Chapter 14 #2
For a weeknight, the bar is packed. Loud music thumps in my ears, and I take a moment to observe the other patrons to try and clue myself in to how to act in this type of social setting.
Being out of my element makes my usual I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-others-think-about-me personality falter and I feel a tad self-conscious.
Knowing I can’t just stand here and look around, I go to the bar, grab the first stool I can, and order a vodka and cranberry.
I sip it, turning in the stool to watch the crowd.
You’re a sexy young woman here to have fun.
Act like it. My gaze zeroes in on a group of girls who look to be about my age.
All three are in skin-tight leather dresses, with their hair teased and curled to perfection, and just the right amount of black eyeliner to look edgy and cool.
They’re talking, drinking, and dancing, and look totally at ease. Being here alone limits me, and I have to force myself not to think about how I don’t even have friends to invite out with me even if I wasn’t on a secret mission to gather vampire intel.
“Hey.” A short blond guy saunters over, leaning onto the bar next to me to order another drink. He’s also dressed in all black and has fake fangs fitted over his teeth. “First time here?”
I take another sip of my drink, waiting for the “because I would have remembered you” line.
“Yeah. How can you tell?”
“You look nervous.” He rests his elbow on the bar and lowers his gaze from my face to my breasts, letting it linger there for a few seconds. “And I wouldn’t forget a pair of tits like those.”
I grind my jaw. He’s an asshole. A pig and an asshole, who probably has a small dick. Hating myself just a bit, I fake a smile, acting flattered and shy at the same time.
“I take it you come here often?” I take another sip of my drink. I don’t intend on finishing it.
“I’m a regular,” he says proudly, flashing the fake fangs, which are several shades whiter than his normal teeth. “It gets addictive.”
“The bar?” I ask, since I can’t come out and say “the vampire sex” without raising alarm.
“It’s more the camaraderie here. We all have something in common and we don’t judge each other’s freaky interests.”
“That’s actually really awesome.”
“I’ve met some good friends through this place.” He gets his drink but doesn’t leave. “What brings you here?”
“Curiosity.” I flash a smile, watching his body language. I’m going to give him whatever he wants—without ever touching him, that is. This guy could be my ticket to the back room.
“I like curiosity.” He takes a big gulp of his drink, then offers me a hand to shake. “My name’s Darrell, by the way.”
“Emma.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He downs the rest of his drink. “So, Emma, what are you curious about?”
I lean closer. “A friend came here not too long ago and told me she had the best night, if you know what I mean.” I touch my neck then sweep my fingers down over my breasts.
“Oh, I think I do.” He looks me up and down. “You’re into that?”
I fake a high-pitched laugh. “Are you judging me, Darrell? I thought you said this was a safe place to be myself.”
“It definitely is, baby.”
It takes effort not to cringe. I do not like pet names, especially when they come from stout little men wearing Halloween-costume-quality fangs.
I take my straw between my lips, pretending to take a drink.
I catch sight of the three girls in all leather again.
They’re at a table now, taking selfies and sucking down margaritas.
“Want to watch a show with me?” Darrell asks.
“Uh, sure. Yeah. Definitely yeah.” That was easier than I thought, and I’m both grateful I don’t have to schmooze him anymore and taken aback from the ease at which he asked me to watch a strip show with him.
“Follow me.” He steps forward, holding out his arm.
I loop mine through, leaning in to smell him for good measure.
He’s in need of a shower and to lay off the cigarettes, but he doesn’t stink of sulfur.
We weave our way through the people on the dance floor and go behind a black velvet curtain that leads to a narrow hallway and down a set of stairs into the basement.
I’m a cop with a loaded gun in my purse and this is making me nervous. What the fuck were some of these women thinking, going to a place like this?
“After you,” he says, holding out a hand.
I push open a blood-red door, emerging into what looks like the typical strip club you’d see in movies.
Three girls are on stage, bending over and shaking their asses in the faces of horny men.
A male couple is making out at one of the booths, and the fat old man who’s getting a lap dance seems to be having a hard time controlling himself.
A few other couples are here, looking like they’re pretty damn into this as well.
I follow Darrell to a small table near the front, and I try to quickly scope everything out before taking a seat.
Along with the door we came through, there’s one behind the bar, probably leading to a kitchen, and a third on the side wall, and it’s labeled as the emergency exit.
There are rooms behind the stage, of course, and who knows where that leads.
Only seconds after we’re seated, a cocktail waitress who must double as a stripper on stage brings us complimentary glasses of champagne. Darrell drinks his down and I look inside my glass for any sort of remnants of a pill not yet dissolved. I don’t see any, but I don’t risk drinking it.
Darrell gets right into it, pointing to each girl and telling me their names and their special talents on the stage. He keeps elbowing me, telling me not to be shy and to relax and enjoy myself. Lives are at stake. Lives are at stake.
“Come on, Emma.” He slides the flute of champagne in front of me, sloshing some down the side. “Drink and have a good time.” If he doesn’t shut the fuck up, his life is going to be at stake.
A large group of women come in, here to celebrate a bachelorette party. Darrell is way too excited about it and I can tell he’s debating leaving me to go socialize with them. They look more his type, at least.
A male stripper comes out next, to appease the bride, no doubt. He’s tall and muscular, with weird-looking tattoos all over his dark skin. Could he be my vamp? I sit up straighter and lean in.
“Ahh, you see something you like.” Darrell laughs to cover up his disdain. “I’m not surprised. Joe gets all the ladies.”
“His name is Joe?”
“I don’t think it’s his real name,” Darrell explains. “He hardly speaks any English.”
Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner. Would it be too much to get a lap dance from this guy solely so I can smell him? I bet he’d make me pay extra for that.
“I need to use the ladies’ room.” I stand, keeping my purse close to my body, and look around. I don’t really have to go, but I need to get a closer look at the stripper, and one more minute with Darrell might lead me to becoming a murderer myself.
“By the bar,” Darrell says, fishing a dollar bill from his pocket.
I take my drink with me, dropping it in a trash barrel as I walk by.
Joe leaps off the stage, making the bachelorette partygoers scream and squeal.
I slow to watch him go to the bride, thrust his hips in her face a few times, and then take her hand, leading her up onto the stage.
She’s a pretty girl, wearing a black and red corset that squeezes her already thin torso.
Laughing, she sits in the wooden chair on the stage and holds up a handful of cash.
Joe takes it, then drops it behind him, seemingly uninterested.
Lights from the stage reflect off his eyes.
It’s hazy in here already from the smoke, making it hard to discern if there’s something off about his eyes or if that reddish hint is from the red and pink lights flashing above him.
I go around a table, headed for the ladies’ room.
And then I see her, one of the tight-leather-dress girls, wobbling through the back of this place to the private rooms. She’s drunk, hanging all over the guy and laughing loudly as she trips, hardly able to talk anymore.
He slips his arm around her, nervously looking around.
Vampire or not, the guy’s a creep. She’s obviously had too much, and even if he’s not planning on drinking her blood, I’m willing to bet my badge on him not getting consent for anything he’s about to do.
I hurry down the hall after them, and my stupid heels catch on the carpet. I throw out my hand to catch myself, but me tripping over my own fucking feet doesn’t go unnoticed.
The guy dragging tight-leather-dress girl jerks his head back, startled.
The lights flash, reflecting off his eyes like an animal in headlights.
For a split second, he just stares at me, and then he starts forward again, probably assuming I’m just another drunk girl who can’t walk a straight line to save her life.
He picks up his pace, needing to practically lift the drunk girl off the ground so she can keep up.
I’m narrowing in, planning on pulling my badge from my purse and having him arrested for sexual assault. And then I smell it, and it’s getting stronger and stronger the closer I get to the private rooms.
Sulfur.