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I can’t wait to get my princes out of their old dark castle. An empty chill blows through me whenever I think of them there, a howling, silent wail. It’s irrational, I know.
I left no physical evidence, there’s nothing that any of them could stumble over, no pieces they could put together. Knowing that they’re probably in that room, eating, having coffee, it makes me crazy. I have to get them out of there.
But first, right now, I need for Mikey to drive me down, off the mountain, down through the dark, rainy streets like blurred canyons with walls of abstract neon lights.
And there’s a rat to catch.
CHAPTER THREE
Perched as inconspicuously as I can on a stool at the bar, I keep the tailored jacket on, straighten the short black leather skirt and snap the cream silk blouse tight before I call the barman over. I chose from my wardrobe carefully, to dress myself like a smart secretary, out for some illicit thrills.
Yes, guys are watching. Yes, a lot of them. Some stare, some watch out of the corners off their eyes. But none of the slinky, glittered-up dancers are going to worry. I won’t compete with them for the attention of this crowd of hard-knuckled men.
So, no, I don’t care about some men’s eyes glinting in my direction.
Red, purple and blue lights sweep and pulse through the smoky air, thick with the waft of beer, sweat, and testosterone. Dirty music, heavy with bass and leer, pumps on the sound system. Girls wearing mostly glitter and sheer nylon grind and shimmy on the bar tops and against the chrome poles.
Some dancers are gymnastic. They scale the poles and spin, gripping on with only their thighs. Hanging upside down, arms spreading, they hump their asses and their pussies on the poles.
Most girls, though, twerk and grind and sling glaring come-on signals around the bikers and truckers in the big, low-ceilinged room. They wag their asses, flick their hips and shake their pussies. It gets the job done.
A girl in a dancer’s costume is almost slumped, sad-eyed on the stool next to mine. She’s obviously not having a great night and she looks like she’s trying to just take a breather.
A shabby biker eyes the girl. She shrinks, dipping her head and angling her shoulder up against him. The biker has a look of menace as he crowds around her. He grunts something and laughs. She shakes her head, hard, like a lost puppy that’s been hosed.
He puts a hand, low down on her back. That’s forbidden. The club has a strict no-touching rule. The biker doesn’t look like he cares too much for rules.
She tries to shrug him off. But he’s not planning on going anywhere.
He leans in and grunts something in her ear. She shrugs and shakes like she’s been attacked by bugs.
“Leave me alone,” she says through her gritted teeth. Her eyes flit around the room.
I recognise that look. She doesn’t want to make a fuss and she doesn’t want any trouble. But she really doesn’t want the biker’s rancid breath in her face or his clammy paws all over her.
She’s a dancer. Maybe turns some tricks, too. I don’t know her story and I’m not going to judge her for any of that. She’s still got a right to her space. She still has the right to say, ‘no.’
He laughs as he stands up.
Without turning or getting up off my stool, I put a hand up and tell him, “She said, ‘No.’ Do you understand?”
He turns. Slow. His eyes rake over my legs and my tight skirt, then up, over the soft white silk blouse.
In a deep drawl, he tells me, “I’ll get to you. Wait your turn.”
He’s starting to turn back and his sloppy grin widens as he raises his hand to the dancer
“English, motherfucker,” I grab his ear lobe. “Do you speak it?”
I twist my grip hard as I stand and move close. Too close for him to get a swing. Pain from his earlobe and surprise will only confuse him for a fraction of a second.
He howls as I wrench his earlobe. Trying to turn, he pivots back. Rage reddens in his eyes as I step closer.
I pull his face near. “Are you deaf?” I snarl at him, “She said ‘no.’ Understand?”
I yank and twist his ear hard. He raises a huge hand to swat me away.
Perfect. I seize his thumb. His hand is about the diameter of my arm. It takes all my strength and focus to turn his thumb back, but I keep my face relaxed as I twist. Twisting his thumb makes his elbow turn across his body.
