Series: Series by Ker Dukey
Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Another glass sits on the table waiting on me.
He’s thrown a pair of shorts on the bed, so I grab them and pull them on before joining him. Sitting next to him, I grab my glass and mimic his position. “We should buy some new shoes,” I say absently, nudging his foot with mine.
“Sure, right after you tell me what the fuck is up with you.”
I gulp down the shitty hotel vodka and grimace. “I don’t know.”
“Your half-ass answers don’t work with me,” he says gently—a tone he reserves for only me.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I tell him all I know. “My heart is racing. I have a sense of dread. Something about this place doesn’t sit right with me. Like it’s going to end badly, or something fucked up is going to happen.”
He sips his vodka and lets out a laugh. “Something fucked up for us is like unimaginable for most people. You really get a bad vibe from this place?”
“Not the hotel. The country. The state. I don’t know how to explain it. Like I said, I’m probably just jet lagged.”
Sliding a palm behind my neck, he rubs the tension away. A sappy love song comes on, making my heart thump harder in my chest. I don’t have to tell Rodion to change it, because he feels what I feel. We are the same. It gets switched to something else, but I’m already rattled.
“Your leg is bouncing, Z.”
“I’m irritable,” I confess.
“Hmmm, let’s go and find someone to play with. Viktor’s place isn’t far from here.”
Maybe that’s what I need.
“Fine.”
Chapter Eight
Rodion
“Are we getting out or are you just going to stare up at the place all night?” Zahkar grumbles.
I didn’t even realize we pulled into the parking lot.
“Put your game face on, brother,” I grunt, shaking away the boredom of this place that clearly puts me to sleep. “Time to shake shit up.”
We climb out of the car and I adjust my watch. Since we’re in the butt fucking boonies, I wasn’t sure if we’d be overdressed in suits, so Zahkar and I are both wearing slacks and dress shirts. Our clothes cost more than most people spend on cars, but I still feel underdressed.
“Are you sure you want to play tonight?” Zahkar asks as we approach the entrance to The Vault.
There’s something off with him, and I can tell he needs a distraction.
“We didn’t come this far just to turn around before we even step inside,” I tease.
The guy manning the door sizes us up and must decide we’re worthy because he waves us inside as he opens the door. The Vault club has modern décor and mirrored reflective walls that seamlessly blend with the polished floor, creating the illusion of space. There’s a reception area before you enter the bar, which is a nice touch. Leather couches line a wall. A busty but well-dressed woman greets us, and we’re charged an entrance fee before we can pass through to the main bar. There’s no advertisement in the foyer for this place’s darker delights because Viktor hasn’t made it an official service yet. We will be bringing people over to help him with that. But he caters to clientele “in the know” by personal invitation or request.
Viktor has said he wants to offer a “members only” option when he adds to the delights part of the club and I like that idea too. We slink inside and let the ambience wash over us.
Music, with a steady beat, moves through the building setting a relaxed vibe. It’s busy for being so late. My eyes scan the private areas secluded along the back wall. Very nice.
Taking a seat in a round booth in one of the far corners, we gauge the atmosphere. It’s electric, sultry, and pulsing.
A woman dressed in a black short skirt that teases her upper thighs sashays over to us. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she purrs, making sure to swipe her tongue across her bottom lip to entice.
“The owner. Is he in?” Z asks, straight to the fucking point.
Her face falters for a millisecond. “Is there a complaint you wish to make?” Gone is the sexy woman who approached and in her place is a worried employee.
Reaching out, I grasp her wrist, setting my fingertips over the urgent pulse thundering there.
“Not about you.” I wink and she blushes. It’s visible even in this dark setting.
“Oh, well, Mr. Harris is by appointment only, I’m afraid.” She frowns at me. “I can get the bar manager if you wish.”
I look around her slim form to the bar and see a flurry of activity. “I think Mr. Harris would want to see us. Tell him we’re here.”
Her brow furrows. “Let me go find the bar manager. He can help with that.”
Releasing her, I sit back in my seat as Z leans over into my space to whisper to me. “Appointment only. I like it.”