“I’m here about the ad?” she tried again, louder this time.
Still no response.
Weird.
Unzipping her coat, she stood at the top of the stairs, wondering if the narrow, and dimly lit passageway down was home to her next job … or the last place anyone would see her alive.
It’s now or never.
Holding the railing for support, she moved slowly, trying to read the titles of books lining the built-in shelving on both sides of the staircase.
Books everywhere!
As her heel touched the concrete floor at the bottom, she could just make out muffled music. A long, narrow corridor led to a heavy, wood-paneled door. Vintage replica wallpaper coated the walls, the ornate pattern broken up periodically by large gilded-framed photos of women in Victorian garb and metal wall sconces fashioned from aged pipes, complete with Edison-shaped bulbs.
Cool.
A brass plate mounted to the door read “Staff Only”. The music grew louder and she could hear the sound of feminine laughter from the other side.
Jayla knocked timidly. “Hello? I’m here about the ad.”
After a moment with no answer, curiosity needed her to see inside.
Eh, screw it. Not like I’ve never broken into someplace before.
Chapter Two
As the door opened, revealing a large room, Jayla stifled a laugh. It’s a speakeasy, she thought to herself, looking around at the décor. A low, sultry, song filled the space, the speakers hidden.
A large stage was the focal point of the room, about five feet high, with a low railing and floor lighting. A few tables with booth seating were strewn about, in no particular pattern. A second story above her held what she imagined to be another seating area. To her right, a long, ornately-carved wooden bar ran the length of the room.
The shelves behind the bar were empty and the room, while interesting, was distinctly unfinished.
One of the booths to the left of the stage was occupied. Three women — two with dark hair and a tall blonde, sat looking over what appeared to be a bound menu.
Jayla cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
The three women looked up in unison.
Jayla help up the paper. “I saw your ad. I’m here about a job.”
The blonde offered her a smile, waving her over.
Taking a deep breath, Jayla faked her best smile. “Is this the right place? Madame Lily’s?” she asked, with just a hint of nervousness.
“It is, doll,” the blonde confirmed. “I’m Cynthia. This here,” she motioned to the darker haired woman, “is Snow.” The woman gave her a small wave. Her nearly black hair was a striking contrast to her porcelain pale skin.
“And this,” Cynthia continued, “is the owner of this wonderful little establishment, and my bestie, Belle.”
“Co-owner,” the woman named Belle corrected, shifting out of the booth to stand. She extended a hand. “Nice to meet you…?”
Oh, yeah. “Jayla.”
“Jayla,” she repeated, smiling. “I hope you found the place alright. The sign wasn’t too big.” She laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “First test, right?”
A calming energy emanated from Belle, her positivity contagious. Her long hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders and her amber irises flickered in the stage lights, their glow reminding Jayla of the fierce gaze from the tiger tattoo on her side.
Equally stunning was Cynthia — who moved her arm around Belle’s shoulder. Jayla found herself looking up to meet Cynthia’s bright blue gaze — although, had the woman not been in heels, they may have been the same height. Her flaxen hair ended just above her waist, another hourglass figure. And welcoming smile.
The third woman, Snow, remained seated, sipping a can of soda with a straw. Looking up, she smiled politely. A blush rushed to her cheeks. “I know what you’re thinking. Snow — it’s a strange name, right?”
Her question caught Jayla off guard. “Um, unusual, I guess.”
“My parents were hippies. I was born just a couple of days after my Mom saw snow for the first time. But I promise, that’s as weird as I get.”
“What a beautiful tattoo!” Cynthia exclaimed, looking to Jayla’s left wrist. Instinctively, she rubbed the leopard-print marking snaking halfway up her arm. This particular tattoo, her first after leaving Jeffrey, covered the majority of the cigarette burns. The tattoo artist she found that time had recommended keeping the coloring natural, and he was right. The yellows and oranges hid the marks almost perfectly.
“Thanks.” Jayla hated her scarring, but there was a sense of freedom that came from having the artwork used to hide them admired by others. “So,” she started, “I’m embarrassed even asking this, but … what’s the job? The ad didn’t say much.”
Cynthia smiled, her arms gesturing to Belle as she spoke. “Well, you’d be auditioning for the opportunity to work at the greatest, the most spectacular, the most amazing—”
Rolling her eyes, Belle interrupted her. “Good Lord, Cyn, chill.” Turning to Jayla, her smile grew. “This is my club. We’re opening in a few weeks as a burlesque show. There are a couple positions — server, bartender, cook. And we also need performers. Both dancers and singers. Up to you what to apply for.”
Cynthia jumped in again. “If you can sing, I highly recommend an audition. I mean I, of course, will be the headliner when I’m here,” she winked. “But, there’s always room for more.”
Belle looked back toward Jayla. “So … what’ll it be?”
Before she could speak, a booming voice answered from behind her. “Isn’t it obvious? Princess here was born to serve.”
Jayla turned, immediately recognizing the voice as belonging to the man on the street less than twenty minutes earlier.
The same cocky smirk was plastered on his too-sexy-for-his-own-good face, a clipboard in his hands. Jacket now off, his fitted white T-shirt allowed her to clearly see the definition in his chest and arms.
He still wore the knit beanie which covered the length and style of his hair. His skin was bronzed, yet natural. Dark swirls of ink, pictures and lines, curled down from under his right sleeve to his wrist. A series of black, braided bands encircled his left wrist.
Damn, he’s sexy.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
He took a step closer, bending his head toward Jayla, his eyes shining with mischief.
“Came to give you another chance.”
“Another chance to—”
“Hi, love!” Belle squealed from behind her as another man, this one built like a Greek god, entered the room. The modern-day Adonis lifted Belle by the waist, spinning her around before kissing her passionately with little care for who else was in the room.
Jayla’s attention was torn between the sweetness of the obvious affection between Belle and her man, and the annoyance of seeing this … prick again.
“Following me, Princess?” he asked, before she had a chance to finish her earlier statement.
“Original, as ever. Only, I’m pretty sure I got here first, so it’s you who’s following me.” She cocked her head, daring him to refute it.
“Jayla!” Belle called, interrupting the standoff. Pulling her man by the hand, she introduced him. “This is my boyfriend, Aleksandr. He’s the co-owner. And this,” she continued, nodding toward the man from the street, “is Alistair. He’s helping us with security stuff. Gentlemen, this is Jayla.”
Jayla extended a hand to Aleksandr. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Jayla’s thinking of auditioning,” Belle added, her eyes wide and pleading. “Right?”
Jayla groaned internally. She could dance. And sing. She just didn’t like the thought of being on-stage, where people could see her. Where someone might recognize her.
No one will recognize you here, Jayla.
“Auditioning? For the stage?” Alistair laughed. “Do you need me to stand up there with you, just in case your feet decide your ass needs to m
eet the ground again?” he asked, never removing his eyes from her.
Her gaze narrowed. “Hilarious,” she deadpanned. She spun on her heel to face Belle, the ends of her hair just close enough to whip him in the process. “I’d love the opportunity, Belle. How about right now?”
Closing her eyes, Jayla took a deep breath. Annoyance at Alistair’s tone was one thing, but she’d practically let him goad her onto the stage. Pulling up You Don’t Own Me on her iPod, she handed it to Belle who plugged it into the sound system.
“Great song! Can’t wait to hear it.” Belle rubbed her arm and then darted back to the booth to join the others.
Take a breath, Jayla. Just show him how totally wrong he is.
Finding her courage, she stepped onto the stage.
Slipping the microphone headset over her ears, Jayla’s hips swayed to the first bars of the song.
Eyes closed, memories of Jeffrey’s torture flitted into her mind. Rather than fear, the first few bars of the song gave her a sense of … release. The vibrations of music flowed through her, making her feel powerful. By the time she got to the second chorus, her voice strengthened, the true meaning of the song hitting her.
Dancing along the stage, body swaying, allowing herself to belt the words which were so intrinsically her … her voice held emotion she didn’t realize still lived inside her. She hadn’t sung in years, but it felt so good to close her eyes and let loose, to just feel the words. Her hands roamed her body, up her sides, lifting her hair off her shoulders, moving to the tempo.
As the song hit it’s crescendo, she gave into the rhythm, singing and dancing with a sensuality she thought she’d lost. As the song neared its end, she ad-libbed the final notes, ala Christina Aguilera.
When the final note faded, she drew deep breaths, and dared to open her eyes.
“Oh, my gosh, Jayla! That was amazing!” Belle clapped her hands enthusiastically. Beside her, Snow and Cynthia also stood. A standing ovation.
“You held out on us, girl!” Cynthia hollered, then whistled.
When she glanced over to the men, Aleksandr was smiling, clapping with the ladies. Alistair stood, mouth half open in stunned silence. Ever so slowly, a smile crept over his lips and he joined in the applause. The fluttering in her stomach grew from his stare, and apparent approval.
Navigating her way from the raised stage back to the floor, she moved to join the girls at the booth. As she passed Alistair, she felt his eyes trailing down her figure. A sudden urge came over her and, exaggerating the sway of her hips, she threw a glance back over her shoulder at him.
“Who’s desperate now?”
Chapter Three
Fuck. Me.
Alistair watched her movements off the stage, slack-jawed. That voice. That body. That … attitude. Running a hand over his mouth, his cock hardened in his jeans, his imagination running wild, envisioning her on her knees, wickedly smiling up at him.
A hard slap on his back jerked his attention to Aleksandr, who shook his head, smiling. “No, Ali.”
Alistair returned the smirk. “No, what?” he asked, but he already knew what Aleks was thinking. Hell, before Belle, Aleks would have been thinking the exact same thing.
“Let’s get the women hired first. Then you can make a fool of yourself trying to get them into bed.”
Alistair rolled his eyes at the friendly jab. He’d known Aleksandr — or as he was better known, “The Beast” — for several years. The man boasted one of the most impressive MMA records in the league, leaving as the only undefeated fighter. He was, or rather, he had been, a god among fighters … and women.
That was until his father had passed away and left him a real estate empire to run. And until Belle had entered his life and brought the self-professed “commitment-phobe” to his knees. The club they were standing in belonged to Aleks, who bought it for Belle — her dream fulfilled.
“So, what do you think?” Aleks asked, breaking into Alistair’s thoughts.
“Hire her,” Alistair stated, watching Jayla’s sashaying backside walking away from him.
Laughing, Aleks removed his hand from Alistair’s back. “No, dumbass, about the building. I already know what you think of her.”
Reminding himself he was there for a job, Alistair shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and glanced down at the notes scribbled on his clipboard.
As perfect as the space was for Belle’s dream — a burlesque club rivaling those put on in Paris, complete with a bar, Michelin-star chef, and a speakeasy theme — it was ramping up to be a bitch for security purposes.
“Well, just depends on how secure you want it to be. There’s nothing else like it in the city, so comparing it to some of the higher-end strip clubs, general features should be fine; bouncers at the entrances and interior as well as a camera system. There’s no—”
Aleks cut him off. “No such thing as ‘general’ when it comes to Belle’s safety. I want everything. More than everything. I want to be able to see her at all times, especially when I’m not here.”
Shaking his head, Alistair huffed. Aleksandr was known for cut-throat business practices, but this level of control regarding Belle seemed, disconcerting.
“Aleks, the women’s security is my number one priority. But I’m not going to invade someone’s privacy.” He spoke the truth. He’d turned down a few jobs in the past from men looking to hire him to “monitor” their girlfriends, something Alistair refused to take part in. There was nothing he hated more than men who believed they owned the women they were with.
“It’s not like that.” Aleks practically growled the statement as he turned his attention to Belle. A look crossed his face that Alistair couldn’t quite ascertain. “She’s been attacked before,” he said, his tone softer. “Had a stalker who broke into her home, my office. He almost…”
He took a deep breath, shaking his head without completing the thought. Looking back up, he added, “I need her safe. He’s out of the picture, but if he even so much as thinks about coming after her again … I need to know who everyone in my club is at all times.”
Alistair nodded. “In that case, we’ll install a top-of-the-line system — cameras, possibly with microphones, but we’ll have to do a dry run to see how it would work with the performances. We’ll close circuit the system, wire everything to the back office where my staff will keep a constant watch. In addition, we’ll install the feed to your home and phone, if you like, so you can watch wherever you are.”
The Beast wanted the best his money could buy, and Alistair now understood why it was necessary. His company, Lost Boys Security, was the best in the business and he was prepared to meet the Beast’s demands. What had started as small jobs for family friends had turned into an opportunity to put their street smarts to good use for Alistair and his two closest friends, Peter and Eugene. Regular jobs led to the development of a private security detail. Which then led to private events, and so on. Now, LBS was one of the premiere private security companies in the city.
“We’ll have both stationary and personal panic buttons — discreet, for the girls, so no one knows they have them on.”
Aleksandr nodded, motioning for him to continue.
“Peter’s been playing around with a new technology — a system for scanning faces in a crowd. I’m sure he’d love the opportunity to test it here, in case anyone who shouldn’t be in the club gets admitted.”
Peter was Alistair’s tech guru. They’d met what seemed like eons ago, in the foster system. A few years younger, Peter’s smart mouth often got his ass kicked by the older street kids. Alistair stepped in one day and helped him out of a scuffle. They’d become fast friends.
Aleks raised an eyebrow. “Like in Fast and Furious?”
Alistair laughed. “Sort of, but a much smaller scale.” He lowered his voice. “Just don’t mention the movie to Peter. He’s pissed they ‘stole his idea’.” Shaking his head, he added, “Kid knows too much for his own good. Makes him paranoid.”
; The kid was smart. Smarter than any of the computer programmers at Cornell or Princeton. At ten, he’d stumbled onto the “dark web”; by eleven, he could find any information someone might need, all without being traced. Peter was a computer hacker through and through, but he never took a job with any malicious intent. His teenage sense of humor at one point, however, had almost landed him in jail. On a dare, Pete had changed the screen background on every monitor in the Pentagon to a picture of a very busty woman and well-endowed man in a … compromising position.
When the video he’d captured of the Pentagon security office responding to the hack went viral, investigators were soon beating down his door. Thankfully, the judge had only slapped him with community service, and the scare had been enough to make Peter a bit more selective in his hacking efforts. That, and the sweet-faced video game designer, code name Tinker, he’d met a few years back at Comic-Con.
Returning to the topic on hand, Alistair continued, “There’s also the option of bodyguards. Did you—”
“Tell me the best you’ve got, and we’ll work up from there.”
Rolling his eyes, Alistair bit back a smile. Demanding prick.
“Best? One guard per girl, per night. Each will shadow his assigned principal during the shift, keeping enough distance so the girls can interact freely with the patrons, yet never be more than a few seconds out of reach. In addition to the ‘shadows’, we’d stage bouncers in different areas of the interior — one at each end of the hallway, two at the outer exists. Add a couple of undercover guards, acting as patrons and this place will be a veritable fortress, but Beast, the cost—”
“Perfect. I want it all.”
Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2) Page 2