Almost everything else in the club was the color of coal. From the walls to the tiled floor to the many tables and chairs scattered about the massive space, The Mystique’s colors and design offered its patrons a sense of security and anonymity.
Black can hide a multitude of stains…and sins.
“Maybe she’s not scheduled to work tonight.” Scarlett rested her hand on Olly’s thigh. Just in keeping with the ruse of her being the loving girlfriend, of course.
The muscles of his taut leg flexed beneath her touch. Olly turned her way, that gaze of his damn near smoldering as he stared back at her.
“Maybe.” He placed a hand over hers with a ghost of a smile.
Her heart filled with a sudden urge to see a real smile. One that lit up his eyes with humor or joy. But this wasn’t a comedy club, and their motive for being here was far from joyous.
Scarlett leaned in close, planting a quick kiss on the man’s strong, rugged cheek. “Be right back.” But when she started to leave, Olly gave her hand a gentle yet firm squeeze.
“Where are you going?” A look of concern flashed behind his hazel gaze.
“Nowhere special.” She pointed to the narrow hallway on the opposite side of the club. “Just need to use the ladies’ room.”
She didn’t really need to use the facilities, but they’d been sitting at the table for nearly two hours without any luck. A quick trip to the restroom may be futile, but so was sitting on their asses.
Olly’s hand slipped from hers. Ignoring the burning void the absence of his touch had left, Scarlett rose from her seat and slowly began making her way across the club.
Careful not to bump into the other customers—or the occasional performer working the crowd in hopes of scoring alucrative, private dance—she kept her eyes peeled for anyone fitting Rose’s description as she weaved her way through the seated crowd. But as she entered the dark, almost ominous hallway leading to the club’s secluded restrooms, Scarlett’s hopes of finding the missing woman tonight were beginning to wane.
She passed by a door on her right markedEmployees Only. A few feet down and on the left from that were the men’s and women’s restrooms, and the fourth and final door at the very end of the hall had a sign on it that readPrivate.
Scarlett started for the ladies’ room but stopped herself short when she noticed a bulletin board mounted on the wall. Several business cards and other advertisements had been pinned to the corkboard.
DJ’s promoting their services for parties and weddings. Lingerie shops offering “major discounts”. There was even a flyer announcing weekly club specials on lap dances and booze.
The one that caught Scarlett’s attention, however, was the flyer with big, bold, colorful font announcing to the world…
Dancers wanted.
She reached up and pulled the small, red pushpin free. With the flyer secured in her hand, she returned the pin back to its rightful place and began reading for more information.
The Mystique was looking for dancers. Women twenty-one years of age and older who were willing to strip down to their G-strings and pasties for money. Scarlett quickly scanned the rest of the information provided.
At first, it seemed like the usual. The club claimed to provide flexible hours, even offering to work around college courses, etc. According to the flyer, the dancers were paid competitive wages with a generous base pay and the possibility for unlimited tips.
Below that was a list of requirements. Age, a non-expired, government-issued I.D., must have transportation to and from the club. Again, all pretty basic stuff.
But as Scarlett began to put the paper back where she found it, she spotted a cluster of smaller words that had been printed at the very bottom of the page. Words that sent her pulse skyrocketing and her heart feeling as if it were about to fly right out of her chest…
Ask for Cinnamon to schedule your audition today!
Cinnamon was the name Brooke had mentioned. Or rather, it was what the patient had mentioned when referring to Rose and her supposed presence here two weeks prior. She was certain of it.
She went by a different name. Called herself Cinnamon.
Excitement raced through her veins. This was it! Proof that Rose really did work here. And suddenly Scarlett could think of nothing else except getting back to her table and showing the flyer to Olly.
She spun on her heels, her eyes were still glued to the name on the paper in her hands. Scarlett was so busy reading it a second—and then a third—time to be sure she hadn’t made some sort of mistake, she didn’t see the man behind her until it was too late.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she ran smack dab into the guy’s chest. “I’m so sorry!”
At least a couple of inches above Olly’s height, the man before her was tall and appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties. The scruff covering his slightly rounded jaw was a perfect match to the short brown hair on his head. The black suit and white button-down fitting his broad, fit frame as if it were tailor made.
Bouncer, perhaps?