Sinless (Deadly Omen Book 1)

by Jenica Saren

  I was so happy for a chance to roll my own eyes that I may have overdone it a little bit. “We’re women, we don’t need to make ourselves up to be walking sex magnets.” I joked.

  Gatlin caught my eye and I saw his lips curve up slightly. Isn’t that the truth. His eyes seemed to say. He would know, since he accosted me in my private quarters not very long ago. Oh, and he was enjoying our dirty little secret. I was too, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that at the moment, simply for the sake of both my sanity and dryness of my underwear.

  “We’re all set. How do we wanna do the car thing?” I asked as Kellan held open the front door.

  Beck headed out first. “Whoever doesn’t fit in my jeep can ride with you, if that works.” He suggested.

  I nodded to Kellan as I passed through the doorway. “Thanks, Mongo.” I teased. He only snorted in response, yet another nickname sticking the landing. “Yeah, that sounds good.” I replied to Beck as I opened my car door, my car already started and warming up.

  “Wow!” Drea mused. “This is one hell of a car, Ria.” She was in complete awe, climbing into the passenger seat gingerly, as though she might mar its beauty just by touching it.

  I shot her a wink as I reached behind me and situated my bags in the floorboard behind my seat to make room for any other passengers. “Perks of the job, homegirl.”

  I saw Gatlin already making his way to my car and I audibly gulped.

  Calm, cool, collected, aloof, nonchalant, chill, relaxed.

  I repeated these adjectives in my head like a mantra to remind myself of what I should be at that particular moment in time.

  Thankfully, my internal panic was momentarily doused by the sight of Kellan, Rafe, and Gray – Gray? – playing rock, paper, scissors outside of Beck’s sleek black Jeep. I begged and pleaded in my own mind with the powers that be that they weren’t arguing over what I thought they were arguing over.

  Alas, Eliam’s irritated scowl said it all.

  The winner appeared to be Rafe, as he was walking toward my car with a cat-ate-mouse grin and Kellan was glaring him down like the mouse was his to catch. Did that make me the mouse?

  Don’t pretend you don’t love it. My inner self purred. The harlot. I kind of did love it, but what can I say? I’m only human.

  Gatlin slid into the back seat with ease while Rafe climbed in after him, their massive bulk taking up more space in the tiny vehicle than I had even considered. Oops.

  After everyone was situated, I pulled out of the driveway behind Beck and we hit the road.

  * * *

  We had been driving for about twenty minutes, bantering back and forth, playing hot potato with DJ rights, and talking about some fun facts about the small, historic town of Willow Tree.

  “And,” Drea continued. “Father Augustus Belvieu is a complete and total loon.”

  There were two chorusing sounds of wholehearted agreement from the backseat.

  Gatlin leaned forward and propped his elbow on my center console for the millionth time already. “He’s one of those old-timey church leaders that stands on street corners and hollers about the end being near.” He interjected.

  “And how we’re all sinners.” Rafe added, snickering behind his heavily tattooed hand.

  Sounded all too familiar to me, if I was being completely honest. “Like in Little Nicky?” Incidentally, one of my favourite movies of all time. The whole idea of Hell not being what my parents always made it out to be? Sign me up for a viewing every day until I die and can see it for myself.

  This time, Rafe howled with laughter. “Yeah, just like that. He’s got the hat and everything.” I caught him grinning in the rearview mirror. He was a total goofball.

  We swapped some more stories and whatnot while I followed Beck through some more tiny towns, less maintained and lively than our own. The drive was astoundingly relaxing, getting to spend some one-on-one time with some of the gang.

  “Uh, Ria?” Gatlin’s voice was strained, like he was trying not to break out in laughter, hives, song, or tears – I wasn’t one hundred percent.

  Until I looked in my rearview mirror and caught the now-imprinted image of him holding the garter skirt that went with my sexy maid outfit. I was opening my mouth to tell him to put it back when Rafe snatched it from his hands and held it up to the window like he was checking a counterfeit bill.

  “Looks like a certain little bird likes to play.” He purred. Oh, for the love of –

  I gave Drea a quick look and she immediately reached behind her to yank the scrap of fabric from the man’s hands.

  Gatlin was smirking. “I think Ria has a story to tell.” He said, sounding kind of sing-song. “So, come on. What’s the down and dirty here?” I bet he had so much trouble keeping his face straight for that one.

  I leveled my face into an expressionless mask as I stared straight ahead at the road before me. “I’m a dancer.” I admitted, forcing some relaxation into my voice. They were gonna figure it out at some point on this trip, right? “Is there a problem with that?” Aloof. I was so fucking aloof right now.

  Rafe shook his head. “Not at all. I admire your tenacity. It’s not a very easy job from what I’ve heard, but I’m sure it can be very rewarding.” He responded, gesturing to my car as he finished the sentence.

  I’ll admit that I was a little surprised, though not shocked. It wasn’t very often, but it also wasn’t uncommon for men to feel that they could relate or sympathize. “How would you feel if your girlfriend was dancing?” I asked. It usually told me how much of a pig a guy actually was. Now that I think about it, that’s how I lost my last three boyfriends before Cardboard Eyes.

  He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms firmly over his chest that was heavily emphasized by his black, fitted Under Armour shirt. “If she’s mine, she’s mine. She can do what she wants, as long as she’s mine only.” He seemed to think about it for a second before looking at Gatlin quizzically. “Would dancing make her not mine?”

  Gatlin chuckled at Rafe’s frowning expression. “No, she would still be yours until she kissed or screwed someone else.” He assured his friend (brother?).

  Rafe nodded his assent. “Then I wouldn’t have an issue with it.”

  I felt a small sense of pride swell in my chest. Looks like I drew a pretty lucky card as far as male roommates go.

  “So, you’re looking for work?” Gatlin clarified, nodding his head in the direction of my bags behind my seat.

  I nodded and then corrected myself. “Well, kinda. I’m just kind of scouting out the area right now and seeing what the surrounding places have to offer.” I told him truthfully.

  The lull in conversation couldn’t have come at a better time, because Beck was pulling into a parking lot that housed a two story building with a neatly maintained exterior and decently full parking lot for only being about three in the afternoon.

  The sign out front read: STARS GALA CABARET.

  What was it with me and stars? It must – literally – be a sign.

  I climbed out of my little car and stood, stretching my muscles that were cramped from the ride.

  “Ria!” Drea snapped. “You’re not even wearing shoes!”

  I couldn’t help it, I snorted out the most unladylike laugh that would make Miss Manners roll over in her grave. “I’ve got heels in my bags, but six inch platforms aren’t exactly soothing to drive in.” I explained as I pulled open the rear driver’s side door. I rummaged for a second and came up with two pairs of stilettos. “Hot pink or classic black?” I asked.

  Drea was slightly flushed. “Oh, sorry. Depends on the size.” She told me.

  Huh? What did the size have to do with anything? “Uh, seven?” I phrased it like a question out of confusion.

  My friend lit up and said, “hot pink, and I’ll take the black.”

  “Sneaky bitch.” I marveled. She was catching on so quick. I tossed her the black heels and quickly fastened my pink ones around my ankles. I didn’t wear strapless like some
dancers because I never trusted that they wouldn’t just go flying off during a trick.

  Drea stuck her tongue out at me playfully and slipped into her own shoes. Once we were done, we headed to the Jeep where the guys had amassed.

  “So, everyone ready?” Beck called to everyone, stretching out much the same way I had only moments ago. His deep blue shirt rode up just a tad, revealing his sculpted lower abs and a hint of his Adonis belt.

  Yummy.

  There was a chorus of “mm-hmm’s” and “yeah’s”.

  “Everyone have everything?” This time it was Eliam who spoke, casually leaning against the Jeep in his white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was yummy too, but the attitude made it a little harder to appreciate.

  I was about to mention that I would have to head back out for my bags in a few when Gatlin moved in front of me, covertly putting a finger to his lips as his eyes sparkled with mischief.

  Messing with Eliam? I was so down for this particular party.

  I grabbed Drea and linked my arm with hers, heading into the club, feeling the teensiest bit giddy. “Are you guys regulars here?” I called out to our posse.

  “We visit from time to time.” Gray piped up. “It’s not too far and they have happy hour every Thursday all day.” I glanced back at him with a jokingly incredulous look and he just shrugged.

  As we got to the door, it pushed open toward us and nearly knocked Drea and I on our pretty asses. The guy coming out was of slim build, with glasses and messy brown hair with eyes to match. At first glance, his eyes appeared waxy, indicating his level of inebriation, but that wasn’t quite right; his eyes weren’t exactly waxy, but just dull and flat. Lifeless.

  “Richie!” Gray and Rafe called. Apparently, this was a friend.

  The two guys surged forward to bro-hug the stranger. “How’ve you been, man?” Rafe asked, giving Richie a very masculine punch on the arm.

  Richie barely reacted. “Fine.” He said in an almost mechanical voice. The guys looked confused, so I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that wasn’t normal behavior for the dude.

  “Hey, you alright?” Gray asked, his eyes furrowing.

  The man – Richie – had still yet to meet anyone’s eyes. “Fine.” That was all he said before he started stumbling and practically zombie-walking away, leaving Gray and Rafe looking entirely perplexed.

  I felt bad for their confusion and the way their friend had just blown them off. “Do you wanna go check on him?” I asked the two guys, genuinely concerned.

  They both shook their heads and then offered their arms to Drea and I, so we all marched into the strip club for a night of fun, trying to ignore zombie-Richie just outside.

  12

  Ria

  My first impression of the club? Not so great. My second impression? Pretty swanky. It almost had a prohibition-age feel that made my eyes water a little in awe.

  Long chandeliers hung from a section of the ceiling that looked like the inside of a hollowed-out book, their crystal beading glistening in the ambient lighting of the faux candles around the steel frame. The bar was visible from the front door and was made prominent by the age-old brickwork that served as an almost grungy, vintage backdrop that somehow didn’t look dirty or tacky against the rest of the décor. The walls were adorned with beautiful gold filigree against crimson panels, with sleek black armchairs lining the walls. There were decorative sconces spaced to perfection along the walls and the carpet mimicked old cobbled flooring in varying hues.

  But the stage is what caught my eye.

  It was shaped like a cross, with a gleaming brass pole in the very center and varying acrobatic apparatuses at each end of the stage. To the far left was a trapeze, hung by chains that had been wrapped in what looked like corded rope. To the right was a hoop – or lyra, as it was actually known. At the back, on either side of the entryway to the stage, were silks in a deep but vibrant green that changed shades in the pulsing lights. The front of the cross was likely left open for an unobstructed view of the stage, since it was facing the majority of the club’s seating space.

  I was completely in love. The place was strangely majestic and totally my taste.

  I had managed to make it by the doorman without having to openly explain that I was looking for work by gesturing to my heels, then to the guys, and winking. Apparently, ladies kept these things from their guys all the time.

  Not that they were my guys. One of them might be, but that was a bit of a fuzzy subject.

  The only thing I didn’t like was that the music was obnoxiously loud. I heard Eliam shout something that sounded annoyingly British and nodded, because I heard him say ‘pint’ and decided to roll with it.

  We made our way over to a corner booth and took up two tables while a waitress wearing a black tutu with matching corset and heels took our drink orders. I noted that this club also had a kitchen, which was a ginormous plus in my book.

  The girl on stage was pretty boring and basic, but I tried like hell to pay attention and see what kind of tips she got. Pro tip: if the girl on stage is terrible and gets hella cash, that’s a bad sign for the venue. It means they’re not paying for the show, but for… Let’s say services rendered.

  The guys were chatting up a storm beside me, hardly paying attention to the bony woman sitting doggy-style on the stage trying to make her ass pounce – not that she had an ass, because that was absent. As the song finished and her departure was announced, I excused myself to the guys and Drea, and made my way to the dressing room.

  There was a pixie-like woman sitting behind a counter with one of those sliding glass windows that you see at doctor’s offices. “Hi.” I greeted warmly. “Can I speak to the floor manager, please?”

  The pixie woman looked up from whatever she had been writing down, tucking her super short black hair behind her ears. “Yes, I’ll call him now.” She told me, her voice soft and tinkly as though she talked to little forest critters instead of manning a desk at a strip club. “He’ll be back in a minute. What’s your name?” She asked, grabbing up her pen and a sticky pad.

  “Ria.” I said. “I dance by Omen.”

  She wrote this down and beamed. “Great! I’m Lani, I’m the house mom.” She held her hand out the little window as she introduced herself.

  I shook it and smiled back. “Oh, great!” I felt like this place was a good fit already.

  As I waited, I glanced around the dressing room, taking inventory of any pros and cons. The room was carpeted with a dark maroon coloured office carpet, short and easy to clean. The lockers ran in rows and were painted in a vanilla shade of white and decorated with their user’s own personal touches, like stickers and magnets, and glitter. Lots of glitter. The counter was a large U shape, with bolted down barstools every couple of feet. It was a nice and clean looking set up.

  I was perusing outfits and such from the window of a tiny boutique toward the back of the room when a voice cleared behind me. I turned slowly, meeting cold, flat, glassy blue eyes. He was about half a foot taller than me and obviously in his fifties or sixties, judging by his white hair and countless wrinkles, that is. But his eyes, man. They reminded me of how Richie’s had looked just outside the club; no emotion, no life, no light.

  I extended a hand in his direction and fought to keep my uneasiness from making me tremble. “Hi, I’m Ria. I was hoping you were hiring dancers.” I said politely, my hand still extended but unmet.

  The man glanced at my hand slowly and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Okay.” He said flatly. Then, he turned and walked away, through a door leading to what I assumed was an office, without a backwards glance.

  Huh?

  That was eerie and creepy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that settled over me.

  “Alright, you can go check in with the DJ and we’ll take care of the paperwork after you’re dressed and ready, okay?” Lani chimed.

  I nodded and set about my semi-regular routine of preparing for my shift
.

  * * *

  My hair was quickly curled into immaculate loose spirals that hung in curtains down my back and over my shoulders. My startling eyes were boldened further by the smear of black liner around them and the golden glitter on my lids, highlighting the gold that was swirling in their depths. And my lips were emphasized by the natural pink lip gloss that I had chosen to create a more sultry than sexy appearance.

  As I mentally approved my appearance and my inner self nodded her agreement, I rushed quickly to change, silently thanking whoever was looking out for me that Drea had come back to see if I needed anything. Gal pals were the absolute best.

  Well, gal pals who didn't sleep with your fiance behind your back were the best. My inner self stated flatly, not a hint of mercy or sympathy in her tone. My tone.

  No, no, no.

  No thinking about that. If you're going to think devastating, think about some other devastating thing. Think about the crises around the globe, or the child loss epidemic in third world countries, or the resource scarcity in Venezuela. Just think about anything other than Cardboard Eyes and get your game face on.

  Now that I was pushing my mind away from its topic of origin, I was actually pretty freaked by the glassy-eyed thing that seemed to be going on here. What if it was some sort of drug trafficking hub? In one of my educational classes for people in the adult entertainment business, I remember hearing that a lot of hubs liked to keep their proprietors drugged to keep them docile and quiet.

  But the guys wouldn't bring me some place that seemed like a sex trafficking hub, I don't think. And even if they would have, they wouldn't have done that to Drea. Not sweet, beautiful, derpy Drea.

  No, something else was definitely going on here, and I wasn't a detective, so I was staying out of it so long as my people were safe. Leave it to the authorities and hospital personnel to diagnose the whole situation.