The Divorcee Murder Club

Cuarenta Y Tres ~ 43

                Lucas stares back at me, his calm expression unwavering as he blinks, his pretty eyes wedged in his pretty fucking face. However, my blood is broiling, and I’m losing my patience.

“I said, how the fuck do you—”

He snatches my finger from jabbing his chest and twists my hand in a way that feels like my wrist will shatter. “I heard you, Miguel.”

“Fuck!” I yank free.

“My relationship with the Sisters isn’t important.” He pats my chest and smooths down my shirt collar. “Just be a good boy, do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine.” 

With another pat on my chest, he dismisses me by walking away, and for the next few hours, I can’t concentrate on work. Instead, I stew on the fact that my coworker has some sort of relationship with the Sisters that I never knew about. What is he to them?

It’s late in the night, and fog flows from my mouth with each breath while I check IDs at the door. Cold winds have drifted in from the bay, making me think about Alma. Where is she, and what is Gino doing with her? I hope she’s at least being kept warm.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I glance over to see my boss, Gavin, standing there. “Come with me.” 

“What’s up?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just come.”

“Alright…” I hand my tablet to Jimmy, who is managing the door with me, and he flashes a peace sign.

“Later, bro.”

I disappear through the long dark corridor as the thump of music lures me into the lobby, where guests can check their coats or stare down at the dancing crowd atop the grand staircase. Strobe lights flash, and fog floats toward the ceiling while Gavin leads the way down the stairs and through the dancefloor. It’s a busy night, so people are like sardines, grinding on each other to the rhythms pumping from a famous DJ flown in from New York.  

We cut through everyone, and a group of women salivates with their hungry stares. Some try to grind on Gavin, but he’s like a hunter chopping down vines in a jungle to clear the path. He doesn’t give a single shit about these women. Meanwhile, a few others drag their hands across my body, and one grabs my ass, which causes me to flinch and look back at her. She grins, but I’m not into what she and her friends are selling. 

Their pupils are dilated, so they’ve got to be on something—perhaps ecstasy. Believe it or not, I’m not into drugs or women strung out on them.

By the time we make it to the perimeter of the dancefloor, we have to peel the women off of us. 

“Jesus, Gav!” I shout. “What the hell is going on with these women tonight?”

“They’re on something,” he mumbles. “But we have bigger fish to fry…”

Judging by the pep in his step as we hike to the VIP balconies, I’m guessing he’s not delivering me to my death, which is good because I’ve never taken him for a sadist. A pervert, sure, but not someone who gets off on another’s pain.

The last time I was up here was with the Sisters, Angie, and their army of watchdogs, but this time, the balconies are overflowing with people. A party is going off with women in micro-sized dresses gyrating on each other to the DJ while guys in flashy shirts snort coke off the balcony railing. Laser lights flash, casting yellow and orange shadows across everyone’s sweaty skin, and if it weren’t for the drugs, I’d consider dancing with them because the music is banging tonight.

However, when we reach our destination, I stop dead in my tracks.

“Oh, shit…” I say under my breath.