He gives me a curt nod, then looks over at our hostess, who is all smiles.
“Shall we, then?”
“Lead the way,” Lincoln says with his golden-boy grin stitched back to his face.
We follow Ruby through the labyrinth of the illustrious mansion until we finally arrive in a large, dimly lit room with a stage at the front. There is a silk curtain hiding the performers, and my stomach cramps up, wondering what fresh hell I’m about to endure. There are tables all around the busy place with white-collared men engaged in excited chatter, their faces only partially seen by the cast of candlelight.
Our hostess takes us to our seats, and I’m happy to see it’s a private booth in the corner, which is secluded enough to keep our presence unnoticed. Lincoln sits beside me while Ruby orders us two gin and tonics.
“Well, gentlemen, this is where I leave you. Come find me if there is anything else you might need, though.” She winks before leaning over and kissing Linc on the corner of his mouth.
“I think Ruby’s taken a liking to you.”
“She likes my last name,” he retorts halfheartedly as he looks around the room to get a better feel for the place and its clientele.
I scoff the minute my eyes land on Senator Maxwell. Of course the horny asshole would be here. I still can’t believe that people vote for that slimy prick. His beady eyes and potbelly remind me of those pedophiles on the FBI’s most-wanted list. When the thought that his son also frequents this club comes to mind, bile rises up to my throat.
“Look who’s here,” I mumble to Lincoln and tilt my chin in the senator’s direction.
“Not surprised,” Lincoln replies as he throws a charming smile at the waitress bringing our drinks.
“You know the last time I was here, so was Tommyboy. I doubt he came for the show,” I say bitterly, to which Lincoln doesn’t even move a muscle. “Do you think Ken knows her fiancé frequents such a place?”
“Not my problem,” Lincoln replies, taking a sip of his gin.
I roll my eyes because I don’t understand how he can just sit back and let the girl he’s been in love with all his life marry a two-timing, sick fuck.
“Maybe I should tell her,” I add.
“I doubt it will make much of a difference.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I know Kennedy. I know her better than she might even know herself. If she’s set on marrying Thomas, then she must have her reasons.”
“I thought you married someone because you loved them.”
“Not in my experience,” he replies with a thin smile.
Shit. He’s talking about his folks, a topic I don’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole if I can get away with it. Thankfully, Finn and Stone return. Her cheeks are flushed while Finn wears a goofy grin on his face. These two fuck more than bunnies. It’s nauseating.
“Glad to see you guys made it back on time,” Lincoln says with a wide grin, his pensive mood completely gone.
I envy him for that.
While his cousin Colt can switch off his feelings the same way someone would switch off a light bulb, Lincoln can school his features to show whatever he wants. If he wants a person to think he’s happy, while inside he’s dying, he does it with ease. If he hates you to his last breath but wants you to think he admires you, he’s capable of that, too.
Sometimes I wonder if Lincoln puts up the same facade with us. It’s a nagging, moronic feeling, but occasionally it’s there, right at the surface, whether I like to give it credit or not. But no matter what version of Lincoln we get, he has my loyalty, because I will always have his.
“So, what’s this show about anyway?” Stone asks as she grabs my drink and takes a sip.
Girl makes herself feel right at home. I liked her from the get-go. She’s unapologetically herself. She’s real. And that’s exactly what Finn needed. Of course, like Ken, she has a way of butting into things that she should stay clear from. I still don’t think her coming here was a good idea, but I’m learning that where Finn goes, so does she, and vice versa. I don’t think that’s a love thing, either. It’s just a Finn and Stone thing.
When met with silence to her question, she thumps me on the forehead.
“Hey!” I scowl, rubbing the small ache.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me. This is your Society party, East. You gotta be on top of this. Did you at least ask Ruby what Scarlett, or Angel’s, involvement in this place is?”
“No,” I mumble, hating that the Southie is more on the ball than I am.
“You think we’re in for a lap dance?” Finn asks, his eyes searching the stage.
“I doubt it. Why just look at the merchandise when you can get it through the front door?” Lincoln chimes in.
“I thought you said she was the church-going type,” Stone interjects.
“I guess I was wrong.” I bite my inner cheek.
All of their speculations are wreaking havoc on my thinly-stretched nerves, leaving me craving for a fucking cigarette.
What the fuck are you up to in a place like this, Scar?
When the lights dim further, and a soft spotlight beams the center stage, I know I’m seconds away from getting my answer. I swallow dryly as a song begins to play through the speakers. The discordant opening melody from Devil’s Playground by The Rigs is one I recognize, and as the curtain starts to rise, my heart stops at the vision before me.
In a shimmering white dress, Scarlett keeps her head bowed, gripping the mic as her bewitching, sultry voice begins to sing the first cords of the song. She’s wearing the same short, white wig she left the house in, her lids shut as she sings the next verse. Sparkling glitter covers her eyes in the shape of butterfly wings, and while the long, white spaghetti-strap dress does cover most of her body, the spotlight leaves little to the imagination. I can see every curve, the swell of her breasts, and the hint of her shaven mound. It’s all there for any eye to behold. The only parts of Scarlett’s body that are truly concealed are her arms, with the long white gloves that come to her elbows.
If I didn’t know this was the frumpily dressed choir girl I have sworn to stay clear of for most of my life, I would have never recognized her. Unlike her soft voice in church, here it’s pure, raspy velvet. The sound of her voice goes straight to my cock, and as I witness the other patrons shuffling in their seats, I see that she has the same exact effect on all these old fuckers, too.
I stew in place as she continues to sing the melodic, sensual song. Her seductive tune lures us to follow her into the promised demon candy-land she’s singing about all too willingly. Then on the second bridge, male voices accompany hers, as three bare-chested dancers appear on the stage behind her and start touching her body as a lover would. I fist my hands below the table as I watch one of them move her hair away to kiss her neck. Another trains his hands to slowly caress her curvy frame while his sidekick kneels in front of her, his head inches away from her bare pussy. All three men lip-sync their part in the chorus while her voice is the only one that is real. I watch her nipples harden under her flimsy dress as one nuzzles his head against her chest. She runs her fingers through his hair, never once missing a beat.