black windbreaker was almost longer than the sliver of tattered magenta shorts it covered, and her hands were jammed in the pockets as she leaned onto one hip.
The same black mask with pink backlit features gave her face an eerie glow that, on anyone else, would make me uneasy.
“Fucking menace,” I muttered low to myself, weaving through the masses.
What were the chances of another woman wearing a Halloween mask in the summer and clearly obsessed with the color pink wandering Vegas?
There was a fair share of nutcases in this city, I’m sure, but Lorelai was a special brand of insane.
I’d say that was an accurate diagnosis, after watching her grind a man’s hand in his own garbage disposal.
I had a feeling no one was going to even try to replicate her appearance.
The brunette she was talking to was the first to notice my determined path toward them, catching the corner of her eye as she chatted animatedly.
Whatever she said to Lorelai had her bending in half and slapping her leg in laughter.
A come-hither smirk curled her blood-red lips, and she moved to step in between us to catch my attention.
“Hey, baby,” she cooed, her voice smooth and playful with a hint of mirth.
“Looking for a good time tonight?” One finger reached up to play with a coil that had come loose from the rest of her curly hair piled high on her head.
“No.” I jerked my chin. “I need to talk with her. And I don’t think it will be much of a good time, will it?”
For a brief moment, I was sure the woman was going to swing at me.
Her entire demeanor flipped, eyes narrowing to the point her fake lashes looked like the closed mouth of a Venus flytrap, and her lips turned down in what I would most closely identify as disgust. My nose burned with the bitter, burnt smell of a shifter exuding aggression.
All in all, not a reaction I expected from a sex worker of all people.
She seemed extremely protective of Lorelai.
The masked one in question laid her hand on the other’s bare shoulder, effectively reining her in.
“I’ve got this, Patty.” Her voice was heavily distorted with the voice modulator built into the mask, but still managed to break through the rowdy din around us.
The mouth even lit up a little brighter as she spoke, which seemed like a frivolous detail for a damn mask.
“I’ve met this guy before. He just has a massive stick up his ass.
Or maybe rebar. Haven’t decided yet, but either way he’s pretty harmless. ”
I glared as they laughed at my expense, folding my arms in a useless attempt to appear unaffected. “As much as I’d like to stand here and be insulted by you, could we find a more private place to chat?”
The worker, Patty, took a small step toward me with an angry sneer on her face, like she was about to rip me a new asshole. “Who the fuck do you think you are–”
“Patty.”
Just her name from Lorelai’s mouth had her stopping short.
How she acted was extremely confusing. It was almost like Patty was…
deferring to an alpha. In my experience, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart by scent, but I was growing suspicious of how involved Lorelai was in the Red Riot.
She had given the impression of just being a piece of ass in the Masked Merrow the first time we met.
And generally speaking, female alphas were rare in the shifter world.
Even Andrea wasn’t a true alpha by design.
He was an alpha by rank. Alphas were stronger in their animal form and able to change much faster and easier than the average shifter.
Otherwise, alphas were difficult to identify unless they commanded a pack mate, like Lorelai just did.
Who was this woman?
“If you say so,” Patty relented. Then she pointed a sharp red nail so close to my face I would have gone cross-eyed looking at it. “You better fucking act right, or I’ll tear your ass up.”
My lips quirked in a sardonic smirk. If anything, her vehemence was admirable. She was just as petite and curvy as Lorelai, but still managed to look a little intimidating, even in those towering heels boosting her closer to my chest height. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Come along, puppy,” she jerked her head toward the nearby club, almost to the door, while I had been nagged on by her friend. “Patty, stop playing with your food. I promise if he gives me trouble, I’ll toss him to you first.”
Patty harrumphed, arms crossed over her ample bust as she stepped back out of my way. Her dark glare hadn’t budged even a little. “Yeah, you do that.”
‘Davina’ spread across the black door in a vibrant red cursive, and just to the right along the doorframe was a small Red Riot logo painted at eye level.
It was just like the one I found at Masked Merrow that had led me to the gang in the first place.
Lorelai yanked the door open and didn’t wait for me to step through into the darkened lobby.
I barely caught the edge before it slammed into my fingers.
Even if I hadn’t known the connection to the Riot, it wouldn’t have shocked me to find that Davina was under the same ownership as Masked Merrow by the feel of it.
A dark blue and black color palette ran through the cozy space.
Heavy drapery looped along the ceiling’s rafters, while plush black leather booths lined the exterior with a large dance floor.
A bluesy jazz band played onstage, their mellow notes low enough to hear conversations among the tables.
The clientele seemed elevated as well, not exactly coming to thrash with sweaty bodies on a crowded floor and take body shots until they puked.
Female shifters wove throughout the crowd, in sleek black dresses and red heels, offering demure smiles and pleasant chitchat to men in suits with their well-groomed companions or groups of classy women dripping in diamonds.
It was an elevated lounge by all purposes, one that Lorelai moved through with confidence, despite not fitting into the picture at all.
She was a bright neon pink spot crossing a sea of black that flowed around her effortlessly.
Or maybe she was the shark that cut through the water.
The club-goers made a path for Lorelai to pass through with little more than small nods and the slight raising of glasses in acknowledgement.