Sugar Daddy Season

Chapter 14 ~ Someone's Watching

                It's my first night back at Penthouse, and the theme, Midnight Safari, is perfect since the makeup hides the stitches on my cheek and the bruising that remains on my face. Each dancer represents a different animal, and I was assigned the king of the jungle. Before going on stage, my curly hair was teased and sprayed to achieve a fluffy round mane to complement the lion makeup on my face. 

Everything from our costumes to the atmosphere feels very Circ de Soleil as aerial artists swing across the dancefloor doing trapeze, and use silks that cascade from the ceiling to do spins and twists. It's incredible, and now I can't help but wonder if I set my sights too narrow by placing all my bets on The San Francisco Ballet Company. What if I need to dream bigger and take a risk with broader goals? Bianca, the Brazilian dancer who was hired at the same time as me, said there are bigger, more prestigious clubs in Las Vegas that are known to catapult careers. 

Maybe that's what I need? A change of pace and scenery to reset my goals. Penthouse is fun, but I don't want to work here forever like Jillian and the other girls. Closing my eyes, I cling to the daydream of being part of a large production in Vegas and performing for sold-out shows. 

I don't need Kyle, and I don't need Enzo or his money...

But who am I kidding?

Tonight, I boogie on a shared platform in the center of the dancefloor with three other dancers, and despite the sea of handsome faces, I search for one in particular. 

Except, he's not sitting in his usual VIP booth. Nor is he anywhere else, which is odd since this is where Enzo takes clients every Thursday after business dinners. 

So, where can he be?

Shaking my head, I remind myself that it doesn't matter, and to focus on the choreographed steps Tina went over with us this week. However, right as I push one man out of my thoughts, another one enters. Across the crowd, my brother climbs the stairs to the VIP section, holding a tray of cocktails. I furrow my brows because Lucas rarely leaves the bar when it's busy, and he also never delivers drinks.

He moves through guests, balancing the drink tray high above his head without spilling a single drop, then eventually stops in front of a booth where Augusta Abramovitz's little sister, Jocelyn, sits, and gracefully brings the tray back down to waist level. The heiress is surrounded by bodyguards, and one, in particular, seems to be the shot-caller of the group. The gigantic, bulky man says something to the bodyguards, and they allow my brother to approach.

Not only does he set the tray down, but he also takes a seat and looks comfortable doing it. 

Too bad I'm not a lip reader because then I would know what he and Jocelyn are saying as they lean into each other. Whatever it is, she seems irritated as she tosses her hands in the air and rolls her eyes like she's had enough. Lucas nods, then stands and bumps knuckles with the big guy before leaving the booth. 

If only I could turn back time and unlearn my brother's secret. 

Did Jocelyn just give him another target to kill? An image of Lucas holding a gun to someone's head as they plead for their life, and him pulling the trigger, enters my mind. Despite how scorching hot the dancefloor is, a shiver ripples down my back.

And I'm going to be sick.

"I need a bathroom break," I say to the dancer next to me, and hop off the platform, nearly missing the step.

After squeezing through the crowd, I enter the restroom where I dry heave for a solid ten minutes. I pushed my brother for the truth, and now I have it, but I can't stomach it. Gathering myself with a deep breath, I exit the bathroom stall, fluff my lion's mane in the mirror, and roll my shoulders back.