“We need to consider our options, Austin,” she finally gets down to business, setting the cup on my desk and looking me in the eyes with a serious expression. “Lester isn’t going to stand down for long, and you know that.”
I sigh as she continues. “If he somehow manages to get a warrant so that he can raid Python, that’s what he’s going to do.”
“I know that,” I sigh, sitting back down on my chair and folding my hands in front of my face, pondering what our next move should be. “But we can’t move all the women out of here without him noticing. We need to be careful.”
“We do,” she lowers her voice and then leans into me. She caresses her right earlobe with her thumb, and that gives away the fact that what she’s going to tell me isn’t really up for discussion. I’ve seen her do that too many times to start arguing; she argues back, and she doesn’t budge. And that’s exactly why I trusted her with this job in the first place.
“And being careful means that we have a safe place to move the girls in case there’s a raid,” she says. “We can’t let Lester catch us with our pants down.”
“Okay, okay. Fuck. I’ll think of something,” I tell her, my throat suddenly growing dry. It would be so much easier to run a regular strip club, but I guess that’s not who I am.
Our choices define who we are, and the choices I’ve made in the past, especially since I’ve started working with Strokes, force me to stay true to who I am. There’s no backing down from this; I’m in for the long haul.
“Let’s grab a drink, I’m buying,” I tell her, and then step out of the office. She follows after me quietly, knowing not to argue. I got a lot on my mind, with all the logistics of our operation and funneling money out of the club so that we can stick to our plans.
I can’t believe at one point I actually thought that this was going to be easier than it is, but at least the payoff is good enough for me to keep investing both my time and money into this whole scheme.
“Whisky, straight up,” I tell Mike, the shirtless bartender, and he sets a full glass down in front of me in fifteen seconds. Keep up the good work and you might s
ee a raise, Mike.
“Orange juice, natural,” Strokes asks, and Mike doesn’t even argue with her. She’s’ quirky like that; she loves her ice cream and her orange juice, and she’s not ashamed to order them when every single woman around her is getting loaded with martinis and tequilas.
Even though she’s heading my operation, dealing with the day-to-day nasty reality of business, sometimes she seems just like a little girl fresh out of college and without any real world experience. But anyone who believes first appearances is a fool; there’s much more about her than what meets the eye.
“Really, you and your orange juice. Can’t you just drink a whisky like a regular fucking human being? It’s 11 PM, for God’s sake.”
“Health comes first,” she teases me with a smile, but then she’s back to her usual somber self. “So what’s the plan, Austin? I have to know. I need to be ready in case something happens.”
“I’m working out an escape plan with security. If shit hits the fan, they have a few SUVs parked just right around the corner, and they have orders to get the girls out of here before anyone can lay eyes on them. At first sign of trouble, they’ll get them out.”
“Yeah, but to where?”
“I’m working that out, just trust me. I’m looking at renting a few apartments spread across the city so that we move the girls there if we need to do it. It’ll be a few more days to iron out some kinks in all of this, but the basics are covered. If we have trouble, at least security will get them out of here; the rest we can always figure out later.”
Oh right.
You’re wondering who I’m talking about?
What girls I’m talking about?
Don’t worry about it, doll.
Just trust me, okay? I promise you, it’s going to look fucking suspicious, but I fucking guarantee you that I’m being legit.
It may not look it, but I swear it is.
I fucking promise.
“Okay, sounds good,” Mistress Strokes says to me, and looks at me before continuing. “But I still think that --” She suddenly grows quiet, her eyes widening as she looks over my shoulder. “I’m leaving,” she whispers suddenly. She goes up to her feet and, ignoring the orange juice Mike has just set on the counter, turns to leave.
“Hey, where are you going?” I ask after her, but she’s already lost in the crowd. I try and follow her blue hair with my eyes, but when Strokes doesn’t want to be followed or found, she simply vanishes up in the air.
And she’s jumpy too; if she sees anything that she doesn’t like, she runs. “Better safe than sorry,” she always tells me and, even though I agree with her, I can’t help but get annoyed whenever she leaves me hanging like this.
But the fact remains: she saw something (or someone) that she didn’t like and she bolted, just like she always does. I turn on my seat to see what frightened her, but I don’t see anything at first. The main floor is packed with horny women, all of them concentrating on the moves a half-naked Maverick is showing off on the stage, but aside from that I don’t—and then I see her.
Destiny Renee.