Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“ID?” the bouncer says with his hand stretched out toward me.
If I give him my ID, he could link me to the cops or my dad, and I most definitely will not be allowed entry if that happens. So, I do what any attractive woman trying to get into a nightclub would do. I pretend to reach down the cleavage of my top, rooting my hand around as if I’m looking for something.
“Oh, damn it!” I exclaim with a fake pout. “I must have left it back at my apartment." I make puppy dog eyes up at the bouncer, who is covered in tattoos and scars more than he has skin to hold them all. “And I really wanted to let loose and have a few drinks and some fun tonight.”
For a second, it doesn’t look like my act is going to work, and I get ready to leave the line and try to come up with another way to get inside. But then, the bouncer lifts the red, braided rope in front of the entryway and waves me through.
“Just remember what a nice guy I am later when I come around looking to buy you a drink,” he says with a gross grin.
“You got it!” I force a smile so hard that my cheeks hurt before quickly heading inside the nightclub.
As soon as I step inside, I notice two things right away. The first is that the place is going off. The crowd is thick, the music is loud, and the drinks are flowing from the tap in a near constant stream. This place is certainly popular tonight. The second thing that catches my attention is that there seems to be amped-up security here. Lots of nightclubs have security guards at the doors and usually a bouncer or two near the bar, but this place has security mingling with the crowd, something a regular civilian might not notice. That’s something I haven’t seen at a club before. Usually, the security patrol and the patrons don’t mix, but I can tell by the way they sweep the crowd. It heightens my alert level a bit and makes me wonder if there’s something else going on here tonight besides my meager attempt to infiltrate the Bratva nightclub in search of further answers about my mother’s death.
I head to the bar and take a seat all the way at the end of the counter, where the bartender’s station is. If there’s any eavesdropping to be done, the bartender’s station is the best place to do it. Bartenders hear everything, and it’s not as if they have to sign an NDA to do their job.
Sometimes, some of them even have a drink or two during their shift, and then their filter comes off a bit. Just like that old saying, “loose lips sink ships”, I’m hoping to catch some unfiltered truths that might slip out of someone’s mouth tonight. Perhaps I can even avoid having to press deeper into this hornet’s nest altogether and elude being spotted by the mafia boss that Nico warned me about.
I order a glass of wine and glance around the club from my seat at the bar. I can see the man who I think is the kingpin Nico referenced. It’s hard not to notice that he’s taking up more of a presence than almost anyone else here. He’s got a whole corner booth, flanked by his own personal security, and two women sitting in his lap. His small, beady eyes look like pimples on his fat face. If I’m unable to pick up any useful information sitting here, I’ll have to make my way closer to that booth. But for now, I simply sit here to watch and listen and try not to seem out of place or get noticed. If anyone here recognizes me, then I’m sure I won’t get a warm welcome.
I keep my head down, my ears open, and sip my wine as I steal intermittent looks around the club.
In the corner of the club, there’s a woman who sticks out to me. Her appearance isn’t what sets her apart from the other women here, since she’s lovely and dressed for a night out. It’s her behavior that doesn’t seem to fit in with the nightclub scene. She looks to be around my age, but instead of dancing or drinking or interacting with the slew of good-looking men at the club, she’s sitting at a small, high-top table alone, hunched over a laptop as the club lighting reflects a small glimmer against an earpiece in her ear. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s trying to conduct some sort of side-mission without being noticed, just like me.
I stare at her for a bit too long, watching her and wondering what she’s doing. It isn’t until I hear the bartender speaking quietly to the bouncer beside me that I realize my staring has drawn their attention. Before I can think of anything to do to stop it, the bouncer makes his way over to the woman’s table. I can’t hear what he says to her once he gets there, but I can see him reach his arm out as if he’s getting ready to escort her out of the club. Her eyes dart around for a moment, as if she’s trying to find a way out of her current predicament and keep from being forced out of here. And when her gaze lands on me, her expression changes.