Chapter 15 – Althea
ALTHEA
Stavros pulls the SUV into the dimly lit parking lot across the street while I do a quick survey of my surroundings.
This place looks seedy as fuck. My stomach turns, and bile slowly rises at the back of my throat.
It’s a rundown brick building with a neon sign in the shape of a woman’s body wearing a bikini.
Her top blinks on and off. Well, half of it does.
It matches perfectly with the torn red awning cover flapping in the night breeze over the door.
The lot is semi-full for a weeknight. With one working light in the entire lot, it’s just another point to show how shitty a place this is.
They can’t even keep the lights in the lot working.
But then again, the smoke shop and bail bonds office we’re parked in front of also have their lots dimly lit.
Which tells me everything I need to know.
They don’t want people to see what’s coming. Monsters are lurking in the shadows.
“All right, Miss Drakos. Shall we go?” Stavros asks. He’s turned toward the door with his hand on the door handle, and I almost feel bad for what I have to do.
“I’m sorry, Stavros, but I need you to stay here.
” He turns to face me, confused. Without hesitation, I slam my elbow into the side of his temple, knocking him out cold.
His body slumps forward. I catch his head before it hits the steering wheel and sounds the horn for everyone to hear and lean him back against the headrest.
I remove my seatbelt and reach across to the other side of the driver’s seat.
Finding the lever and giving it a tug, leaning Stavros back a bit.
To anyone passing, he will look like he’s sleeping.
It’s not the safest place to stop and take a nap, but it’s better than the truth.
The poor guy just got coldcocked by a woman and left for his boss to find.
Sliding back into my seat, I pull down the lighted mirror and touch up my lipstick, then give my boobs a little lift.
I check that my weapons are secure before climbing out of the car and walking across the street.
As I cross, I take a minute to scan the area and find there are two men on the door, and one smoking a cigarette off to the far left leaning up against the wall near the dumpsters. All three of them are watching me.
One of the doormen is smoking a cigarette, laughing at something the other one has said. They remind me of the Tweedle twins in Alice in Wonderland . Both are soft around the middle, one with slicked-back hair, the other with a crew cut. They’re both deep in conversation.
The taller of the two, Tweedle number one, looks me over from head to toe, licking his lips and adjusting his crotch as I approach.
His hair is longer on top and slicked back.
His gray button-down shirt is disheveled and has some sort of stain on the front.
His eyes come back to meet mine, and he audibly grunts while adjusting himself.
I’m picturing myself gouging his eyes out with my hairpins.
He brings his fist from his crotch to his mouth and bites down on it once then says, “Damn baby. You make sure to tell the boss I volunteer to be your lap dance audition partner tonight.”
“You here for a job, sweetheart?” Tweedle number two asks. His arms are crossed over his chest, trying and failing to look intimidating.
“I’ll pay you. Name your price,” Tweedle number one says. I give him a fake smile. The urge to throat punch him is getting stronger by the second.
“I’m here to see The Bishop. He’s expecting me.” Both men’s eyes widen, then Tweedle number two opens the door to usher me inside, while scanning the lot as if he’s worried someone heard me. “Go to the back table, far corner to the left of the stage.”
“If it doesn’t work out with the boss, you come find me, sweetheart. I’m sure I could find a job for you to do,” Tweedle one calls out. I hear a grunt and a muttered, “Ow! The fuck?” behind me, but don’t bother to look back.
Inside the club is no better than the outside.
The stage is surrounded by small two-seater circular tables, and color-changing LEDs lighting the edges of the stage.
The whole place feels like I’ve stepped back in time.
There are several booths along the outer walls of the room, with the bar at the back.
It smells of stale beer and cheap cologne.
At least there’s sawdust on the floor to prevent my heels from sticking to whatever is on the concrete.
Gross.
Three women are currently on the stage dancing and swinging around poles to eighties rock music, wearing nothing but thong underwear and high heels. Two women are walking around in black booty shorts, serving drinks and appetizers to the onlookers. I’m suddenly feeling far too overdressed.
I could’ve worn my harness and still felt overdressed.
The memory of the way Enzo reacted to seeing my harness makes me smile to myself. Until I remember how the asshole cut it to shreds. I ordered a new one online the next day, only to have my order canceled by the website an hour later. Twice .
The bartender makes eye contact with me from across the room and smiles, gesturing for me to come closer.
He’s not a bad-looking guy, but something still seems off-putting about him.
He’s clean-shaven, with piercing blue eyes and a classic crew cut.
His white button-down shirt is clean and fits snugly against his body, allowing a glimpse of the lean swimmer’s build he’s packing underneath.
He doesn’t hold a candle to Enzo in the size department. In any department.
Damn. Three days later and I’m still thinking about all the wicked things that man did to my body. I’m curious to see what kind of punishment I’ll have to endure, having kidnapped one of his men and forced him to come here with me.
He could decide to kill you. He’s a fucking enforcer, for fuck’s sake.
I’m certain he’s going to be pissed the fuck off, but I doubt he would actually hurt me .
Not in the traditional sense anyway. No, Enzo would rather play with his prey.
Torture and teasing are more his style. And if he does decide to take things to the extreme, I’ll remind him exactly why he calls me little devil.
I take note of the exits and the guards at either end of the room. There are cameras in every corner of the room and two in the center.
Paranoid much?
In the booth to my left, sits an older man in a cheap suit.
His tie is loose around his neck, and the top three buttons are undone.
He has a topless blonde rubbing herself all over his lap.
Her high pitch giggle is so obnoxious, I imagine silencing it by lodging his tie in her throat.
They’re both so enraptured with one another, he doesn’t see the small red light of a camera embedded in the base of the picture frame hanging in the center of the wall between them.
Places like this are known for having smaller, hidden cameras to catch footage that can later be used for blackmail.
Papa has them all over in our casinos. He calls it his insurance policy.
Whoever he is, he’s about to be fucked in more ways than one.
As I approach The Bishop’s table, a hand reaches out and grabs my wrist, stopping my movement. I reach down and grab the wrist attached to said hand, and twist. Turning my body, I come face to face with its owner.
“What the fuck?” He pulls back his hand, rubbing his wrist. His smile seems friendly, but his eyes are dark and angry.
“You shouldn’t touch people without permission.”
“Do you know who I am? Who I work for?” he snaps.
“No. Nor do I care.”
He’s not like the other men I’ve seen tonight.
He’s well dressed in an Italian suit. Gold jewelry adorns both hands.
A matching chain with a St. Michael medallion hangs around his neck.
His watch, I know, is worth a mint compared to the guy in the next booth over.
But he’s still not someone of status. He looks like he has money, but his arrogance is that of a man who wants people to think he’s someone of importance, but the truth is he’s someone’s lackey.
I could beat his ass. Break his wrist and embarrass him in front of everyone, but that would only draw more attention to myself, and since I haven’t spoken to The Bishop or gotten the information I need yet, I choose to stand down.
For now.
A deep voice calls out from the next table over. “Let it go, Ephraim. She’s not here for your benefit.”
Ephraim scowls at me but does as he’s told. I move to sit at the booth behind him and hear him mutter, “Uppity bitch.”
In the next booth, an older man with slicked-back silver hair waves me over.
“Miss Drakos. So good of you to join me.” The Bishop nods, gesturing for me to sit. “My apologies. Some of our patrons forget their manners from time to time. They get a little handsy.”
“I can assure you. I know how to remove a man’s hand.
” Bishop laughs. I’m not sure if he believes that wasn’t a threat, but it’s not for me to correct him.
“I didn’t realize you had a boss. I thought you were the boss.
Isn’t that why Bash told me to come hear you out?
Because you are a man of power and the keeper of secrets? ”
“You flatter me, Miss Drako.” He smiles around his glass. “I am more of an intermediary. People come to me with jobs they want done, and I find people willing to get things done for a price.” He shrugs. “If that makes me a man of power, then so be it. But I see myself as more of an opportunist.”
“Sir.” One of the guards approaches the table. “You have a call. Perhaps you’d like to take it in the office?”
Noting the seriousness in the other man’s tone, I’m not surprised when The Bishop agrees. “If you’ll excuse me. Please, order yourself a drink. I’ll only be a minute.” He exits behind the black curtain. Seconds later, a waitress comes by and takes my order, then scurries off to the bar.