Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The interior of the lounge dizzies her upon the first look at it. In contrast to the simple dressing room she was ushered into from the back door, the high ceilings give it an enormity that towers over her. A large chandelier that hangs down from the ceiling sits as a centerpiece above the circles of tables placed around the round stage where women strip, pole-dance, and flirt with the customers in winks and smirks.

Unsurprisingly, there isn't a single woman sitting at one of the tables. She was briefed on the type of clientele the club gets, as well as what specific table Leo and Ryan would be sitting at, so it was expected. Most men come with coworkers under the guise of "working late", or at least that's what they tell their wives and girlfriends, and treat the club like their own personal brothel. Few girls are okay with being pimped out to clients, so she was told not to worry about anyone assuming her body is for sale. That particular comment got a glare from Harry directed at Garrett.

This place is a step below what Leo does, in her opinion. As she looks around, it's difficult to ignore triggering memories from the past at the sight of the other girls on display in front of the men. Every time she senses her thoughts going in that direction as she walks around to scope out the floor she's on, she redirects herself to Harry. Whenever anything bad pops up, she remembers that day when she panicked in the closet and how safe she felt with him, and the pain of it lessens.

She makes a beeline for the bar first to have a place to stand/hide while she gets control of herself.

"Hey," Harley says to the bartender and braces her hands against the counter. "Can you tell me where to go? I'm filling in for Angel tonight."

The bartender is a young man compared to the company she often keeps. Based on the baby-faced appearance, she guesses somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-four. He almost reminds her of Peter a little bit, and, for the first time since he died, the ache in her chest doesn't flare up at the sight of someone who resembles him. He places a reddish-hued drink in a short cup on the bar top with a muted smile.

"You're covering tables one through four. I have a drink ready for one, actually. Table two is the closest to the stage"—Of course—"and his buddy isn't there right now, but this is for him, so just put it in front of his seat."

"Thanks."

She takes the drink from the bar top and is careful not to spill a drop of it as she tries to copy the confidence Dani had when strutting in her heels. If she's going to stick out because she's the only woman here wearing underwear, she'll make sure that she looks the part in every other way. As expected, she can feel pairs of eyes on her from every corner of the room, and she tries not to let it get under her skin. Every time she feels one of them leering at her, she goes back to that moment in the closet with Harry and allows him to calm her speeding heart rate.

Other servers weave in and out of her path, either carrying drinks or plates on trays or leading one of the men to the back for a private dance. It's a tad disorienting with the blue and red lights flashing on and off around the room, spotlights cutting through the changing colors to shine on the three dancers on stage, but she keeps her focus on the table she was told to deliver the drink. In her other hand, the small recording device is ready to be planted onto the bottom of the table. It has a sticky side for her to adhere to the table, and she already went over how she was going to do it.

She'll place the drink down and steady herself with one hand wrapped around the lip of the table to secure the device before saying she'll be right back after she completes another drink order.

A slow, thrumming song plays over the speakers for the women on stage to strip and sway to in a sensual dance that lures the eyes of the men away from her as she nears the table. Good. The fewer witnesses who can confirm her presence here, the better. Although, she admits to herself with a sinking feeling, the witness who matters most in identifying her underneath the attempts to disguise her appearance could return at any moment.