The women were focused on Roxanne, who was less of a threat to them; even if she could beat them senseless and stand over their bloody bodies in a victorious cage fighter posture—she’d probably even receive a round of applause from the patrons.
Roxanne knew the air was thick with the tension of her husband’s silence, and she knew it was making Page and Judy uncomfortable. She almost felt sorry for Page and Judy. Roxanne had become used to her husband’s dark nature and sinister presence years ago. She turned around to lead them to their table. She could feel the heat of her husband’s gaze on her back as she walked away. He was always watching her, studying her, deducing her. He would use anything he could against her when he subjected her to his sadistic side later.
Page and Judy settled into a booth against the wall, looking around with a sense of awe and wonder. The area they were seated in had the perfect hue of lighting. There were three stages with beautiful women dancing. Though the men sat transfixed by the dancers' moves, they were all well behaved; no grabbing and shouting obscenities here. Most of them were dressed in suits that cost more than Page made in six months. There were even entrepreneur millennials, well-dressed men in button-down shirts with ties. Clearly, everyone here had taken the dress code seriously. They knew they would never grace the door of ‘The Club’ if they didn’t adhere to the rules. This was the place to be, and all the rich, influential, beautiful people knew it. The rock stars of Louisville were a staple any night of the week. ‘The Club’ alone had taken the Ramirez brothers and those who worked for them to millionaire status. The Colombian cartel aspect of the family dynasty wasn’t just about money; it was about power and respect—the Ramirez brothers had it all.
A waitress rushed over to join Roxanne.
“What can I get you, ladies?”
“A double Bloody Mary,” Page said without hesitation.
“I’ll have a Peach Martini,” Judy said.
“I’ll have a peach martini too,” Roxanne smiled at the waitress. The waitress beamed as if Roxanne’s acceptance had made her night. Getting close to the boss’ wife was a position coveted by any of the servers.
Page took a moment to study Roxanne. She had waist-long red hair that lay in ringlets, green eyes, and the intensity of a panther stalking prey and exploring its surroundings for enemies in the vicinity. Page was sure the woman had learned trouble was only an eyeblink away, and being ready for it could mean the difference between life and death.
“Roxanne,” Page waited for a second to ensure Roxanne knew her next statement was sincere, “Thank you for your hospitality. To be honest with you, it's humbling. I know this is pretty much a member’s only club, and the fact your men even let us in is an honor. Thank you.”
“To be honest with you, it was my husband who did that,” Roxanne replied matter-of-factly.
Page felt a spike of fear pierce her. “Why would he do that?”
“I’ve learned to pick and choose the questions I ask him whenever my curiosity is piqued. I have no idea why he did it.” She was lying, but the ladies couldn’t tell—better for them to see her as an ally. Roxanne knew her husband would be using her as an in to find out what the ladies were up to. She would try to learn how it was going to affect the Colombian cartel— as well as how it would affect Mano, an intricate part of the organization. Antonio Wayne had worked with women for years. He knew ladies would tell each other things they would never share with a man. ‘Ladies night out’ held a different meaning for him: Intel.
“Your husband is very intense, scary even.” Page knew she was candid, but she needed questions answered, and this might be her only chance to ask them. There was no guarantee they would be allowed into ‘The Club’ again.
Roxanne chuckled, “Don’t worry, if he wanted you dead, you’d already be at an undisclosed location begging for your life—and the lives of your families. Enjoy your drinks and just let one of the girls know if you need anything. Table dances are free, too,” she winked and then turned and walked away, looking majestic as every eye in the place watched. The waitress would find her and bring her drink to her. It was evident she was royalty, but her down to earth demeanor made her give the illusion she was approachable. Anyone who really knew Roxanne Ramirez knew you only approached her on her terms, or you paid the consequences. She was a woman who could fight her own battles, and any battle she couldn't fight would be finished by her husband.
Judy waited until she knew Roxanne was out of earshot, “I like her.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” the waitress smiled, her teeth a perfectly etched porcelain veneer job of a top of the line dentist, no doubt. Every woman in the place was perfect. They came in all shapes and sizes but had one thing in common: they were the best they could possibly be. They had been trained in expounding on what mother nature gave them, their manners were impeccable, and they could wrench the last dollar from the stingiest of customers. These women were the best of the best when it came to professional dancers. Everyone who was anyone wanted to work here. To be hired here meant you were a special breed.
Judy had almost forgotten what she said by the time Page responded, “She’s been trained to make you like her. Antonio Wayne is going to use her to find out about the blog. I like her too, but I don’t trust her. Did you see how nonchalant she was about saying we would already be in an undisclosed location?”
“I’m going to play the devil’s advocate here. The things you’re writing about directly affect the cartel. A man was killed on a job you were supposed to go on, Page. Don’t think for a minute the Ramirez brothers don’t know that. Have you ever thought the FBI could be watching you too? I’ve heard rumors there are a couple of agents who keep a close eye on the Colombian cartel as well as the Bratva brigades. You’re walking a tightrope.”
“I know, but it’s the only way I know to live my life.”
****
“Are you going to corner me in my dressing room all night, or did you have a question, Tony.”
“You’re such a fucking liar, Roxanne.”
Roxanne let out a breath of exasperation and rolled her eyes at her husband. “What are you talking about?”
Antonio Wayne repeated every word she said verbatim: “I’ve learned to pick and choose the questions I ask him whenever my curiosity is piqued if you know what I mean. I have no idea why he did it.”
“Though your eidetic memory amazes me, what was I supposed to say? ‘We braid each other’s hair every night, and he tells me all his deep, dark, secrets.’”
Her breath hitched when he gently placed one hand around her throat.
“Uh, huh, I can see the fear flowing through your jugular. It’s jumping beneath that fair, soft skin of yours. Sit on the chair. Now!”
“Tony, please. It’s going to get my dress wrinkled.”
He unzipped the back of her dress and slipped it over her heels. She gently stepped out of it, and he hung it on a hook.
“Excuses, excuses. So many excuses.”
She sat down and looked up at him.
“I want to watch you play with yourself. Will you touch your pussy for me? I’m asking nicely. You wouldn’t want to see me get nasty about things, would you? Roxanne?”