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I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a large gulp.
“Yo.” Maxwell widened his eyes. “Don’t get too fucked up, man, and start embarrassing us.”
I ignored him.
The song’s sound was too intoxicating.
It demanded movement.
I bobbed my head harder.
“The Lion is celebrating.” Tisha chuckled.
Maxwell murmured, “Or he is having a seizure.”
Bobbing my head some more, I spied the club owner by the bar.
He was tall with broad shoulders and dark brown skin. His black hair was slicked back into a ponytail. He took us all in with a neutral expression.
I looked at Tisha. “What did you tell the owner?”
“That tonight the Cathouse belonged to the Lion.” Tisha gave the bottle of vodka to one of his men and lit his cigar. “I find him to be a smart man.”
“Why?”
“He took in our people, their guns and sizes. I even saw him counting.” Tisha took a puff of the cigar and blew out. “I believe when he got to around thirty, he gave up counting, told the bouncer to stand down, and then gestured for us to enter. Even said, ‘Welcome.’”
“He needed to ask the bouncer to stand down? Was the bouncer trying to block us?”
“Not really. To be fair, Valentina pissed off the bouncer.”
I took another gulp of my vodka. The initial rush of euphoria hit as the alcohol warmed my veins.
I smirked at Tisha. “How did Valentina piss him off?”
“He told her to back up, and showed his gun. She eyed the weapon and said, ‘Nice gun. Put it up before I ass-fuck you with it.’” Tisha took another puff of the cigar, blew out smoke, and looked at me. “And with the expression on her face, the bouncer, the owner, and I believed her.”
I thought back to my ex-lover—the ballerina—and then I shrugged. “My sister does like to put things in people’s asses.”
Tisha laughed, and I couldn’t help but join him.
What a good time.
The club unfolded before us like a scene from a dream only whispered about in the dark corners of the world.
I raised my view to the space above us.
Women, ethereal and mesmerizing, hung from the ceiling, their bodies twirling with a grace that defied gravity.
Only in the States.
From the moment I stepped in here, the differences from similar clubs back in Russia were stark and immediate.
In America, the atmosphere was one of unabashed celebration, a carnival of lights, music, and flesh.
Overwhelming, yet enthralling.
These places were designed to dazzlingly cater to every sense with a level of service and spectacle that seemed almost theatrical in its execution.
