Casually Compromised - Book 1

Power

I'm here on business, focus Parker.

I was back at the club. This time for a meeting with a ex-military navy seal guy. A friend of Veer's from long ago. He wanted to meet and talk about a new concept. Veer is giddy when it comes to the various places we can meet a client. If it was a guy, and the right mindset, we met at club, trading our familiarity with the place as a kind of currency for good times and conversation.

I arrive late, unusual. Day shift turning to night, curious what I'll find.

The chatter was the usual, a job, some system to make, but first an ample understanding of who we were, what we did, and why we were the best choice for the job. This round of asking me of my credentials from the would be entrepreneur was laughable to me. A game of complete and utter bullshit. Most entrepreneurs had little to no cash and were big on bullshit, big on convincing me that I needed to convince them when in reality, I had all the cards. I could make. I could dream, design, build, launch, endlessly. I had become hardened to the dance. My senses were overclocked to identify the oncoming salvo of total bullshit from a hustler. I wished this entrepreneur would treat me like a stripper would. Get to the point. Ask. Say the words.

By now most girls in the club either knew me, heard of me, stayed away from me or were down right intrigued in me, or what they could get from me.

"You're a high value target Parker..' the shot warden tells me on the patio one night. "When Vera's gone, you're gonna be up for grabs. Every girl wants another girl's regular."

There's that word again, regular.

I was curious what the bounty was on my head. How valuable was I? Interesting. I'm currency. My reputation as a shot pimp had definitely traveled around. Often getting a shot for a stripper was a way of deflecting the obvious, they wanted more but I didn't want to give them what I had reserved for another. Pitying a stripper is worst thing you can ever do to them, so I'm sure as hell not gonna do that.

Vera had enemies at the club. The more I think about it, the club was kind of battleground. Often the club would be crowded but the action wasn't. You didn't need people to make the club, you need people with cash and willingness to let it fly. You need desire. You needed reams of lust, want, desire to make a club work. The other night it was packed and the Chair of Misery was more popular than ever. Telling me the scent in the air wasn't there.

Vera would fairly reserved I think, like a lone shield maiden, keeping to her self or a selected few, but she definitely had girls that envied her, or the perceived bounty on me. I'm clueless though, I don't speak the language, I let whoever wants to flirt with me flirt, thats what this place was about. But often the flirting would go something stranger.

I was in the bar the other night, chilling, pondering everything, thinking to much, the usual. One of the girls I had seen before but never really knew approached me. Estella, the romanian. She had a distinct european look and vibe. Honestly she came across like a mean girl. Mean girls were common at the club, it was ok. I kinda shy'd away from the hard edge gals. But even the mean tough girl could be as fun as hell.

Missy for example, always gave off the extreme hard edged biker girl like vibe. Like she couldn't wait to break you in half, you fucking peasant. When she took the stage, she was an artist. Her moves carefully designed to convey the hard evil that she was, yet in person she was one of the nicest girls. A heavy metal badass girl with a great personality, she was funny, kind.

Estella exuded that hard edge but gave you nothing in return, no room to wonder if she was anything but the bad girl. Sure she was tall and I liked that and maybe I wanted to see what was behind the fuck you allure she gave off.