Page 125 of Shifting Hearts 1
He presses his hand to his chest in fake outrage. “I just can’t believe that someone with your dark hair and fair complexion can’t tan a bit. Are you sure you’re agringo? Because I think you might be seriously lost.”
His boyfriend’s shoulders shake from laughter, and the corner of my lip pulls up to a smile.
“Jo, I don’t have any control over my looks, but I can keep you from messing with me and turning me into a doll. Now, if you will excuse me,”—I flip the wig back on my head—“I must get back to work. The scumbags aren’t going to suck themselves off, are they?”
They both start howling with laughter, and I am thankful to make my escape.
My cowboy boots glide smoothly over the wooden floors thanks to the felt I regularly glue to the soles. I can’t afford to announce my position when I am stalking my prey, and it has served me well, more than once, when I needed to disappear into the background soundlessly.
Scanning the bar area, I see poor Gwenny spinning behind the counter. I think Julia was supposed to help her tonight, but I haven’t seen her.
My options are to either help her out or serve my own agenda. And I want to be free to create an opportunity, should something arise.
So, I walk deeper into the entertainment area and scan the tables surrounding the stage.
My contact at the border confirmed that a convoy is definitely coming this way tonight. This will be their first stop.
It always is.
The Stroke the Kitty Club is not just famous for its mediocre strip shows. It is also the place where shady deals are done, and palms are greased. Especially when it involves business with the cartels.
They have soundproof rooms in the back, which are regularly scanned for bugs. That is why the only way to get the information is to be one of the dancers in the room.
And the reason I decided to become a regular here.
My targets always have a way of ending up here, and it makes my job easier when I can get to know them in this informal atmosphere.
It makes me less likely to be picked as a suspect when the bodies are eventually discovered.
To the chauvinistic pigs I take out, I am just an obscure little girl with a great rack, who refuses to take off her shorts.Even if they mention me, it is only in passing, with no lasting impression.
I make my way to the stage once again, peeking behind the curtain to see if I can find Charity. She will know if someone big is expected tonight. She is the lead dancer and the most requested for these types of meetings.
Most days, I get my information from the girls, but tonight, the assignment is personal. I need to be in the room to assess the situation; otherwise, I might lose control and do something foolish.
I pull the heavy curtain back and spot Charity smoking a cigarette just off stage. “Hi, Charity, do you have any bookings tonight?” I shout above the music.
“Who’s asking?” she replies, taking a deep drag of her cigarette.
I huff and walk closer. Charity always has to be difficult. “I wanted to know if I could be one of your girls tonight. I need the money.”
She can see that I am lying but doesn’t mention it. Instead, she says, “Look, Smith, they have specific requirements, and your skanky ass doesn’t make the cut. Move along.”
She turns her back on me, and I grab her by the arm in a punishing hold.
“I will not be dismissed by the likes of you. You’ll get me in, or are we going to have a disagreement?”
I wouldn’t really hurt one of the girls. They need this gig to survive, but Charity has been begging for it for a while now.
“Okay, Bigshot. Tell you what. You go get rid of your pathetic little shorts and get into a real costume as they’ve demanded, and I’ll let you dance front and center. Since you need the money, you won’t mind taking the prime spot and showing the rest of us how it’s done.”
She throws the cigarette to the floor and stomps on it before she marches off in the direction of the locker rooms.
“Now you’ve done it! Better get your ass over there. These guys don’t like to be kept waiting,” Ronnie says before she opens the curtain and steps through with her ridiculously high heels.
I have tried to avoid this for as long as I could, but if this is the only way to get Alexi back, then I am not beneath parading my body in a flimsy G-string. Let’s hope the men are so intoxicated that they don’t see what I have been forced to hide all these years.
TWO
