Page 25 of The True Garza
“I had to go undercover as a stripper once,” I answer. “Had several weeks of dance lessons with two of the best dancers I know.”
“Well, that was…” He whistles. “That was quite a show. You had the attention of every man in that club.”
That’s the point.
What I don’t tell Sacha about, however, is the bug that I planted under the bar counter.
~
Four nights later, I’m at the club again. True doesn’t take me this time. He assigns someone else to do it. So he doesn’t get to see tonight’s dress, which is even more revealing than the last one. Or how my curls fall in beautiful waves from the coconut-scented product I used in it. Whatever. Screw him for making me put extra effort into my appearance tonight to impress him, only for him to send someone else to take me to the club.
The same bartender from the other night gives me a drink on the house, and I put on another seductive show on the dance floor.
My phone vibrates inside my clutch, and I pause to get it out.
Sacha: I don’t have eyes on you. I was just flipped to work the door. They don’t want me inside for a reason. Do you want to leave?
Me: No. I’ll use the panic fob if needed.
Sacha: OK.
I delete our exchange and put away the phone. I’m heading toward the bar, wiping a sheen of sweat from my forehead, when I’m intercepted by a burly man.
“The owner has invited you up to the VIP Box to have a drink with him.”
Here we go…. I sweep my hair over to one side, fanning myself. “Tell your boss thanks for the offer, but I have a boyfriend.”
When I go to move around him, he steps into my path again. “He already got Pierre’s permission for you to sit with him in the box.”
Clever lies.
“That son of a bitch!” I exclaim with feigned indignation. “Does he think I’m some toy he can justsharewith his friends?”
He shrugs. “I’m just the messenger.”
Crossing my arms, I tap my feet as I pretend to consider it. “You know what, I think Iwillhave a drink with your boss. I might even fuck him, too. Let’s see how much my assface boyfriend likes that!”
“Come with me.”
As he leads the way, I discreetly slip a hand inside my cross-body clutch and press and hold the up-volume button for eight seconds to activate the cloning software.
When we’re upstairs, the burly man nods to another burly man posted outside the VIP Box. He opens the door, looking me over as he waves me in.
The door closes behind me as I look around with contrived amazement. It’s arctic cold in here. Outfitted with a large sectional sofa, a wet bar, several security monitors displaying every inch of the club—including inside the freaking bathrooms. A glass wall allows a full view of the club below, particularly the dance floor and the bar.
Two men are by the wet bar talking in low tones, sipping amber liquid and watching the security monitors. Another two are lounging on the sofa—one of those men being Jamal—along with two girls who appear to be no more than twenty, if that old.
Skinny lines of cocaine cover a small area of the coffee table in front of the sectional sofa, and one of the girls giggles as she leans over to snort some up.
“Don’t be nervous, Stacey,” Jamal says, beckoning me with two fingers. “I saw you dance, so I know you are not a ‘good girl.’ You are bad. Very bad. And I like that. Very much.”
With a shy smile, I tuck my hair behind my ear as I go to him on the couch. “I’m not nervous. I’ve just never been asked to a VIP room by abossbefore.”
He shoos the other man off the sofa and pats his thigh in a silent command for me to sit there. The girl on his right scowls, not pleased I’m stealing his attention.
As I move to sit on his lap, I scan the table. It’s littered with everything from drugs to jewelry, but there are no phones. I need to get as close to his phone as possible, so if it’s inside his jacket pocket, then his lap just might be the best place to be.
He runs his calloused hand up and down my bare thigh, and I relax against him, slipping my hand around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair. Jamal not only smells good, he looks damn good, too—that whole lush-dark-hair, full-dark-beard, and tan-skin thing going. Had I not known that the man’s a reprobate, I could’veeasilybeen attracted to him.
