Wanted (Most Wanted #1)(40)
Author: J. Kenner

I’m not sure what I was expecting—gaudy neon signs and naked women, maybe?—but when the driver finally stopped in front of the massive building, I had to admit I was impressed. It was the size of a large warehouse. There were no windows facing the street, and the entire building was surrounded by ample parking. Even at just past three on a Saturday, most of the parking slots were full.

The sign was low-key and classy. A black monolith with the name—Destiny—written boldly in red so that it stood out against the black. Though the sign looked like stone, I could see immediately that it was not, because the lower portion was an LED screen flashing the various specials throughout the week. Today, I saw, was “Six Dollar Saturday,” which I presumed referred to the cover charge.

On the whole, the place looked low-key and fit in just fine with the area, which boasted a few office complexes, a delivery company, a fire station, and a convenience store.

The driver pulled up in front of the door, then turned in his seat to face me. “This the place?”

“Hell, yes,” I said.

I paid him, slid out of the car, and marched myself to the front door. I didn’t pause, because that would be like showing weakness. Instead I just reached out for the brass handle and tugged the door open. And then, despite the fact that it was bright and sunny outside, I stepped into the dim, casino-like interior with the same awe as one might experience crossing over into a whole new dimension.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. All I could see was the dark entry area and the bright lights filtering in through frosted glass doors, along with the twisting cords of colored neon that curved upon the black walls, subtly hinting at the lushness of the female form. To my right, there was a polished reception desk that looked almost like what you might see at a classy hotel. A woman with glistening blond hair stood behind it wearing a tight T-shirt that emphasized her braless breasts as well as the word plastered across her chest: Destiny.

Two video cameras were displayed prominently in the area, their red lights glowing steadily as if to underscore the message printed neatly on a sign that hung on the door that led from this reception area to the main part of the club: For the safety of our employees, these premises are under 24-hour video surveillance.

Muffled music filtered in from the main area, but for the most part, this little room served as a transition between the mundane world outside and the promise of what lay beyond those frosted doors.

“Six dollar cover,” the blonde said. “Unless you’d like to enter the wet T-shirt contest.” She glanced at the clock. “It’ll be in the champagne room in just under an hour.”

I glanced down at my barely B-cup boobs. “What’s the champagne room?”

“It’s totally awesome. There’s an additional cover, but you get all the champagne you want while you’re in there. And, of course, for the wet T-shirt contest, we can’t just spray the girls with water. Where’s the fun in that?” She laughed, obviously delighted with the idea. I grinned, too, sucked in by her infectious attitude.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said, even though it was a little tempting. “The truth is, I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh.”

The room seemed suddenly chilly and I hurried to explain. “No, no. I’m not an angry girlfriend trying to track down my guy. Nothing like that. I’m looking for Evan Black.”

She leaned down and pulled a sheath of papers from somewhere behind the counter. “Job application?”

I laughed. “No.”

“Oh.” Her brows lifted and she did a quick up-and-down scan, her eyes covering me from head to toe, and I could see the curiosity in her eyes. “Is he expecting you?” Her corporate-polite voice now held a hint of ice.

“No,” I said. “I just thought I’d drop by.” I almost blurted out that I was a friend, but at the last second I clamped my mouth shut. Hadn’t I come here with the intent of becoming exactly what she imagined me to be?

I cleared my throat. “So, um, is he around?”

Her plastic smile was so tight I thought her cheeks might crack. “He’s not on the premises at the moment, but—”

The frosted glass door burst open, cutting off her words, and Cole strode through, all power and poise, fire and energy. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

I bristled. “Excuse me?”

He glanced sideways toward the blonde. “Take a break.”

She nodded, eyes wide, and slipped out through a door that was camouflaged in the velvety blackness of the wall behind her.

“This isn’t the place for you,” Cole said, all of his attention on me.

“No?” I crossed my arms over my chest and mentally dug in my heels. “Because I’m feeling right at home.”

He moved closer to me, emotions storming across his face. “Dammit, Angelina.”

I forced myself not to cower as he approached. Instead, I held my ground, telling myself that I knew this man well. That even though he’d grown up around gangs—that even though he could snap me in two without breaking a sweat—that he absolutely did not intimidate me. On the contrary, I knew that Cole would always watch out for me.

“I mean it,” I said. “I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”

“Answers?” He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he examined me. “And what exactly is the question?”

“Evan,” I said simply.

“What about him?”

I sighed in exasperation. This felt a little bit too much like junior high. “I want to know how to find him for one thing. And since I don’t have another address, this was my best option.”

“And why exactly do you want to find him?”

I almost told him it was none of his damn business, but I was tired of being contentious. “Come on, Cole,” I said wearily. “He owes me something. And I don’t think that Evan’s the kind of guy who squelches on his debts.”

“Something?” Cole said, and I was grateful for the dim light that kept my blush from showing.

After a moment, I nodded and his grin grew wide. I had the feeling he knew exactly what kind of debt Evan owed me. “Well, look at little Dragonbait, all grown up. You win. Come on in.” He cocked his head toward the frosted glass doors.

I exhaled in relief and followed. Considering the understated entry, I’d expected the main room to be nice, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so big or so shiny. The room was huge, with the same cavernous feel of the casinos I’d visited with college friends on jaunts to both Vegas and Atlantic City. Instead of blackjack tables, there were individually lit raised dance floors—I counted six—scattered around the room. Each featured a pole, and each pole featured a girl. There was a bar around the edge of the platform, and men lined the barstools, some standing long enough to tuck a bill into the sequined nothingness that the dancers wore. And nothingness was pretty much it. Though some wore bikinis and some wore G-strings, some were entirely naked but for a garter belt around a thigh, the purpose of which was clearly to serve as a tip collection device.