Indigo Sky

CHAPTER TEN

It had been years since that night Nate had dragged me to Midnight Lotus, but the dude who conducted the interview recognized me right away.

Guessed it was hard to forget the guy wearing the eyepatch and mangled face.

His name was Saul. He was older than I remembered him being, but time had that effect on all of us. He told me to take a seat at the empty bar and asked if I wanted a drink.

"No, thanks," I said, then quickly reconsidered, not wanting to come off rude. "Actually, water would be fine."

"One water, coming right up."

Saul reached beneath the bar top, opened a fridge, and pulled out a bottle of spring water. He slid it across to my waiting hand, and I caught it easily.

"So, your lack of vision doesn't seem to mess with your reflexes," he commented, nodding with approval.

"Not really. But if something's coming at me from the right and it's not making a whole lot of noise, there's a good chance I'm taking a hit."

"Hmm." His hand rasped over his stubbled jaw. "Well, I'm getting old and slow. We all have our handicaps, and we either learn to adapt or quit."

He grabbed a bottle for himself and walked around the bar to take a seat on the stool beside mine.

"So, Rev, the rules are simple here, all right?"

"Mmhmm," I answered, listening intently as I uncapped my water and took a sip.

Saul held up a fist, and with every rule mentioned, he put up a finger. "You stand at the door. You ask for ID. If the ID is fake, you tell them to leave. If they're drunk or high, you tell them to leave. If they're volatile, you tell them to leave." When he ran out of fingers, he put them down and began raising them again. "If telling them to leave doesn't work, you make them. If everything checks out, you let them in."

I nodded, taking it in. "Okay, I can handle all of that."

"Good. Your concern, first and foremost, is the girls. We keep them safe. If someone is giving one of them attention they don't want, you do what you gotta do to fix it."

"Got it," I said.

All at once, I remembered that time I’d bumped into a girl not far from this bar. I remembered her giving me a lap dance. I remembered the kiss we’d shared in the parking lot.

Indigo Sky.

Fuck. It had been a while since I’d thought about that name, but I'd never forgotten.

"You married?" Saul asked, eyeing me from over his bottle of water.

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

The man grunted as he lowered the bottle back to the bar. "All right. I had to ask. Last guy we had thought it'd be a good idea to have an affair with one of the girls. His old lady stormed in here and made a scene. None of us wanna see that happen again if we can avoid it. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," I replied with a curt nod. "And honestly, Saul, I'm just looking to make a little extra cash. Nothing else."

"I can appreciate that," he said, running the tip of one finger around the open mouth of the bottle. "But none of us can predict the future, Rev. And, like I said, our job, at the end of the day, is to make sure these girls are safe. We don't want them hurt, and we don't hurt them . We hurt the people who hurt them. Do I make myself clear?"

He was sizing me up, I realized. Leveling me with his cold, hard glare. Threatening me with his deep, rough voice. He was about fifteen, maybe twenty years my senior, but I knew without a doubt that this man could kill me and likely would if I dared to even lay an ill-intended finger on one of the girls he protected.

But, as I'd already told him, I was there to make money, not mingle with the entertainment.

"Message received," I answered, hoping he could see the sincerity in my gaze.

Saul remained silent for a few moments, and I stayed calm. Slowly sipping my water and never breaking eye contact. Then, finally, he nodded, clapped a hand against my shoulder, and extended his palm.

"Congratulations," he said. "Job's yours."

I grasped his hand in mine, and we shook. "Thank you very much."

"Can you start tonight?"

"Absolutely."

"Wonderful. Now, I have to ask, do you own a suit?"

I didn't, but I lied and said I did, knowing damn well I'd be raiding my father's closet before my first night on the job.

***

Midnight Lotus looked much different at night than it did in the middle of the day. Now, it was more like I remembered it from that night years ago. Dark, the heavy scent of perfume hanging in the air. A crowd of loud, raucous men stood outside, waiting their turn in line, along with a handful of women.

It struck me as strange for so many people to come to a strip club on a Monday night, but, hell, far be it from me to judge. I just wanted the cash.

Saul had told me to meet him at the front door, ready for my trial run.

"You clean up nice, kid," he said, assessing the black suit with a look of appreciation. His eyes landed on the matte-black eyepatch, and he grinned. "Do you always match the patch to the outfit?"

"If I can," I said with a laugh.

The amusement was quick to fade as he turned his attention to the line of patrons standing before us, growing more impatient by the second.

"All right. Let’s see you in action."

So, I worked while Saul kept a watchful eye over the job I was doing. I asked for their IDs, quickly assessed their demeanor while making sure the ID wasn't a fake, and unclipped the velvet rope to let them pass. The line shortened quickly without incident, not a single person needed to be turned away, and when Saul and I were the only people left outside, he patted my shoulder with an approving nod.

"That went smoothly," he said, reading my mind. "Honestly, it usually does. This is a nice place. But that doesn't mean we don't deal with our share of shitheads. Don't get lazy. Stay on guard, and you'll do fine."

"I wasn't worried," I clipped, giving him a cocky half smile.

I was getting comfortable, and I liked him. I wanted him to know he could feel the same without concern, and to my relief, his eyes crinkled with laughter, and a chuckle rumbled through his throat.

"All right. I'm gonna grab something to eat. You good out here?"

"I think I can handle it."

"Cool."

He headed inside, the heavy bass from the music filtering out onto the sidewalk for a moment before the door closed behind him.

And then I was flying solo.

The street was quiet. There were few people to grant admission to. I assumed that had something to do with the time and day. But every one of them was respectful. Nobody gave me an attitude; nobody treated me condescendingly. I couldn't tell if that was due to my position, the suit, the clientele, or all of the above … but I liked it.

I stood with my back to the door, my arms crossed over my front, as two men about my age, both wearing button-downs and ties, came up with their wallets out and ready. I didn't have to ask them to remove their IDs—they already knew—and when I unclipped the velvet rope to let them in, one of the men shook my hand, leaving a few bills flat against my palm.

"Thanks, man. Have a good night," he said before disappearing inside with his friend.

I clenched my hand around the bills, clipped the velvet rope back in place, then peeked at what he'd left behind.

Two twenty-dollar bills. Forty bucks.

I stared at the money, doing the math in my head and adding it to the one fifty I was already making tonight. Almost two hundred dollars, just for standing at a door in a suit.

As a stupid grin spread across my face, the door opened behind me, and Saul reappeared.

"What's the policy on tips?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder at him.

"Put ‘em in your pocket and say thank you," he replied, brushing his shoulder against mine as he took his position. "You hungry?"

I tucked the bills into my breast pocket. "I could eat."

"Most nights, you won't get much of a break, other than to take a piss if you can't hold it. But as long as we're sharing the shift, take thirty. Scott'll serve you at the bar."

"Awesome. Thanks, Saul."

He responded with a curt nod, staring ahead with a stony glare pinned on the sidewalk. The man took his job seriously. Judging from the lack of activity on the street tonight, I'd say maybe even too seriously. But I could imagine that some nights, especially on the weekend, the place probably got crazy and crowded. He was likely on high alert, and I filed that away for future nights on the job.

Then, I entered Midnight Lotus and was cloaked instantly in darkness, reminding me all at once of that night years ago, when a dancer named Indigo Sky had bumped into me.

I headed carefully toward the bar, keeping my eye down, as I wondered if she still worked here. I doubted it. It had been so long ago, and we'd both been so young. She had probably moved on, found a better-paying job. One where she didn't have to take her clothes off for money. Maybe she was happily married with a couple of kids. I hoped so. I hoped she had all the good things anybody deserved. Why I was thinking about her so much, I had no idea.

God, she hadn't meant anything to me, other than making me come in my pants and later giving me my first kiss. It was a nice memory. She had been nice, but the night was so insignificant when held against the rest of my life. So fucking trivial in comparison to months-long relationships I'd had with other women, and yet I was thinking about her and not the women I had slept with. Over the years, I had thought about her so much more than any of them.

Not that there had been a lot. The number of relationships I'd been in could be counted on one hand. But still, that's not my point. My point is, I could barely remember the way any of my girlfriends had sounded in the throes of sex, could barely remember what they looked like, but I could still hear the way Indigo Sky had whispered my name.

"Hey, Rev!" Scott—Joe's friend who had mentioned the position to me—called from behind the bar. "Nice to see you, dude. I take it, you got the job?"

"I did. Thanks again, by the way." I slid onto the barstool and folded my arms against the gleaming bartop. "What's good here?"

"Marco, the cook, makes some killer wings, if you don't mind getting messy." Scott placed a few napkins and a coaster in front of me. "Otherwise, the burgers are pretty good too."

"Let's go with a burger," I said, laying a hand against my jacket. "The suit's a rental."

Scott laughed. "How would you like that cooked?"

I gave him my order, and he disappeared through a door at the end of the bar.

The thump of loud music surrounded me. The whoops and whistles from the audience were drowned out by the announcer coming through the speakers. I paid no attention to any of it. I wasn't here to be entertained, and I wasn't here to get off. I had thirty minutes to shove some food down my throat and get back outside to finish the job I'd come to do.

"Oh God, my feet are killing me," a voice from beside me said, and I turned to face a blonde woman in a corset.

I offered a sympathetic smile. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," she said, leaning against the bar. "I'm too old to be wearing these freakin' shoes though—that's for damn sure. But you know … kids to feed and all that."

Scott walked through the door and gave the woman an affectionate smile. "Wendy, I see you've already met Rev."

"Rev?" She turned to face me, leaning her elbow against the bar top to keep the pressure off her feet. "I heard we were getting a new guy at the door. Nice to meet you, sweetie."

She regarded me with a warm, matronly smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling. She didn't look all that much older than me, but the lines on her face wore more experience than I'd ever seen. But, man, she was beautiful. Anyone could've seen that.

"You too," I said, holding my hand out to shake hers.

"And he's got manners! I knew Saul had good taste." She winked as her hands covered mine. "Your name's Rev?"

"Revan," I corrected. "But, yeah, everyone calls me Rev."

She nodded, a gentle fondness in her eyes. The lights from the stage behind us made them sparkle. "Well, welcome to Midnight Lotus, sweetie. You're safe around me, but I can't promise the younger girls won't wanna get their hands on you."

A surprised chuckle rumbled from my chest, and I knew damn well my face was red with embarrassment.

Scott laughed with a shake of his head while buffing the bar with a rag. "You always gotta make it weird, don't ya, Wend?"

"Oh, shut up, you." Wendy playfully slapped Scott's hand as the rag passed her by.

He flashed her a grin, then said to me, "I'm gonna go grab your burger. Don't let her hit on you. Her husband wouldn’t hesitate to murder you."

"Thanks for the tip," I said, giving him a one-fingered salute.

He walked back through the door to what I assumed was the kitchen, and Wendy was quick to start chatting, making small talk and whatever, when the smooth voice over the speakers grabbed my attention.

"Please give a warm welcome to our next dancer …" He paused for effect, then said, "Indigo Sky."

The name set my heart beating an irregular tune, and without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder. The woman who had once upon a time given me my first kiss took to the stage, wearing a sheer, sparkling, long-sleeved white top and a pair of shorts to match. Her legs looked three miles long in her silver stiletto heels, and her long, wavy hair was still that bright, vibrant shade of pink.

"Ah," Wendy said from beside me in a knowing, teasing tone. "Yeah, all the guys like Indie."

"Huh?" I turned to look at the blonde woman to find her watching me with a smirk.

Scott hurried out and put my burger down in front of me. I thanked him and began to eat, all too aware that my break was quickly coming to an end, though I couldn't imagine Saul giving me shit for taking a minute or two longer to inhale my food.

The crowd behind me cheered and hollered for the woman onstage, and while I felt the tug of desperation to know why, I kept my attention on the burger as Wendy began to talk.

"She's the favorite around here," she said, but not in a jealous sort of way. Nah, she said it with affection, maybe even pride. "Gorgeous girl. Absolutely freakin' stunning. Guys have quite literally gone insane over her. Honestly, she could've made it big as a ballerina or model, but—"

"Who?" Scott asked, lifting a brow.

Wendy nudged her head over her shoulder. "Indie."

He clamped his mouth shut and exaggerated a nod. "Oh, yeah. Indie is …" He gave a low whistle. "She's somethin' else."

I eyed him over my burger as a rush of protective possessiveness washed over me for a woman I didn’t know. I had kissed her once. She likely didn't even remember me in the way I remembered her, and that was fine. I understood the nature of her job. She took her clothes off for men and women night after night, gave dances to whoever was willing to pay, and how many of them she had kissed … I could only imagine. Yet there was still a part of me—a pathetic one really—that wanted to think that maybe there had been something about me that set our kiss apart from the others. Something special. Something that had made me stand out in her mind if that moment from years ago ever came forward, the way she did in mine.

Like I’d said, it was pathetic, and I had no right to feel at all jealous of Scott for maybe having the same experience with her … or more.

Wendy sighed and stood. "All right. I’d better get back out there. Rev, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"You too," I mumbled, holding a hand over my mouth to keep my food from falling out.

She walked away, leaving Scott and me alone at the bar. He folded his arms against the surface, obviously taking the stance of someone who wanted to chat.

Now, let's just get this out in the open … I liked Scott. He wasn't a friend, not in the way that I considered Joe to be one, but he was a good guy. I didn't mind hanging out with him when he met Joe and me at the bar for drinks. But when it came down to it, I didn't know a whole lot about him, and I guessed now, seeing as we were more or less working together, that was about to change.

"So, technically, the girls aren't allowed to give the impression that they’re called for while working," he informed me in a low voice, as if it were a secret. “So, no giving dances to husbands or boyfriends or whatever during working hours. No wedding rings, that kinda thing.”

"Okay," I muttered wryly, not sure how I felt about this particular rule. Not sure why he was telling me.

"It's a part of the boss's policy to maintain a level of anonymity between the dancers and customers," Scott went on, holding my gaze as I finished eating. “However, we aren’t prohibited from dating them, as long as there's a level of professionalism during work hours."

I lifted my chin and eyed him with curiosity. "I mean, that's good to know and all, but—"

"All I'm saying is"—he shrugged and pushed off the bar—"if, in the future, the opportunity should arise and you wanna ask someone out … nobody would give you a hard time. That's all I'm saying."