Page 13 of The Bronze Garza
“Hi, sweetheart,” slurs an accent-heavy voice from my left. An arm snakes around my waist, an erection pressing up against me.
“Hey,hands!” William barks at him.
The man backs off me. “Sorry, sorry. I forget about your stupid rules.” He hiccups. “Are you up for a lap dance, sexy love?”
“Sure, handsome. But I’m up on stage next,” I lie. “I’ll find you afterward, alright? “
He gives me a grimy grin then blows me a kiss. “I will wait for you, sweet angel.”
As he stumbles off, William gives me another raised brow.
“I’mreallysorry,” I say hastily. He might be behind the bar, but he obviously has some level of authority around here and I’ve just brazenly turned money away in front of him. “The alcohol just hasn’t kicked in yet.”
He moves on to the next customer.
Yup. I think I’m in trouble.
With a sigh, I turn from the bar, willing the liquor to make haste permeating my system. I sweep my gaze around the club, over bobbing heads and through throngs of bodies, searching...
For someone...
Someone tall, and dark, with devastating green eyes.
He sure is different from Igor, in that Igor likes to make himself seen, heard, known, so there’s no mistaking who’s in charge. But I’ve yet to set my sights on the man who’s in charge here.
I spot Igor’s men around the club, however. Pavlov and Dimitri hovers close to Zoey, while Viktor watches Kate like a hawk as she gives someone a lap-dance.
I’m considering sneaking off to the bathroom to see if I could get away with hiding in a stall for the rest of the night, but I’ve not made it more than two steps from the bar when I’m accosted by another customer.
An hourlater and I’ve fast realized that strip club goers aren’t the same as Igor’s clients. These men don’t care that I’m not a stick figure or that my belly isn’t paper-flat. Or maybe they’re just too drunk to give a damn. Much to my dismay.
At the penthouse, my undesirability protects me. Here, there’s no escaping these grubby men. In no time, I’ve worked out what little fortification the vodka shot had given me.
I go back to the bar and beg William for another shot but he refuses me.
As I turn from the bar with a huff and a muttered curse, I think I spothim, moving through the crowd like sand through fingers. I start in that direction but am abruptly intersected by a strapping man. “How much to get between your thighs,dorogoy?”
I go to answer that I’m not available, but something about the directness of the question and his narrowed stare makes me rethink. Something tells me this is one of Igor’s spies. In the last hour, I was propositioned for sex three different times, and each time it was proceeded by at least two lap dances with some sweet talk mixed in. This man’s accost is too dry to be legit.
Twirling a lock of my hair, I bite my lip and gaze coyly up at him. “Three hundred. American.”
“Hmnh,” he grunts. “Let me think about it.”
Yep. He’s totally a plant.
As he brushes past me, I squint into the crowd, searching. Then I hear my name over the speaker.
Shit.
I’m being called to the stage.
Now Ireallyneed alcohol. I whip to the bar again, but William isn’t there. Someone different is behind the counter now, and I almost bounce with glee. Maybe he doesn’t know I’ve already had my quota of alcohol. “A shot of tequila, please!” I call over the music.
The man, not nearly as good-looking as William, assessed me. “Are you a Diamond Girl?”
“A what?” I play stupid. “I’m new here, I don’t know what that means.”
He nods and then pours tequila into a shot glass, and I lick my lips in anticipation.
