“It’s the little joys sometimes.”
I left the car and gazed up at the club’s shimmering neo green lights. “Have you come here a lot?”
Viktor grinned. “Every Thursday, whether rain, snow, or sleet. It has the hottest women in Paradise.”
I frowned at him.
He cleared his throat. “Our ladies in the North are sexy. But, these southern women aren’t working. They’re the ones men chase. And when these Southie chicks party, they really get dressed up.”
We headed forward.
I shook my head. “There’s better lounges in the West. Why do these supposedly hot chicks come here?”
“Too many high prices in the West. And all of the male perverts are in the North. It makes the South cheap and jerk-free.”
I rolled my eyes. “My customers are not creepy men. They just prefer to pay for sexual entertainment.”
“Hey, Dima. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard from some of these chicks.” Viktor placed the phone in his jacket. “Shamrock is the best spot to party at on Thursday.”
“Why?”
“At midnight on Thursday, Marcelo has these large cages lower from the ceiling. There’s always hot half-naked women in them, twerking and showing off their flexibility. The cages hover above the dance floor. It’s wild.”
“I’ve got actual naked women in cages.”
“It’s just different.”
“Whatever.”
“Gunner also just hired this gorgeous singer. Young and pretty. Big rack. Small hips. Big curly afro.”
“She’s black?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s a couple of things.”
We got to the door.
The bouncer spotted us and opened it.
We entered.
Usually, Shamrock represented a mind-bending explosion of green.
Tonight, red covered the space and bathed, showing love to the West.
We moved through the crowd of elegantly dressed people. Everyone in the nightclub wore black. Some of Rowe Street Mob had green hats or ties. I spotted several hints of blue from Lei’s people—the Four Aces.
We continued to VIP.
I’d arrived early for Chanel, but didn’t see any of her main guards.
Two servers strolled by in lace bodysuits that left nothing to the imagination. They wore red bottom shoes.
Viktor whistled. “You see what I mean, Dima?”
“They’re alright.”
Viktor laughed.
I caught some of the large pictures on the walls throughout the club. Every image showed Romeo. In some, he had no shirt on and posed with rubies. In others, he wore a red suit and stood next to various members of his family.
Romeo, you crazy bastard. I'm going to miss you.
We made it to the elevator in the back of the club.
The doors slid open.
We got on with my men.
The elevators rose.
Viktor grinned. “I wonder if Marcelo will lower the cages tonight.”
“Oh, I’m so excited.” I waved my hands in the air and rolled my eyes. “Then, we’ll get to see women in the cages. . .with clothes on.”
“You’ll see, Dima. It’s just different. Women with clothes on are more alluring than the ones without them.”
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
We left and entered the VIP section on the second level.
Marcelo’s men gestured for us at his office’s entrance.
We continued forward and then entered.
At the far end, Marcelo stood at the large glass window and gazed at something in front of him.
I stepped to his side and checked for what he was looking at.
Marcelo’s office window provided the best view in the club. Everything could be seen—bar, dancefloor, entrance, exit, and there was a clear view of the stage.
Currently, Marcelo watched a gorgeous woman standing on the stage. She had a light brown complexion and a curly afro. She’d stuck a green rose in the side of her afro. A dark green gown hugged her small frame. She looked black with a possible addition of something else. But who ever knew these days? No one was pure anything.
Viktor stood on my right and pointed at her. “That’s the singer I was talking about.”
Marcelo snapped his gaze to him. “Say what?”
Viktor smiled. “I was telling Dima about your singer.”
“Don’t.” Marcelo glared at him.
Viktor opened his mouth, but said nothing.
Marcelo spat his next words out. “My singer is no concern to Dima or anyone else in the North.”
I quirked my brows. “Viktor meant no disrespect.”
“Awesome. Stay away from her, and we’ll have no problems.” Marcelo turned back and ogled her.
Interesting.
I pulled out my mini book and jotted a quick note.
Marcelo likes the singer.
A light shown on her. The chattering people below us quieted. A band played low tempo music behind her.
She began to sing. The notes were beautiful enough. Watching her perform, people swayed and twisted their bodies on the dance Floor.
Bored, I looked at Marcelo. “Did you hide the body?”
He appeared annoyed that I interrupted his listening. “I did.”
“Where is it?”
“In the South.”
“I assumed that.”
“Then, you were right.” Marcelo went back to watching her. “You owe me, Dimitri.”
“I don’t. You did this to maintain harmony within the Syndicate.”
“You owe me.”
I held in my growl and turned back to the stage.
If that’s how it is, then I’ll fuck your little singer.