My head snaps up. My brows fall between my eyes as my teeth clench. “Where did you hear that?”
He covers one side of his mouth with a hand as he moves to my ear. “I hear things,” he whispers,then gives a slightly deranged laugh. “Just think of everything that poor girl will have to endure because of you.”
“She won’t endure anything,” I grit out, ready for this conversation to be over. “I told her to get rid of it.”
“Good thing. The world doesn’t need more of your particular brand of fucked,” he laughs again.
He’s right. It’s why I told her what I did. It’s also another reason I left. She wouldn’t let go if I was still around. And I’d never be able to keep up with the lie that I don’t love her.
The door opens, and Landon comes in with another girl following behind,carrying a tray of glasses and two bottles of whiskey. “This is Holly. She’s our best waitress and understands the importance of discretion.”
The long-legged brunette gives me a coy smile as she places the tray on the table in front of us. “Anything you need at all, Mr. Michaels, just press that button. A light will come on, notifying me that you have a request.”
I nod as she leaves the room. I turn my attention to Landon, wondering what he’s brought me. He grins as he reaches into his coat pocket. “This is our best supply.” He pours his offerings onto the tray the waitress just brought in. Uppers, downers, hallucinogens, and entactogens litter the surface. I have no desire for hallucinogens. Last time I used those, I ended up on a seventy-two-hour psych hold and another ill-fated encounter with fucking psychiatrists.
But the GHB and X are calling to me. Always preferring the push-pull over feeling the crap side effects, I choose both.
A few minutes later, I’m sunk deep into the comfortable sofa,watching some redhead swing around the pole. I watch with disinterest while Bryan drools on the floor. She dances in front of me, shaking her ass in my face, and I don’t feel the slightest twinge of—anything.
When she reaches out, stroking a finger up my thigh, I grab her wrist. “Give him some of the attention, would ya?” I jerk my head toward Bryan.
She gives me a confused look before her face settles into a scowl. “Whatever,” she huffs, stepping back from me. “My time’s up anyway.”
“Great,” I flick my wrist, waving her off like some asshole. “Send in the next girl.”
With my head leaned against the back of the sofa, I close my eyes, ignoring the sounds of Bryan’s whining that he wanted the other girl a little longer. The music turns up to a Voodoo by Godsmack as the lights in the room change from blue to red.
I’m transported back several weeks to the girl I can’t stop thinking about.
Two months ago
I walk through the doors of Red taking in the club Bastian and Rory opened up nearly a decade ago. It’s changed a bit since I was here. The mirror over the bar is definitely not the same one. Zoey told me something about Bastian demolishing the place with a baseball bat when he thought Verity left him. I was surprised he didn’t set the place on fire,considering how hot-headed he can be.
Tall stools with dark wood matching the antique bar fill the space. Men and women sit, enjoying their drinks and the music flowing through the room. There isn’t a vacant seat to be found except a booth in the back that is clearly reserved, and I can guess for who.
I walk through the bar area to the second entrance that leads to the strip club side with Tristan hot on my tail. “What are you doing here, Maddox?”
“Came to see the show,” I answer as I make my way to the door that divides the bar side from the strip club. I still don’t know why they didn’t just make two clubs, but it seems to work for them.
“Maddox, you’re not supposed to be here.” He grabs my arm as I reach the door.
I look at his offending hand then back to him with a raised brow. “Tristan, I know we don’t know each other very well, but if you don’t want me to rip off your arm and shove it down your throat, then I suggest you remove it. I don’t like being touched without permission.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath. “You really are Bastian’s brother.”
“No, I’m not,” I growl.
“Maddox, seriously, you aren’t supposed to be here. Bastian will—well, he won’t kill me, but he’ll do something to make me wish he did.”
“Bastian isn’t my warden, Tristan. You want to call him and tell him I’m here, by all means. He can find me in there,” I nod my head toward the still unopened door.
“We won’t serve you,” he warns.
“I didn’t ask you to.” I walk through the door without glancing back.
Four small stages are circled with club chairs and sofas. The four small stages all meet in the middle forming one large stage surrounded by tables of men as some purple-haired girl twirls herself around the pole. Cages dangle from the ceiling with more smiling, dancing women.
I take a seat in a club chair that gives me a good view of the main stage without being front and center. I watch as the woman balances herself upside down, slowly lowering herself to the floor.
