Not Quite Juliet: A Club Imperial Novel (Silver Soul Book 1) (3 page)

I cringed. Vanity and I were in the same self-defense school, but where I was a green belt–just three levels up from white–she was an advanced black belt. No one controlled their body the way this woman did, and if this jackass came after her, he got exactly what he deserved with her. “So he’s going to be suing you?”

“Hahaha, no.” She continued after taking another sip of her drink. “His
wife
found out about him being here. He’s not going to be suing anyone.”

“His
wife
found out?” I gasped. Those words, right there, were a death knell. We had plenty of married couples who came in, together or separate, but they always knew what the other person was doing. They understood polyamory worked and they were okay with it. But this guy was already past strike one when his wife
found out
he was at the club. You don’t ever want to
find out
your husband went to a consensual BDSM club to do some sadism on a hot chick who loved pain. “Well, that’s that. Tessa put him on the Never List?”

“Of course. Even before the ambulance took him down the back stairs, while he was swearing and screaming at me.”

“Good. So you’re a floor girl tonight?”

“Yeah, I talked Tessa into letting me back up on Tuesday night. Tuesday is Quinn.” She  smiled, looking a little distant. She snapped back and looked at me. “Meanwhile, I’d better go mingle.” She swallowed the rest of the martini and hopped off the stool.

The rest of my night was uneventful. The usual people, in and out, the newbies sitting at their tables alternately horrified and curious, sometimes horrified by their curiosity. Dallas showed up on time for once in his life. I wasn’t slinging drinks by myself for more than ten minutes. It meant less tips, but sometimes that was worth less stress. I had to be in the courtroom tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. to get set up.

And since it was Judge MacPhearson. I was thinking about being there extra early.

“Hey! Wisconsin!”

I turned and found my best friend standing at the bar. Nadine smiled and waved and I saw the Club Imperial all-access bracelet on her wrist. I shot over to where she was standing and grabbed her arm. “What the hell is that?” I asked.

“Oh, Em—uh, Tessa gave it to me.” She smiled.

“Tessa,” I said. “Why?”

“She’s totally cool,” Nadine said. “She remembered I was your best friend from the party two weeks ago, and sent it to me in the mail so I could come and hang with all you kinky freaks here. Instead of always waiting in the car or meeting up other places.”

“Dee, you’re totally not into this scene,. There’s a reason—”

Nadine waved me off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. There’s a reason why the club is on a lock down. I might not be into it, but I’m cool with it. Whatever floats your boat. Plus, you’re not a hard core kinkster either.”

I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose. “If you’re going to hang out here, you need to lose the flippant attitude. The ‘kinksters’ as you call them, don’t like flippant or disrespectful attitudes on their turf.”

“Oh, right.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Please remember you’re here on the good graces of my bosses,” I said. “And don’t be a stingy tipper.” I tapped the cup on the counter.

“Nice,” Nadine said, ignoring me. “Actually I came over to find out if you want to pop over to Downbound with me.”

I cringed. This was trouble. “It’s Sunday night, Dee.”

She batted her eyes at me. “Please.”

I pursed my lips. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

“Silver Soul is playing a half an hour set at eleven,” she said.

Oh.

No.

She’d pulled out the kryptonite. I stared at her, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. She knew she’d won, even though I hadn’t yet conceded defeat. I stared hard at her. “I really have to be ready for work tomorrow, Dee. You know that. Tomorrow is Judge MacPhearson.”

“Ooh, the Ovary Buster.” For just an instant after that comment, I thought I’d won, she’d give up and I was free to go.

Premature emancipation on my part.

“It’s a short set. Bar will close at the end of the set. We’ll be out by midnight.”

I groaned. That meant I would get less than five hours of sleep.

“Please, Wisconsin?” She was even addressing me with my club name as she was batting her eyes sweetly again.

This was definitely a guy. “Who is he?”

She put her heads on her hands. “He’s the late shift bartender. His name is Genghis.”

I choked. “Genghis? Khan?”

“Stathopoulos,” she answered.

“Holy shit, Genghis Stathopoulos?” I repeated. “Are his parents sadists?”

She looked around. “Not that I know of.”

I ignored her jibe. “You’re really talking to a guy named Genghis Stathopoulos?”

“He goes by Stat,” she said.

“I sure hope so.”

“Ok, so I let you in on my deep dark secret that I’m crushing on someone name Genghis, will you please go with me to Downbound so I can flirt with him?” She smiled. “Come on. Nick D will be on stage and you can stare at him for half an hour.”

Nick D.
She won.

“Fine,” I said. “But we have to be out the door by midnight.”

“Yay!” She clapped like an overstimulated seal.

“Hey,” someone called from the other end. “Can I get a drink? This is the bar, right?”

I spun and saw Dallas had disappeared. My anger spiked. I hoped he wasn’t out trying to mingle on the floor; Franz had already lit into him for disappearing and playing with the wannabes. I trotted down to the other end to help the guy. “What can I get for you?”

“Your fat ass over here a little faster next time.” He wagged a finger at me.

Ah, the douche-canoe patron. I need to send this one up the creek without his paddle. “Sorry, you’re going to have to tell me the ingredients in that one.”

He narrowed his eyes and stared at me. “Just get me a Coors Light on tap.”

“We don’t carry Coors,” I answered, grabbing the beer list. I offered it to him. “Here’s our stock. Probably the closest to a Coors is a Sam Adams or Yuengling. We don’t carry the big breweries.”

“What the shit?” he said, looking over the list. “I paid a hundred bucks to get in here, and you don’t carry Coors.”

“The hundred dollars would be why we don’t carry Coors.” The professional bartender was at the forefront, warning the crazed bitch in me not to get into it with the guy. “We support local and small businesses, and that extends to our liquor and beer selections.”

“Can you believe this? This place sucks.” He mumbled to the person standing next to him. “I can’t buy a cheap beer after spending so much money to get into here. I can’t get anyone in here to give me a b.j. either. And the bartender is a fat bitch.”

The eyes of the person he was speaking to grew wide, and he turned to me. I shrugged. Coors Man had picked the wrong person to complain to: the man sitting next to him was Franz Dorn himself, and on his left was his partner, Victor Walsh. I hadn’t even seen them come down to the bar.

Victor rose off the chair to his full height, and I found myself wishing once again that he was not gay. He was a magnificent human male: broad shouldered, rippling chest, a tapered waist and impeccably dressed. He turned and walked to the security guards near the door, and I watched his hypnotic ass sway in the jeans as he did so. I looked back at Franz who raised an eyebrow at me. It only lasted a second before he turned to the Coors Man.

“I suggest you apologize to the lady,” Franz said.

“Dude, she’s the cherry on my shit sundae,” the guy replied. He looked around. “Got any tips for getting one of these hot pieces of ass to give up a little on the old flesh flute?”

“Flesh flute?” I heard Nadine mumble. Really. People still said that?

“You seem to have mistaken this place for a whorehouse,” Franz said, “which it is not.”

“It’s full of people who get off on kinky shit.” His tone was utterly derogatory, and that wasn’t helping his situation. “There’s got to be someone around here who wants a toot.” I put a hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh. He still caught the giggle, and looked at me. “See this fatty here? What’s she doing in a place so much fine ass?”

“What fatty? Are you referring to the bartender? I see a beautiful woman with curves. So, as I said, I suggest you apologize to her.”

Coors Man rolled his eyes. “Please.” He put the list back on the bar. “Just give me your cheapest, sweetie.”

“Sorry, you don’t fit in the glass,” I said.

“What did you say?!” he snapped while I heard Nadine behind me mumble, “Zing!”

Victor had walked back over with two security guards, returning to his stool just as all of this was going down. The security guards were waiting for Franz to call them into action. I grabbed a cold glass and a Saranac Lake bottle out of the fridge for him while Coors Man fumed. I put the glass and bottle on the counter. It wasn’t hard to see he was planning something stupid.

Coors Man jumped off his chair and grabbed the bottle and tried to crack it on the edge of the bar, like he was in some cheesy western, apparently to threaten me or Franz or someone. It was clear he was not a fan of Mythbusters. Bottle glass in the movies was designed to break. The bottle he was holding was designed
not
to break.

So watching the bottle bounce back off the edge of the counter was pure comedy gold. It was even better when it bounced back so hard it smacked into his eye from the high bar counter. Nadine burst out laughing and I was doing everything in my power not to guffaw at the man, and make the whole thing worse.

Victor was staring straight ahead with his eyes wide and a barely contained laugh. Franz nodded sagely and motioned the security guards over. The idiot with the bottle was howling in pain from the glass bottom hitting his eye. Franz waited until he calmed down and was merely holding his hand over his eye and glowering with the good one.

Franz placed a hand on his shoulder and stepped him away from the bar. “Please escort the gentleman to the door. Make sure his guest pass is revoked.” He stared at the guy in his good eye. “You’d do well to read what you sign, you moron. There is no sex on these premises. At all. Ever. And if you’re caught, we call the cops on you for lewd and lascivious behavior.” He leaned in closer and false whispered, “And Mister Dumore, do you know how much
fun
the Pittsburgh police have with people who are kicked out of a BDSM club for that?” He looked at security. “Refund his money. He’s going to need all one hundred dollars to find that hooker he was looking for.”

The security men dragged him away, and before he was halfway across the very uncrowded dance floor, Victor, Nadine, Franz and I all started howling with laughter.

Franz collected himself enough to motion someone over to the bar. A new guy, Inez, walked over and looked at us all like we’d lost our minds. Which, really, we had. Franz took another second to find the words. “Do you still have contact with your working friends?” he asked. Inez nodded. “Good. Do me a favor and have them spread the word. No one charges Dumore less than two hundred, and if he treats anyone wrong at all, rough him up good.”

Inez smirked and nodded. “You got it, boss.”

Franz looked back at me, still partly laughing. “Where the hell is Dallas?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He was here and then he wasn’t.”

“Hasn’t he been told about leaving you here alone?”

“Franz, I can handle myself,” I said.

“Not because of that,” he grumbled. “I know you’re capable of kicking an ass or two. I’m talking about you getting overwhelmed with drink orders!”

“Oh, gee thanks.”

He pointed at me and laughed. “You can’t be indignant and liberated at the same time.”

“Fuck you,” I answered.

“You missed your chance,” he said. “When Dallas gets his ass back here, and I’ve properly chewed him out, I want you and your friend to go wherever she was plotting to take you. Just go. You’ll get the pay for the rest of the night.”

“Yay!” Nadine clapped, and ran around the bar to hug Franz. “You’re the bestest boss ever!”

He laughed and peeled her off him. “Thank you. Please take your friend and make your way into Genghis’s pants.”

“I like this place,” she smiled. “You all tell it like it is.”

I rolled my eyes.

––––––––

N
adine and I walked into Downbound without a cover charge. Clearly, I was going to like this whole thing because she’d already saved me $25 for the week. I wasn’t starving, but if I could get into Downbound without paying, well. I wasn’t one to complain.

“You need to take this,” Victor said slipping the shirt off his shoulders. And what fine shoulders they were. “I know you’re used to wearing that here, but tell me you don’t change before you go?”

“I usually have a jacket or t-shirt,” I finally admitted. “But I just didn’t bring one today.”

“Then, please, just take it. You can’t go into Downbound dressed like that.” He held out the shirt for me. “I know, and you know that the way a woman dresses should be her decision and no one should take anything from it. But there are so many guys out there who don’t know that, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You are a giant teddy bear,” I said, taking the shirt. “For all your big muscles and angry looks, you’re just a giant softy, aren’t you?”

He had put a finger to his lips. “Ssh. Don’t tell Franz. I’ll never win a fight again.”

I laughed and nodded. “Your secret is safe.”

I was very grateful Victor insisted I take his shirt. If I’d worn just my Club Imperial outfit, I would’ve stood out like a grizzly on a snowfield. Oddly enough, his muted plaid button down matched my corset perfectly. The leather pants I was wearing also worked for Downbound, though I usually preferred to wear jeans there. Too many people got too drunk for me to risk getting alcohol on my very expensive leather pants.

Me included.

For a Sunday night, with the most popular local band in Pittsburgh playing, it was oddly empty. Of course, empty for Downbound meant there was room in the mosh pit. It was still full of people getting plastered and howling along with Silver Soul off key, but compared to the Friday and Saturday nights I was usually there, it was empty.