When you work at a nightclub, it removes the desire to go to other clubs to have a good time. I much prefer the laid-back atmosphere of a pub where I can relax with a cold beer and not have to shout over techno that is thumping through a speaker system that costs more than my parent's house. However, when one of your buddies is having a bachelor party, you have no choice but to polish your shoes and go out on the town. 

Diamond nightclub is one of our competitors, though it's nowhere near as classy. We attract A-list celebrities, whereas they attract influencers and what many would call riff-raff. I usually wouldn't be caught dead here, but Felix picked this place. The moment we enter, I understand exactly why. Diamond tries so hard to be like Penthouse, and tonight, they have dancers in cages. They look like strippers. Our go-go dancers look like actual dancers. 

"First round is on me," I say to our group.

"Hell yes!" Felix throws his arm over my shoulder with a squeeze. "Thanks for coming, man. I don't know what I'd do if you left me alone with Kay all night. The dude is so boring."

I glance over at the giant meathead and grunt. Kay is standing around with his usual RBF as if he's on the clock guarding the Sisters. The only time he laughs is when he's bruising someone's eyes with his fists or snapping their bones. But give him a few drinks, and he'll sing karaoke unprovoked or hang all over you while repeatedly saying how much he loves you.

"I don't think he ever turns off work mode," Felix says.

"I mean..." I teeter my head. "Are any of you ever really off the clock?"

"No, I guess you're right."

"Just give Kay a few shots and he'll be talking your ear off soon."

Felix laughs, "Do I want that, though?"

"Probably not."

The bartender lines up the glassware for our shots, and I can't help but critique their technique. Anyone can shake up a drink, but it's a skill and art form to understand the chemistry behind the balance of alcohol and mixers to get the perfect flavor ratio. There are too many bartenders who either go too heavy-handed on the booze or add too much mixer, making the drink practically virgin. The guy in front of us is the latter kind. 

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Guess I'm paying for fruit punch..." 

"Relax, man." Felix squeezes my shoulder, his arm around me. "We have all night and two more stops to make."

"Two more?" 

"Yeah. It's not a bachelor party without going to a tittie bar."

"I hate strip clubs," I say.

"It's not a strip club. It's a burlesque show. With tits."

"And then?" I sigh.

"And then the speakeasy for a relaxing send-off with cigars. Kay reserved the library room for us."

"Does Reina know?"

"Of course, man. We wouldn't bombard her club without letting her know."

"Alright. Just making sure."

"Cool, now can you try to relax? You're too tense!" Felix shakes my shoulders and laughs. "This is my bachelor party. Let's get fucking wasted!"

We slam our shots back, and just like I thought, it's mostly mixer. It's going to take several more to even feel a tickle. Screw that! I order tequila for my next drink and stick to it. With everyone buying Felix rounds of booze, it doesn't take long for him to begin slurring his words with a fat smile on his face. Out of everyone I've met through my work with the Sisters, Felix is my favorite. He works their security detail, and one day he was ordered to go with me to pick up rent money from a tenant. The man was refusing to pay, and needed... encouraging. He had taken advantage of Augusta's kindness after asking for two extensions, but he was out of chances. 

It was that day the innocent veil of my new side hustle began to reveal what was truly on the other side of working for the Sisters. 

That day, I watched a man beg for his life as snot bubbles accumulated in his nose while tears ran down his cheek and a spot of urine bloomed across his jeans as he pleaded for mercy while Felix beat him into a pulp. He also pleaded for his children and his wife when Felix threatened to annihilate his family if the man didn't cough up the rent money that was late by ninety days. 

Turns out, the man had a gambling addiction and to my surprise, Augusta chose leniency. She felt sorry for his family, so she forced him to sell his business and go to rehab. When he was released, she made him work off his debt. To this day I have no idea what it was she had him do. Maybe it's better that way.

"Are we ready for some titties?" Felix slurs, his heavy hand clapping my back. 

It's been two hours of drinking and I need food in my belly. I'd much rather go stuff my face with pizza, but this isn't my party. 

"Yeah, sure," I say.

"Oh, man, this is going to be so epic!" Felix bounces on his toes, his eyes like tiny slits because of how drunk he already is. "I'm so ready for epic tits."

"Your fiancé has ones you can look at."

"Yeah, but it's not the same, man. This is my bachelor party. After this, no more extracurricular boobies. Just hers and only hers."

"Extracurricular, huh?"

"You know what I mean, man! After next Saturday, I am officially off the market and locked down."

"I can't tell if you're excited or bummed," I laugh.

"Of course, I'm excited, man. I wouldn't be marrying Jasmine if I didn't want to be locked down. I can't wait for that shit!"

"Alright," I laugh.

We close our tab, exit the club, and pile back into the party bus to head to the burlesque show. It's a new venue, and judging by my quick browse on their website, they serve food and the smash burger has my name all over it. The boys continue doing shots as our driver maneuvers through the city streets. Rain droplets splash the windows from the outside while our body heat causes them to fog from the inside. It's a damn furnace with all the male testosterone and drunken foolery cooped up in here. 

When we finally arrive, we're escorted to the VIP section by a woman dressed in a bedazzled corset, with glammed makeup and voluminous hair that would make a drag queen jealous. We're seated in the front row, right in front of the stage, and told we're in for an amazing show before our hostess winks and struts away swaying her hips. The place is dark, with red lights creating a bordello glow, and the wait staff is dressed like they belong in The Moulin Rouge with glittery body suits and huge feather headdresses. There aren't many people aside from us, but the show doesn't start for another thirty minutes, which allows us time to order food. 

As the minutes tick by, more guests arrive, and one group in particular is louder and drunker than us. They're also pretty handsy with the waitresses. It's rubbing me the wrong way, and Felix senses it.

"Chill, man." He squeezes my shoulder. "They're just having a good time."

"Yeah, at the expense of young women who don't look older than twenty-one. Those guys are perverts."

"What's the difference between these girls and the go-go dancers at Penthouse?" he asks.

"The difference is, Felix, that our security team runs a tight ship, and the bouncers would be cracking skulls if guests were touching the dancers the way these assholes are touching the waitresses."

"Touché." He sips his drink. "Anyway, those guys aren't gonna do anything stupid. They're all cops."

"Cops?" 

"Yeah, cops." Felix nods his head toward the group. "That's John Maloney, Sergio Gonzales, Mario Caruso, Eric McCarthy..."

He keeps listing names, but I'm stuck on the part where he said Mario Caruso. What is Hazel's husband doing here at a burlesque show with half-naked women? And where is Hazel tonight? Or better yet, where does she think her husband is? I pull out my phone and do a discreet rundown of her socials. Some might consider it stalking, but none of her profiles are private and she was easy to find. This is my way of keeping tabs on her in case she might need my help. 

Based on an Instagram post she made thirty minutes ago, Hazel is at home drinking chardonnay. Alone. Why would any man want to be at a burlesque show when they have a gorgeous wife at home with a sexy body they can explore? That's where I would be if she were mine. I scroll down to a bikini picture of her on a girls trip to Barbados that she took a year ago. The bikini is mocha-colored and creates the illusion of her being nude, which is hot as hell. She's posed with her back against a wooden railing, her elbows are propped, and her right leg is bent, accentuating the quad muscle and hamstring. She has the sexiest legs, I swear. 

The turquoise ocean is behind her, and her face is tilted up at the sun as it kisses her skin. I want to be there. Jump inside the picture and lick my way up her thighs. So, I don't understand how her husband can be here ogling at young women when he has a goddess at home.

"Heads up. Our food is here." Felix elbows me, and I immediately tuck my phone into my jacket pocket before he sees what I'm staring at. 

The group of cops also receive their round of appetizers, and I don't miss the moment Mario smacks the waitress's bottom before she walks away. The young woman freezes with clear astonishment in her wide eyes, but then pulls on a smile and looks at him. She says something, but I can't hear it. It must be funny because Mario laughs and winks at her.

This guy is a pig. No pun intended. 

Seeing how these young women are being treated makes me glad that my little sister, Mara, is a professional ballet dancer and doesn't have to resort to shaking it at a club. 

Our tables are cleaned as soon as we finish our meals, and someone turns out the lights, but a bright beam illuminates the stage where a red velvet curtain is. The band begins to play. At first, it's just the hiss of a drum snare, and then an arm slides through the drawn curtain, followed by the slide of a trombone as the dancer kicks her leg out. Men in the audience whistle as excitement builds for what comes next. 

Suddenly, the curtains fly open, revealing a row of burlesque dancers, and the show officially begins. Everyone around me hoots and hollers, but I'm too sober to enjoy any of it. I'm also too aware of Mario's behavior. As the show goes on, the dancer's outfits become smaller and smaller until the only thing covering their breasts are nipple pasties with tassels that they whip in circles. My friends are going wild with the cheering and clapping, but all I can think about is how mortified I would be if it was my sister up there and men were drooling over her the way these men are. 

I would rip the room apart. Go completely ape shit. Mara is too good for a place like this.

Which is why I feel sleazy being here. This isn't my kind of scene. I don't get off on the exploitation of women. Who runs this place? Why don't they have better security, like we do at Penthouse, to protect the dancers?

I nudge Felix. "I'm heading out for a smoke."

"But you don't smoke." He furrows his brows.

"Then I'm heading out for some air. It's too... hot in here."

"Wait a bit. The best part is coming up!" 

"What's that?" I ask and Felix grins.

"The dancers come down into the audience to give lap dances for the final act."

I glance at the dancers twerking their g-stringed behinds and shake my head. "Nah, I'm good man. I need air."

Before Felix can object, I walk away. I'm not a prude, but I'm good off having half-naked women I don't know smooshing their boobs in my face while grinding their barely covered crotches on my lap. When I exit the venue, I take a deep breath of the cool night air and feel immediate relief as my shoulders relax. However, I'm not alone for long. The spark of a lighter draws my attention as an orange flame casts shadows across Kay's face and the end of his cigarette glows red. I nod to him, and he blows out smoke through his nose.

"Not a fan of the peep show?" he says.

"Nah. Never been into strippers."

"Yeah, why pay to watch a woman get naked when you can fuck the real thing for free," he grunts.

I cock my brow. "Jocelyn?"

"Maybe." He grins.

"Does Augusta know?"

"No, and it's going to stay that way. Besides, it's none of her business. She might control the territory, but she doesn't control her sister. Jocelyn is a grown woman, with a mind of her own, and fully capable of running shit."

"Running shit? Doesn't she already?"

"You know what I mean." Kay takes a drag of his cigarette. "They're supposed to be a united front, yet Augusta has secrets that she excludes Jocelyn from."

"I don't know about all that." I shrug. "But word of advice, don't get too attached or too invested in The Sisters. Not romantically at least. We're disposable to them."

Kay grins again. "The guys in there might be, but you and I are not."

"What makes you so confident?"

"I just am. Jocelyn will take care of me, and if you play your cards right, she'll look after you, too."

"What does that even mean?"

"You heard Jocelyn. The tides need to change. Augusta isn't stable."

"You don't actually believe that, do you? Come on, Kay. I've worked with these women for seven years, and I have never seen Augusta take anything other than ibuprofen. Nor have I ever witnessed her have an anxiety attack let alone a mental breakdown. The woman is as stoic and resilient as a palm tree in a hurricane. Nothing knocks her down."

"Jocelyn wouldn't lie!" He tosses his cigarette down onto the damp pavement and grinds it out with his steel toe boot.

"She's as capable as anyone," I say, and Kay doesn't like that. He steps forward and snatches my collar.

"Watch what you say about her!"

"Hey..." I hold up my hands. "I'm not your enemy. Don't think with your emotions. Think with your brain. We are not on the same level as Augusta and Jocelyn. We never will be, which means we gotta look out for ourselves by trusting no one and questing everything. Isn't that what you told me all those years ago when I was just an errand boy?"

Kay's fingers unfurl from my collar, and the tension in his shoulders eases as he steps back. The scowl on his face relaxes. "Right. Maybe I am thinking a little bit with my dick."

"A little?" I laugh. "Try pussy-whipped."

"I mean..." He shrugs with a wicked grin. "It is amazing pussy."

"I'll take your word for it." I shake my head and reach into my pocket for my phone to check the time. 

I use my thumbprint to unlock the screen and for some reason it opens up to Instagram. I have notifications, so I swipe over to check them, thinking it's my mom or my sister Lydia sending memes and reels. However, the notifications are not because of silly reels being shared with me. 

No, there is a DM.

From HAZEL.

With wide eyes, I shift away from Kay and click on the message, my heart racing. It opens up to a screenshot of notifications. At first I don't I understand what I'm looking at, but then it sinks in and my stomach plumments. They're notifications of me, like her photos. In my haste to tuck away my phone so Felix wouldn't catch me gawking at Hazel's photos, I accidentally left Instagram open, and I've been 'butt-dialing' her ever since. Except, instead of calling her, I've been liking her photos!

The message attached to the screenshot says This isn't ok.

Shit! I messed up.