Page 3 of Doxed

EHH! EHH! EHH! My phone alarm blares next to my head on the nightstand.

Pulling my silk eye mask off, I switch off the alarm and scroll through videos on my phone.

After too long scrolling, I climb out of bed, making it before pulling on a pair of loose shorts and a sports bra.

I grab socks from a drawer and walk into the living room, stopping at the panel on the wall to raise the blinds.

The late afternoon sunlight pours into my apartment.

The water sparkles in the sunlight and boats sail by.

Cars flood the streets below me, but it’s all a distant distraction, none of the sounds making it to my apartment seven stories above—which is why I pay the price I do for this floor.

I slide my feet into my running shoes, doing up the laces, and sticking my noise canceling headphones into my ears before I leave my apartment for a run.

My head is blissfully empty as my feet pound on the sidewalk. The salty sea water fills my nose as I run along the Sound and weave around the people walking to the Public Market.

My run is over before I know it, and the AC hits my sweat drenched skin as I walk into the lobby of my apartment building after my run, causing goosebumps to rise over my arms and down my spine.

The poor front desk guy ducks his head when he sees me walk in and I turn away from him and walk to the elevator, waiting for it, and then taking it to my apartment. I have to get ready for work.

“Thanks, Rafé!” I squeeze his shoulder as I slide out of the helicopter and onto Martin Island.

The faint salty smell of the water hits my nose and I lift my bag higher on my shoulder as I take the brick sidewalk to the steps that lead to the back door of La Lujuria.

The same brick sidewalk is in the front, but those steps lead to a much grander entrance, with security, plush velvet carpets, and marble floors.

I take the dark stairs to the third floor, deep maroon walls and carpet line the long hallway.

I stop at a black door, a large gold handle, and a “B” painted near the top in gold glittering script—the name I go by here.

This is my personal suite. The room is large.

A four poster, king size bed sits in the middle of the room, a long bench at the foot, and a black armchair in the corner facing the bed.

The walls are the same as the hall—and most of the club, for that matter—but the floors in our rooms are the solid black marble that is dispersed throughout the club.

The bathroom sits to the left of the bed, with a wall of glass that looks into the large steam shower and on the other side of that is the double vanity, and a three person tub off to the side. The bathroom is the opposite of the club, all bright white marble and gray stones.

Pulling the clear acrylic stool into the bathroom, I pull out my makeup and apply my foundation, face powders, and some eyeliner while my curling iron heats on the counter.

Cleaning up my makeup and hair items, I drop my cosmetics bag into my giant duffle and store it in the closet in the room.

After dressing, I step into my Louboutin Loubi Queen Altas and clasp the buckle.

I step into the hall and slowly make my way to the main floor.

Clients should start filling in soon. Girls huddle around low tables snorting lines of cocaine or standing around adjusting lingerie and laughing.

“If You Like That” by Marissa echoes through the club and a door opens as I walk past.

Reyna steps out of Hector’s office, her long black hair almost hitting her waist. She cocks her head, her eerie blue eyes watching me with no emotion behind them.

“He wants to talk to you.” The words roll off of her tongue, her plump lips working around the words perfectly.

Reyna is sex personified, a sleeve and back full of tattoos, mixed with her deep blue eyes and dark hair.

She’s our top girl. Her eyes run down my body slowly, taking in my emerald, long line, lace bra, garter, and matching lace thong.

Hector’s face appears over Reyna’s shoulder, and he smiles at me.

He places a hand on Reyna’s waist and steps around her in the doorway.

“Thank you, Reyna, that’ll be all for tonight,” Hector says, dismissing Reyna.

They always meet in Hector’s office before every night, to fuck or for her to fill him in on the girls, I’m not sure.

Hector is the boss of La Lujuria, and Reyna is kind of like his right-hand woman when it comes to the girls.

She knows who we see, where we are when we’re in the club, and if something is wrong with us.

She’s not motherly, or endearing, or even kind, for that matter.

She looks at all the girls like she’s a predator and we’re all her prey.

She’s not like that with clients, though.

Reyna’s just so fucking lustful that everyone falls for her.

She’s an artist on a pole too. Sometimes she’ll do dances when she’s not busy with a client or two.

Reyna steps beside me and pauses. “Green is your color, pet,” she whispers in my ear before walking away, taking her strong, seductive cherry scent with her.

I take a deep breath, but instead of clearing my head, I get Hector’s overpowering oud cologne.

He steps into me and smiles down at me. Hector is attractive—everyone here is—with his slicked back black hair, short stubble, and expensive suits.

His chocolate eyes are warm and he’s always respectful of the girls.

“I have a special client for you,” Hector says, his white teeth shining in the dim lights.

He takes my hand and leads me through the club.

“Why me?” I ask, walking along beside him, his pace leisurely.

“He picked you,” Hector answers, but then guides me to the wall, his back in the direction we were walking.

“I must impress on you that this is the most important client we have.

The most important client you've ever had.” His eyes are serious and I feel a flutter start in my stomach.

I get by just fine here. I get enough attention to pay my bills and treat myself how I always wanted to be treated, but these types of high-profile clients typically go to Reyna.

I nod, holding Hector’s eyes. “I understand.”

“Good.” His smile returns and he pulls me back into the hallway and into one of the lounges. It’s completely empty except for one man and his security, I’m assuming.

He sits on the large “C” shaped, leather couch, leaning back with one arm stretched out on the back of the couch while the other holds a cigar to his lips.

One leg is bent at the knee and across his other.

His light blue suit fits him perfectly and the white shirt he wears underneath is crisp.

Giant men stand around him, watching the room as Hector and I approach.

“Mr. Vicario, this is Briar.” I snap my head to Hector. None of the girls use our real names here. Hell, some guests wear masks if they’re not comfortable showing their faces to everyone in the club. “It’s okay, Briar. Mr. Vicario knows everyone here. Remember, I said he was very important?”

I nod, pursing my lips, and Hector leads me to the couch to sit next to Mr. Vicario.

He leans into me, the arm with his cigar resting on his knee and his other still stretched out behind me on the back of the couch.

He’s handsome. Short salt and pepper hair, a thick graying beard, and faint lines at the corners of his eyes. “Hello, Hermosa.”

“I think it’s only fair that I know your name since you know mine,” I say, tilting my head and holding his caramel gaze.

Mr. Vicario grins and leans away from me a bit. “My name is Carlos Vicario.”