Page 10 of All Your Lies
In a split second, the miniature door slams shut and the enormous door creaks open.
As we walk through, we eye a massive figure. He’s tall and wide and has more facial tattoos than I’ve ever seen.
“Spread your arms and legs.”
“Excuse me?” I arch my brow.
He waves a handheld metal detector in his right hand.
Right.
I spread my arms and legs as the bouncer approaches. He begins at my face, tracing a path down my body until abeep beepon my right thigh forces me to shut my eyes in resignation. I halter my switchblade there so often I rarely notice it.
“Oops,” I say with a nervous smile as I lean down and retrieve it, then hand it to his meaty outstretched mitt of a hand also covered in tattoos.
While the weight of the blade is barely noticeable when it’s on, when it’s off, it leaves behind a lingering emptiness, like a phantom limb. I attempt to mask it, but my nerves surge uncontrollably. I don’t like feeling defenseless.
With curiosity, he gazes down at the switchblade, his fingers deftly pressing the button to retract the long stainless-steel blade. When he looks back at me, his brow is raised in question. Most women carry pepper spray. I probably look like a psychopath.
“Can never be too careful these days, am I right?” I ask with an awkward laugh.
His expression turns stoic as he ignores me and pockets my blade, much to my dismay. Then he turns to Jenna without uttering a word.
She gets into position, and the beeper goes off at her crotch. Her smile is mischievous as she looks at the behemoth of a man with a twinkle in her eye. I hold my breath as I sense the atmosphere shift.
“Just a bomb-ass pussy and a few piercings. You’re more than welcome to check.”
I almost choke as the words leave her mouth. She’s out of her mind.
Stepping back, the man’s arm swings toward the next door, signaling his intention to have us out of his sight.
Jenna sends him a wink before stepping next to me. “Maybe later, sexy.”
“You’re absolutely insane,” I whisper-hiss, making her throw her head back and laugh. Yep, she’s certifiable.
We proceed down the dimly lit hall. The darkness engulfs us like a cave.
My brain finally catches up, and I realize the question I was trying to ask earlier. I interrupt her mid-stride, causing her to come to a sudden halt.
“How’d you know a secret password to a place you’ve never been? And ‘Obsidian’? What kind of open sesame password is that?”
“My coworker told me about this place. She came with some guy. It’s a secret society kind of place,” she whispers.
“Your coworker? The one who’s an escort?”
“She’s a stripper.” She shrugs. “Well, and an escort.”
“Are you out of your mind? Is this place even legal?” I try to keep my voice low, but each question becomes a strained whisper-shout, and my voice rises an octave at the end.
“Yes, this place is legal-ish.”
“Legal-ish? That isn’t even a word!”
She snorts. “First of all, Mrs. Morality Police, your family is the Mafia; you are the Mafia. A little sex club is the smallest of sins you will amass.”
“I’m more worried about getting caught and having to look my dad in the eyes.”
“If it gets raided, we run. No biggie. Though, from what I’ve heard, it’s exclusive to many higher-ups. Billionaires, CEO’s, senators. I doubt they’d want it to close its doors. It’s like the ultimate playground for people who like to act prim and proper in public and then let their real selves come out to play.”
