Page 3 of Last One Standing (Saint Brothers #5)

CHAPTER THREE

ANGEL

I wanted to do anything other than what we were all about to do. I’d never been into clubs. Too many people, the smells, the loudness—none of it appealed to me. But anytime I’d voiced that I’d sit it out, it had turned into a thing, so I’d deal.

I wore what I’d wear anywhere, which only got me a stink-eye from JJ. The others didn’t care. Hell, my brothers weren’t wearing anything special, and I wasn’t sure why I was being singled out.

Phoenix and JJ were by far the most excited. Apparently, Anita Pounding was amazing, and this show was impossible to get into. I’d usually throw a text to Two telling him what I was doing and he’d probably say something like, “Bet you wish you were in a psych ward like me, huh?”

He wasn’t really in a psych ward, but he’d been watched and cared for when he was here. They’d let him have a phone but before he left with his family, he’d handed it back to me, smiled, and said, “I have to leave it all behind in order to rebuild, Angel.” It was the last thing he’d said to me.

“Hey!” Gabe shook my arm. “Did you hear me?”

“No. And touch me again—see what happens.”

He rolled his eyes. “We need to take two cars; there are too many of us. Want to drive one? I’ll drive the other.”

“Sure.”

On our way out, I passed the long mirror by the front door.

Black jeans, burgundy shirt. My beard was trimmed, my skin…

I was blessed. Two had once told me it was sinful how handsome I was and that if he were gay he’d totally try his hand.

My dark-brown skin was even and flawless, I had no hair on my head—by choice, I liked it that way—and yeah… I looked good.

“When you’re done being vain, could we maybe make it to this show?” JJ appeared behind me in the mirror.

“If you’re in my car, I might drive us off a cliff.”

“You’d die too.”

I turned around and smiled. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

JJ pursed his lips. “I’m going in Gabe’s car,” he shouted as he exited the house, and I followed behind him.

We had the option of parking an insane number of blocks away or paying a ridiculous amount of money to use the club’s valet service. No one wanted to walk forever to the car after the show, so we opted for the valet.

Once we were all at the entrance, JJ handed the bouncer a glittery red ticket with VIP written in golden cursive across it. He unhooked the rope, and we walked in. JJ and Phoenix were talking a mile a minute, pointing out the club’s features.

It was fancy…I wasn’t one for flowy words but what I’d expected, which was a typical club, was a black stage, scattered tables, a bar, and maybe a curtain and some lights.

This was not that. First of all, there was a gigantic chandelier in the middle of the house. I would not want to be the one to clean it; there had to be thousands of crystals on it.

The tables had white linen, and the chairs were gold and red. The booths matched the tables. The bar was a deep wood—maybe oak, I wasn’t sure—trimmed with gold and had liquor lined up on the shelves behind it.

There were stairs and a woman whose name I didn’t catch guided us to the VIP section, and it was insane.

It smelled like roses, which surprised me. There was a large round table with a red velvet booth on one side and chairs on the other. You could see the stage perfectly, and there was no doubt the performers would also see us.

My assumptions of this club had been completely wrong, and when I sat on the comfortable chair and was handed a drink I didn’t order but was exactly what I would, I decided I’d keep my mouth shut and enjoy the night.

“How’d they know what we’d want?” Mason asked as he sipped his appletini.

“Oh.” JJ placed his cosmopolitan on the table. “When you’re VIP, they send you a questionnaire, and one of the questions is what drink each party’s favorite is. They supply the first one for free to VIPs.”

“ Hmm …that’s pretty smart.” I looked at my Jack and ginger and then at JJ. “How’d you know all our favorites?”

JJ smirked. “I pay attention.”

While everyone talked and laughed, having a great time, I scanned the club. Typical people out for a fun night drinking and eagerly waiting for the show to begin.

Across from us, on the other side of the club but in a different VIP section, was a problem. The Dead Kings took over that entire side. They weren’t acting like the animals they were around town—they were sitting, drinking, calm.

I leaned closer to JJ. “Who owns this club?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Why?”

I jutted my chin in the direction of where the MCs were sitting. “Because I can’t think of an establishment in this town that would treat the Dead Kings as VIPs unless they owned it.”

JJ followed my line of sight, and his shoulders slumped. “Let’s just get through the night, enjoy the show. If they own it, they won’t want to trash it.”

I was sure he was right, but I didn’t trust them.

I sat back and took in each face, memorizing them individually.

My eyes snagged on someone who was looking directly at me.

I couldn’t read his cut from here to see what rank he was, but from the angry expression on his face, he didn’t like me observing them.

I sipped my drink and averted my gaze to the stage. The lights started to dim—it was showtime.

“Hello, ladies and gents, boys and girls, misfits and teachers’ pets. Welcome to Stilettos and Sangria!” The voice boomed as lights glided over the stage.

Then, the curtain opened, and I swore I’d transported to Vegas. Women appeared. I thought they were women, I honestly wasn’t positive if drag shows also used women…

Oh, God. Was I being ignorant? I’d ask JJ later.

They fanned out in colorful costumes of glitter and feathers and began doing amazing choreography to P!nk’s “Trouble.”

When they parted, a tall drag queen in a long red sequined dress, big black hair, and perfect makeup walked to the center of the stage. She had a microphone that matched her dress and while she didn’t sing, she did dance with the others.

The song ended in a flourish, and the house erupted in applause. Everyone stood, cheering for the spectacular display.

“Amazing!” Phoenix shouted. He was a dancer, and if anyone could appreciate the hard work this took, it would be him.

“Welcome, welcome, you beautiful people. What a gorgeous crowd we have tonight.” She snorted.

“Well, not as gorgeous as me, of course!” There was a wave of laughter.

“For those new to Stilettos and Sangria, I’m your extraordinary host, Ima Cummings.

And those who have been here before, your restraining orders are on the way. ” More laughter.

She went on for a good five minutes, and I could admit that by the time she introduced the next drag queen, my cheeks hurt from smiling. Maybe this would be a great night after all.