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“Can I interest you gentlemen in something?” A woman in the shortest, tightest, skimpiest dress I’d seen outside of a strip club sidled up to me, placing her hand on my arm and batting her lashes at me. “We’ve got everything here—” She indicated to the table. “—or if you’re looking for a more…personal service, I can sort you out. I haven’t seen you around here before. I would have definitely remembered.” She moved closer, curling her fingers over my bicep, her fake tits brushing against my arm. I felt nothing.
“You’re wasting your time on him, babe. He’s got a girl already,” Cassius said in a bored tone.
“Most men here do.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t stop them.”
“I don’t have a girl,” I muttered under my breath. Cass glared at me. “Not interested, sorry,” I said more loudly, plucking her hand from my arm and stepping back. “Have you seen my father? Arlo Cavendish?”
She visibly paled, tottering backwards on her sky-high heels. “Oh, s-sir, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were Mr Cavendish’s son. Please excuse my forward behaviour.”
“Uh. Sure.” Cass and I exchanged glances. “Have you seen him?”
She shook her head mutely, and I nodded towards the door. As we left the room, Zayde and Weston appeared in the corridor. “Any luck?” West asked in a low voice, and I shook my head. Next room. This one had a heavy, closed door, and as soon as I pushed it open, I was hit by the sound of Beyoncé’s “Partition” and a heavy smell of perfume, mixed with sweat and smoke.
“Fuck, yes,” Cass groaned under his breath, his gaze fixated on a woman in the corner of the large darkened room, a spotlight shining on her as she swung around a pole on a small stage, wearing nothing but a black G-string. A cluster of men sat around the stage, some watching, others talking in low tones, heads bent close together. Several women were gyrating on men in darkened booths, and three security guys stood on the edges of the room, watching the goings-on with bored expressions on their faces.
“What the fuck kind of members club is this? Strippers? Lap dancers? Best fucking place ever.” West stared around the room, a huge grin on his face, and I rolled my eyes. He had a point, though. This was…unexpected.
“Uh, Z, I think that’s your dad.” Cass had torn his eyes away from the stripper, and we followed his gaze to the middle booth, where Michael Lowry sat with a topless woman in his lap, smoking a cigar while his other hand disappeared under the table.
Zayde sighed heavily. “Let’s go.”
“You don’t wa
We ran straight into my father, coming down the corridor with Paul Drummond, Cassius’ father. Both tall and imposing, impeccably dressed as always.
“There you are,” he greeted us. “You boys having fun? Enjoying everything the club has to offer?” He gave me a smarmy wink, clapping me on the back.
“Yeah. It’s not what I expected,” I said honestly.
“In what way?” Paul eyed me.
“Strippers? Drugs?”
“Listen, boys. This is our world. We work hard for our money, and at the weekends we play the role of family men. Here…we can blow off steam. Relax. Have our whims catered to. Network. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“So you’re playing at being a father, are you?” Cass gave Paul a hard look.
“Son, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You, and Lena, and your mother…you’re important to me. We’re family. I can’t speak for everyone, though…” He trailed off with a shrug and a twist of his mouth.
“Okay. Good,” Cass muttered, looking down at the floor.
“Drinks.” My father clapped his hands. “Come into the bar—I’ve reserved us a table.”
We sat in a large booth for the next hour, making small talk. My father spoke briefly about a construction contract they were trying to win, and Paul discussed the troubles Alstone Holdings was having with one of their building suppliers. I filed away every bit of information, even if it didn’t seem important—as I knew my boys would, too.
Michael, Zayde’s dad, joined us after a while and asked if we wanted in on the next poker game. Just over an hour later, me and Cass had both folded, West and the two other guys we were playing with were out, and Z had a pile of chips in front of him and a triumphant gleam in his eye. Fuck knows why I bothered playing poker against him. He had the best poker face I’d ever seen, bar none, and no tells—none that I’d ever noticed, anyway.
Michael had left us to play and gone back to the booth where my dad and Paul were sitting, joined by another three of my father’s friends and colleagues. As our game came to an end, I noticed all of them rise from their booth and head through the same door we’d been through earlier. I glanced at Cass, and he gave me a slight nod, and we left the table and followed them through the door.
Keeping back, we headed down the corridor, only to see the men disappear through the door at the very end—the door with the beefy security guy now scowling at me and Cass.
“What do we do?” Cass hissed through the side of his mouth.
“Wing it” was my reply, and we strode towards the door.