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I nod. “And you?”
“You know I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks Han,” I stand up and pull her into a hug.
“You know it. Listen though,” she says, pulling out of the hug, “keep the girl under lock and key. I’m not fucking kidding. I know what you and Riot pulled off, but they are smart Travis. Really fucking smart. You might think you’re ahead of the curve, but I promise, you aren’t.”
Heavy rock pumps through the speakers as one of the girls takes the stage, scantily clad in a small dress and a black and silver masquerade mask. The point of tonight is anonymity. No one’s masks come off. Riot came up with the idea and I let him roll with it. The idea of people coming in for a night of depravity where no one can see their face. If it ends up being a hit, we plan to implement the night on a semi-regular basis along with some other themed nights.
Sliding the white ‘Phantom of the Opera’ style half-mask down onto my face, I roll the sleeves of my dark gray button up shirt up to my elbows as I walk through the crowd. Afterlife is packed tonight, and for once it’s not just desperate, hungry men. There are men, women, couples, all with hidden faces, eating up the show.
I search the room, looking for Spencer. Riot was supposed to have her here 15 minutes ago, and given everything that’s been going on, my nerves are fucking shot. Making my way through the sea of bodies, I duck behind the bar and pour myself a glass of bourbon, neat. Raising the glass to my lips, I take a sip when my eyes wander to the entrance and I spot slicked back green hair. Riot.
Spencer hangs on his arm, donning a long, slinky, black silk dress with a plunging neckline, and a slit so high, that I bring my fist to my mouth and bite down in order to hide the groan that escapes my lips. Her bright cherry red hair is curled, hanging loosely over her shoulders and on her face, an emerald green masquerade mask complete with gold sequin and black feathers.
Immediately I duck back under the bar and push my way through the crowd until I’m walking up behind her. Riot stands with her as she takes in the view of the stage.
Stepping forward, I brush her hair from her shoulder.
“Enjoying the show?”
She gasps and spins around, her eyes meeting mine. Heavy makeup lines her eyes beneath the mask, but her irises still sparkle in the dancing lights of the club. Entrancing me, pulling me under.
Riot releases her arm and kisses her on the cheek, “I’m gonna go find Zeke and make sure we’re set with security, you two have fun.”
I give him a nod and he nods back before disappearing into the crowd.
“Come on red, let’s get you a drink.”
“Mmm, who could say no when you’re looking like…” she eyes me up and down, pausing, biting her bottom lip, “that.”
Grinning, I give her my elbow and she grabs on, allowing me to lead her through the crowd. For someone that hasn’t given a fuck about anything in a really long time, I find myself smiling more and more. Every time she’s near me, I feel like I’m home again.
Apathy still shows its face when I think about the business, murder, mayhem, and what’s right and wrong in the name of the organization that has become my life though. I am who I am at this point. There’s no changing it, running from it, hiding from it. And she’s come to accept what I am, at least I think she has.
For her though, I feel it all.
When we make it back to the bar I wave down Gigi, and Spencer orders a margarita on the rocks. Gigi mixes her drink quickly and slides it across the bar. Spencer grabs the glass and we make our way toward the stage.
A new girl is dancing, wrapping one leg around the pole, moving into a slow spin and Spencer eyes the stage curiously. Standing behind her, I wrap one arm around her waist as she takes in the show. Her head tilts to the side and when the dancer’s dress comes down, I hear Spencer suck in a breath.
Leaning in, I brush my lips against her neck, “I thought watching women get naked wasn’t your thing.”
“I-it’s not. It’s, I don’t know.”
“Maybe it’s being here, with all of these people. Knowing how many of them are turned on right now. How many of them are rock hard, or dripping wet at the sight of the show.”
She sucks in a breath, and I know I struck a nerve, but in the best way. I’m under her skin, my favorite place on earth.
“Are you, Spencer?”
“Huh?” she asks turning to look up at me.
“Are you dripping wet?”
“I -“ her face turns several shades of red, and I smirk, dragging my hand slowly toward the slit in her dress.
My fingers slip stealthily beneath the silky fabric until the tips are grazing her bare pussy. “No panties?”