Chapter 25 #2
Ryder and Hayden have already left for the evening, so the house is empty.
Jessie is outside waiting for me in the Uber.
She paid for a luxury Uber, of course. Jessie isn’t going to wear or ride in anything less than luxurious.
I, on the otherhand, couldn’t possibly care any less as long as it gets me from point A to point B.
Jessie hops out of the car, squealing, “Bitchhh! Look at you!!” She spins me around, then slaps my ass, “Hot damn! I have a sexy best friend.”
I giggle, and a blush warms my cheeks, “Thanks! You look,” My eyes widen. She looks… “Hot as fuck!”
She’s wearing a tiny red dress that barely covers her plump ass. If she bends over whatsoever, everybody is getting a face full. The chest has a low V-cut that showcases her DDD cleavage. She was blessed with her boobs-to-ass ratio.
“Uh, what kind of club is this?” I ask when we enter the twentieth floor of the skyscraper.
Two massive golden cylindrical columns stand on either side of the elevator we just exited.
Soft black plush carpet lines the shiny, reflective hard flooring.
The soft flooring mutes the clicking of my heels as we pass the front desk.
We had to get wristbands before being cleared to come up here.
Huge glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling.
There must be thousands of crystals dangling, and the neon lights reflect off them.
“Only the finest in the state,” She winks, “Only the elite are granted privileges.”
“What do you mean?”
“People pay up to a million dollars annually for their memberships. We’ve been members for about three years now.”
We? I swallow hard as I glance around at the half-naked women entertaining men dressed in expensive suits.
Does Ryder come here? Soft music plays from the perfectly hidden speakers as we make our way to the bar.
The only bars I’ve experienced were hole-in-the-wall bars that smelled like old urine and leather and likely had a cockroach or two run across the floor.
This? Wow. I never knew something like this existed here.
“What can I get you, ladies?”
“I’ll take a rum and Coke. You?” Jessie asks me.
“Crown and Sprite, please.”
He winks, then turns and picks our poison of choice off the liquor shelf, preparing our drinks.
Keeping my elbows resting on the bar, I look over my shoulder at the buzzing club behind me.
The recessed booths are taped off. Two booths are occupied by men with showgirls in their laps.
Their bare tits bounce as they laugh at whatever the men said.
Their arms wrapped around their necks as they act fully enthralled by the men.
I mean, I would too if I were getting paid.
These women probably cost a fortune for one night.
“Here you go,” He places the drinks on the paper coasters in front of us.
“So, what do you do here exactly?” I ask, still confused by the place. It’s not like any club I’ve ever been to before.
“Follow me,” She tugs me by the wrist, sloshing some of my drink over the rim of the glass.
She pulls me down a hallway, stepping off the soft carpet, making my heels tap along the shiny glass-like floors.
The mood shifts coming out of the hallway, as we enter an open area with more recessed booths and tables with chairs on the upper level.
The walls are black velvet with gold accents.
“Motivation” by Kelly Rowland blasts from the speakers, and spotlights shine down on a stage with a dance pole.
There’s a drop-dead gorgeous blonde dancing in nothing but a black thong.
“I’ve been up there a time or two,” Jessie admits. Jessie’s a beautiful woman, so envisioning her on the stage is easy to do. I’ve never pole danced, so I’d be incredibly sloppy, but watching the blonde on stage is fascinating. I can see the appeal of watching dancers like her. It’s a true art.
“You should do it!” She looks at me, beaming, gripping my arm too excitedly.
“No, no. Absolutely not, and do not volunteer me for that either!” Suddenly, I’m hyper aware of my surroundings.
Feeling eyes on me. I look around, but only see men and their showgirls lost in conversations or consumed by the dancer on stage.
I shake it off, chalking it up to my anxiety and the alcohol.
We sit in one of the booths close to the stage, and the blonde gives us a soft smile. The song ends, and she steps off the stage at the back.
“Did you get paid dancing?”
“Oh, fuck yeah. I walked out two million dollars richer that night.”
My jaw drops as I gawk at Jessie. Two fucking million? Jessie giggles at my shock. “Who are these people?”
She shrugs, “Millionaires? I have no clue. All members have to sign an NDA before gaining access, same for the showgirls.”
Yeah, I had to sign one just to come here as a friend with Jessie.
“Low Life” by Future starts playing, the curtains open, and a new dancer is on stage.
This girl is curvy and has me questioning my sexuality.
Her dark black hair cascades down her back, tattoos cover one leg and the opposite arm, her whole torso, and up her neck.
She’s stunning and gives off mysterious vibes.
Her cheek dimple piercings glint in the spotlight like little stars as she struts around the pole and seductively squats on her stilettos.
She keeps her gray eyes on me the whole time.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck raise as a chill of awareness crawls down my spine. I take another once-over the room, and everyone still seems lost in their own conversations, but a table above our recessed booth sits two men. Men in black helmets with tinted visors. What the hell?
“Are you allowed to wear helmets here?” I whisper to Jessie.
She shrugs, keeping her eyes on the show ahead. “A lot do, to hide their identities. It’s pretty common here if you’re like a senator or married or something.”
I look back at the men again, although I can’t see their eyes, I’d say they’re drilling right into me, making me squirm in my seat.
Every inch of their bodies is covered in black leather, down to their black leather boots.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they look like Ryder and Hayden, but they’re both caught up in that meeting.
“Psst! Jess!” I whisper, but it comes out more as a strangled shout. She looks at me, concerned, eyes wide and bouncing side to side aimlessly, “Don’t look right now, but casually glance up at those guys in the helmets.”
She waits a few seconds and takes a sip of her drink before quickly glancing up at them. “What about ‘em?”
“They haven’t stopped staring at me.” The weight of their stares is making it hard to breathe, like a vice around my neck. I can promise one thing, though: if they’re here to take me, they have a whole can of whoop ass barreling their way.
“You’re overthinking it. They probably think you’re hot!” She winks.
Yeah, maybe, but they look threatening. The way they sit as if they own the place.
Both are turned to fully face our booth, arms crossed over their chests, and legs wide.
Warning bells are screaming at me to go.
But go where? There’s nowhere for me to go.
The Uber won’t be picking us up for another hour, and I definitely can’t call the boys.
They’ll be pissed we snuck out behind their backs.