Page 74 of Saint of the Shadows

As if this host had zero time for pity parties or excuses, Mijo Ray rubbed her fingers together. “Twenty dollars.” Then she arched a flawlessly penciled-in eyebrow in Tobias’s direction. “Each.” Who needed Caz when Tiny had Mijo Ray?

Tobias edged forward. “Our business is with Tiny.”

“Your business is with everyone here, baby. Let me put this in a language even a straight boy can understand. Our day players may be in the minor leagues, but the only way to the majors is with a little practice and money. And I don’t care if you’re only coming in to use the bathroom. A tit’s a tit, even in your periphery.”

“You won’t make an exception?” Marisol asked.

“You have a wad of nerves asking for an exception, Miss Casimir’s Sister, especially considering,” Mijo Ray’s nostrils flared, “that you smell like shit.”

Marisol retreated behind Tobias. A little fresh air at a motorcycle’s speed should’ve taken care of her sewer water problem. Obviously, it hadn’t.

“We’re a little short on cash.” Tobias upturned his eyebrows into a face that must’ve melted a few hearts in his lifetime.

Mijo Ray leaned forward, peering through her pink, tinsel-like eyelashes. “Your eyes are different colors.”

Tobias hunched closer to the golden bars. His tone became husky. “It’s a condition. Sectoral heterochromia.”

“Is it?” Mijo Ray glided a finger down a strand of her hair. Then she blinked and twirled another finger in the air. “ATM is right behind you, Marlboro Man.”

Tobias looked at Marisol. Marisol returned the look, gesticulating toward his back pocket. She finally held up her hands. “I didn’t bring my purse.”

He scoffed and turned to the ATM. “My head hurts. My hand hurts. You owe me big time, kid.” After a few of his forceful button presses shook the machine, he asked, “Ten-dollar fee?”

Mijo Ray batted her eyelashes.

With a beep and a grinding of gears, Tobias had the cash. He passed the bills through the bars of the window.

Mijo Ray plopped two plastic tokens into the small metal tray below the partition. “Don’t you worry, my ruggedly handsome friend. Entry gets you a complimentary drink and all the food you care to eat. Not to mention the ladies.” Tobias pocketed the tokens and winked at Mijo Ray. She giggled and tossed her hair again. “Ask for Tiny at the bar. I’ll let him know Caz’s sister is here.”

Marisol pulled the door open, entering the club. “Here goes nothing.”

A slow-pulsing, bass-heavy song rumbled the floor beneath them. Customers were so dispersed throughout the club, the place appeared empty. Lunch at the gentlemen’s club was a lonely endeavor, even with purchased company.

The featured dancer bent and flexed slowly on the main stage, ensuring a customer didn’t miss one inch of skin. Her movements revealed sturdy, compact muscles. Yet her tattoos and belly ring emphasized the delicate line dividing Marisol from her. Under another set of circumstances, she would be the bikini-clad dancer spinning upside down on the pole, working through the sting of a friction burn.

Tobias flicked Marisol in her bicep. “You drinking anything?”

Marisol scowled and shook her head. They were on a mission. That meant not getting sidetracked by The Pink Curtain’s many vices.

He waved to a bartender who had a mane of spiral curls. She wore a fishnet body stocking and strategically placed pasties. As soon as she approached them, Marisol said, “I have a meeting with Tiny.”

The bartender ignored her.

Tobias pushed the plastic tokens across the bar. “A shot of whiskey. Irish. And a shot of rail vodka. The kind that gives you gut rot.”

Marisol slammed her fist down. “Now is not the time.”

In an instant, Tobias’s pupils eclipsed his speckled irises. Instinctively, Marisol clenched her body together to hide from his dark glare. When the shots arrived, he poured the vodka on his injured hand and drank the whiskey in one swallow. He shook the excess liquid off his palm and wrapped it in a series of cocktail napkins he had tied together. While the bartender collected the empty glasses, Tobias handed her a tip. “We’re here to see Tiny.”

“He’s back in the Champagne Room.” She gestured to a doorway lined with beaded curtains.

Tobias thanked the bartender and smiled at Marisol. “You can’t make demands without sweetening the pot, kid.”

Okay, so she flubbed playing a shot-caller. She duly noted Tobias’s advice, but not without an eye roll to keep her ego protected and his in check.

Marisol approached the doorway’s magenta glow and ran her fingers across the beads. Once she crossed here, she’d sell out to the Shadows. But the air felt too cool behind her. Accustomed to her towering companion hanging close, she spun around.

Someone needed to put him on a leash. She had lost Tobias to the buffet where he heaped chicken fingers onto a plate. Marisol placed her tongue against her upper teeth and whistled. How could he eat at a time and place like this?

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