My Uber pulled over outside the sleek neon-lit building, a high-class nightclub with the sign “Jupiter” in a bold, fancy font.
I could feel the vibration of the loud music booming from inside the building. The sound was muffled, but I could hear it. Heaving a sigh, my shoulders slumped for a moment as I massaged my eyeballs.
Here we go again.
The words echoed in my head.
The door gave a soft click when I grabbed the handle, pushed it open, and stepped out on the sidewalk. The vehicle drove away while I made my way to the entrance, heels clicking against the pavement. The closer I got, the louder the music grew. I was late tonight, but I wasn't too shaken up about it because I already had someone covering for me.
She was not going to be happy with me for breaching our agreement. I should have been here half an hour ago. I couldn't wait to see that look on her face, though, and the thought came with a sly smile. I could almost predict her exact words, and sometimes, I would piss her off intentionally so that I'd know whether or not I predicted right. However, my being late tonight was not at all intentional.
“Hey, Brooke!” I smiled warmly at the black-suited bouncer standing sentinel, his broad frame and stern expression accentuating his imposing height.
He turned to me, a small grin spreading across his rigid face. “Hey, Jules. You're late tonight.” His features contorted into a pretentious scowl on the last statement.
“Yeah, I know,” I drawled lazily, flashing my employee card out of habit. It wasn't necessary, considering that we were already buddies—just standard procedure, nothing more.
“You know she's gonna kill you, right?” His brows rose, eyes narrowing with a mocking glint in their depths.
“Who, Wren? Nah.” I shook my head, chuckling. “She's all bark and no bite.”
His expression turned solemn. “Oh, she bites, alright.” The conviction in his tone couldn't be any more glaring. “Still hurts till today.” Brooke's eyes darted to his left arm, his sleeve rustling as he rubbed over the remembered pain.
I laughed, recalling the infamous event that happened about two weeks ago. According to the story, Brooke had snuck up on Wren in an alley after work, trying to scare her, but his plan backfired. She left a long-lasting impression on his arm—literally. My only regret was that I wasn't there to witness it.
“That'll teach you not to sneak up on girls in an alley.” I chuckled, moving past him.
“Says the girl who's about to go six feet under,” he replied teasingly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Just make sure my obituary mentions that I died from my best friend's wrath,” I said, smiling as I pushed the door and walked inside.
The vibrant lights of the club danced on my skin, and the pulsating music enveloped me as I wove through the crowd. Dancers moved their bodies to the rhythm of the DJ's hypnotic beats, hands flying in the air.
I nodded, exchanging waves and smiles with familiar faces, like Magic Mike at the bar, who was wiping a cloth over the counter, his eyes locking with mine.
“Hey, Jules,” a waitress greeted me as she walked past, expertly holding a tray of drinks.
“Hey, Lucy,” I replied, not stopping in my tracks.
I walked into the employees’ lounge—a cozy haven adorned with plush sofas and couches meticulously arranged in the space. Dressed in skimpy gowns, Harriet, Jane, and Mitchell were seated around the circular table at the center of the room, giggling and laughing. Jane and Mitchell were the newbies, having started out about a week ago.
Harriet, Jupiter's finest drama magnet, a neurotic attention-seeking brunette with a knack for fabricated tales, was at it once again. Her perfectly manicured hands were flying around in a theatrical motion as she fed the wide-eyed newbies with one of her cooked-up stories.
Everyone always fell for lies at first, until they became old news; eventually, Jane and Mitchell would come to see her for who she truly was: a pretty little liar. But for now, let her have her fun.
“…and just like that, Roman Tarasov himself approached me and pleaded with me to organize an exclusive after-party for the VIPs,” Harriet gushed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Can you believe that?”
No, I cannot , I thought, minding my own business as I headed toward the minimalist bar at a corner that offered snacks and refreshments. “Hey, Trish, how's it going?” I halted by the counter.
“Better than it's about to be for you,” she replied, nodding toward a secluded section of the room. Trish, a tattooed albino with short, spiky hair and a tongue piercing, leaned forward and whispered to me, “She’s gonna murder you.”
I scratched the back of my head, my heels clicking against the floor as I walked past a group of girls in sexy dresses, all short and revealing way too much skin. They were the likes of Harriet, the attention-seekers.
Through the beaded curtain, I could see her figure pacing back and forth, chewing on her nails.
Yep. I was done. She was definitely going to kill me.
The curtains parted, and I walked into the room, arms wide open. “Hey, Wren!”
She paused and turned to face me, her brows furrowing and creasing her forehead.
Wren Everett was my best friend. Like me, she was working as a VIP hostess here at Jupiter. However, Wren was only working here temporarily until she found something better.
Me? I didn't have any plans of leaving this place—at least not yet, anyway. There was still work to be done. I didn't always enjoy my job, catering to egocentric narcissists at the VIP lounge, but like everyone else, I had my reasons for doing what I did. It wasn't easy putting up with those pervs every night, smiling and laughing with them even when, deep down, all I wanted to do was gut them like a fish. However, over time, I learned to be friendly with them despite their advances, especially when they were drunk.
Jupiter was one of the biggest nightclubs in the city, owned by Roman Tarasov, and a lot of girls here felt privileged to work for him. Why wouldn't they be? The pay was good, and every once in a while, it was said that the charming Roman Tarasov would grace the club with his majestic presence. I'd never really met him in person, but according to Harriet, the man was a handsome piece of work—colder than arctic waters but handsome.
My attention was forced back to reality when my gaze met Wren's brown eyes, which held a glint of rage, accentuating the frown on her cute baby face.
“Okay, before you say anything,” I began, taking careful steps toward, my hands raised in front of me in a defensive manner.
“You said you were going to be here half an hour ago,” she cut in, narrowing her eyes.
“And I would've been, if traffic hadn't been so terrible,” I stated, halting in front of her.
She crossed her arms, eyes fixed on me. “Oh, yeah. Humor me.”
“Okay, so…” I said, my hands moving around as I narrated the incident. “My Uber's driving down Main, everything's going smooth, when suddenly, this chicken truck comes outta nowhere and overturns right in front of us. Boom! There are chickens everywhere, flapping and squawking.”
Wren's expression switched from annoyance to amusement, her brows slowly rising.
“Then comes the farmer,” I continued, still demonstrating with my hands. “He hops out of the truck and starts chasing after them, waving a net and yelling, ‘Come back, my babies!’” The words jumped out of my mouth with enthusiasm, and I paused for a moment, realizing who I sounded like.
Fuck.
My shoulders dropped in dismay, eyes shifting toward the floor.
Wren's twitching lips pressed into a thin line as though she was struggling to contain a laugh bubbling in her throat.
The other girls in the room all had their eyes on me with a sly smile on their faces.
“I sound a lot like Harriet, don't I?” I asked, my voice dripping with shame as my fingers pressed against my temples.
“Uh-huh.” Wren nodded, smiling. “Looks like you picked up a thing or two from her.”
“I heard that!” Harriet yelled from the other room.
Wren and I laughed lightly. “You look amazing, by the way,” she remarked.
“And you look so hot,” I replied, eyes dancing across her perfect figure, her silver dress hugging her body like a second skin. The pearls that adorned the fabrics shimmered in the lights, as did her pale skin.
“Says the dazzling princess with a physique to die for.” She chuckled, her cheeks turning red.
My hand flew to my mouth as if to hold back my blush as I looked in the mirror to glimpse what Wren was talking about. I smoothed down my full-sleeved fitted dress, its emerald green hue accentuating my curves. My outfit always caught the eyes of high-end customers despite not revealing too much skin. Regardless, though, those pervs loved my outfit and would always leave bigger tips. The extra cash wasn't so bad anyway.
I blew a kiss to my reflection, admiring how my smokey makeup made my hazel eyes pop. My manicured fingers combed through my brunette hair, forming silky waves that cascaded down my back. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and exhaled sharply. Perfect.
“Ready to rake in those tips?” Wren asked as she hovered behind me, her gaze fixed on the mirror.
My lips curled up into a small smile. “You bet.”
She returned the gesture and tapped my shoulder. “Alright. I'm sticking to my usual routine now. I believe I’ve helped out in the ways that I can.” She walked away.
“Thanks, Wren. I owe you one.” I shot a glance in her direction.
“You owe me plenty!” she replied, her voice a higher pitch thanks to her distance.
I scoffed and shook my head before stepping out of the lounge. As I walked through the hallway, making my way to the VIP section, I exchanged pleasantries with a few more familiar faces, a smile plastered on my lips. Under the dim lighting, I nodded to the pulsating music, humming to the rhythm of the song as I approached a door labeled “Tsar.”
It was a private room reserved for Jupiter's most valued patrons. I halted outside the door and positioned my knuckles to knock but drew in a deep breath first. The men on the other side would eventually say or do stuff that would get on my nerves. I had to be prepared emotionally, mentally, and physically so I wouldn't lash out at them. I'd been doing a pretty good job at keeping my cool all this time, and I was determined to continue in that manner.
I knocked twice, and a deep voice bade my entry. The door creaked open, and I walked in, wearing a charming smile.
“Hello, gentlemen,” I greeted the five men lounging on plush couches and sofas.
One of them whistled as I glided in their direction, my heels clicking on the sleek floor.
“Fuck. Look at that body!” His brows rose, eyes roaming my figure. “Damn!” he added, his tone dripping with lust.
I halted in front of them. “Welcome to Jupiter. I'm Julia, and I'm your hostess for tonight.”
The men weren't regulars here. None of them were familiar, hence the reason I introduced myself.
“How can I make your evening memorable?” I asked, maintaining that smile on my face.
“I can think of a few things, honey,” the previous speaker chipped in, his gaze unwavering with a pesky little smirk on his lips.
He seemed like the youngest of all of them in the room, maybe in his mid-forties, with gray eyes, brown hair, and a chiseled face. I thought he looked familiar, and I could've sworn that I'd seen him somewhere before now. I just couldn't place where.
“Pay no attention to him,” a second man said, drawing my attention to him.
He was sitting on a sofa, legs crossed, his polished shoes shimmering under the lights. The man was clad in a white suit that complemented his hair and beard.
He jerked his head and locked his green eyes with me. “Under the influence, he tends to act impulsively and forget his responsibility as DA.”
That's it. No wonder he looks so familiar, I thought, recalling that I'd seen him on TV a couple of times.
“More vodka, princess,” another one of them slurred. “The good stuff.”
“Of course, sir. I'll go fetch our finest Beluga,” I replied, my smile unwavering. “Would you also like another bottle of Dom Pérignon?”
“Ahh. More of those, please. We're celebrating,” the white-haired man said amidst chuckles.
“Got it. Coming right up.” I flashed a courteous grin and gathered their empty bottles.
As I bent over, I sensed that the drunk DA was about to spank my butt from behind. Reflexively, I sidestepped, avoiding his hand as I straightened with their bottles in my hold. He lost his balance and fell off the couch during his failed attempt to touch my ass. The other men busted out laughing as I exited the room like I had no idea what I'd just done.
I headed back downstairs, wading through the sea of frenzied dancers, their faces illuminated in the flashing, colorful beams. They all seemed lost in the hypnotic music, but that was the reason they were here tonight—to bask in this feeling of euphoria.
“Hey, handsome.” I glided toward the bar, smiling at the bartender, Magic Mike.
He smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hey, beautiful.”
I handed him the empty bottles as I leaned against the counter, fingers pressing softly against my eyelids.
“Rough night?” His brows rose as he accepted the bottles and fixed his concerned gaze on me.
“Not really,” I replied with a sigh, jerking my head to look at him. “Some asshole tried to spank my butt in the VIP lounge.”
His jaw clenched immediately, his eyes narrowing.
I flashed a smirk. “Don't worry. He got what he deserved.”
Mike's expression softened a little. “That's good to know.” He grabbed a bottle, wiping it with a clean cloth. “What do the big spenders want tonight?”
“The usual VIP treatment,” I replied, scanning the room and drinking in the sight of the energetic dancers as he got to work on the drinks.
My eyes settled on a couple kissing fervently on the dance floor, their hands roaming each other's bodies. The guy, maybe in his mid-twenties, had his palm traveling underneath the teenage girl's short flared skirt. My brows arched instantly, and my eyes widened at the sight.
Please, get a room, for Pete's sake.
I rubbed my fingers over my forehead.
He pulled away from her, lust and desire flickering in both of their eyes. Without wasting much time, he grabbed her wrist and led her toward the back door. That teenage girl was about to get fucked in an alley at the back of the club. That was for sure.
I'd stumbled upon such acts so many times while working this job. Sometimes, it was even in the bathroom. I'd hear the girls moaning, their butts clapping against their lovers’ groins.
I was twenty-one, but unlike those girls, I hadn't gotten laid yet. Of course, nobody knew that. They didn't have to; it wasn't their fucking business.
“What's the occasion tonight?” Mike asked, expertly pouring the premium liquor and champagne.
“Huh?” I asked, lost in thoughts.
“The big spenders,” he clarified.
“Oh.” I returned my gaze to him. “No idea. They just said they're celebrating. I guess they're trying to make it memorable.”
“Or forgetful,” he chipped in, smiling. “Depending on how much they drink. Here.” He handed me a chilled bottle of Beluga.
I chuckled, accepting it. “Thanks, Mike. I'm pretty sure your magic potion will have them wasted by the end of the night.”
“You flatter me, Jules.” He laughed as he finished preparing the drinks.
“Isn't that why they call you ‘Magic Mike’?” I winked at him, efficiently arranging the glasses and bottles on a sleek tray.
“Coming from the queen of making memories, that means a lot.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
I scoffed, shaking my head as I balanced the tray with practiced precision and walked away. “Catch you later, buddy.”
Navigating through the crowded floor, I found my way back upstairs, and just as I was about to return to the room labeled “Tsar,” I paused in my tracks.
My gaze was fixed on a group of hot men all dressed up in impeccable suits. I watched them laugh and converse as they walked into a room across the corridor. They all seemed in their thirties and forties, yet handsome and heavily built with imposing heights. These men exuded wealth, influence, and power, and I didn't need to be a witch to know who they were. They were the Tarasov men.
Jane, one of the newbies, walked past me, heading in their direction, and I stopped her quickly. “Hey, where're you going?” My voice was low and discreet.
“To cater for them,” she replied, looking at the men as they walked into the room.
“Uh….” I scratched the back of my head. “You know what? I got this.”
“What?” She looked at me, puzzled, her eyes slightly widening.
“Those men can be difficult, trust me,” I said, handing her my tray. “The men in the other room, though….” I nodded toward the door labeled “Tsar.” “They're a lot easier to handle.” I smiled at her.
“O…okay,” she stuttered, reluctantly accepting the tray, her brows knitting in confusion.
“Atta girl.” I patted her shoulder and left her standing there, still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened.
I heaved a sigh as I approached the door.
You can do this.