“Especially the night scene. All the secret locations offer the best food, most exotic cocktails, and provide atmospheres from drugged-out dreams.”
Maxwell rubbed his hands together. “I like the sound of that. Where’s the door?”
“Once everyone arrives, we’ll go.” I turned around.
The other limos stopped behind us. One by one each driver let fabulously dressed ballerinas out. Maxwell whistled and hit my back. “Man, have I told you how much I love spending time with you?”
“Yes. Which means that you should be my main guy.”
Maxwell drank in a few more ballerinas. “I’m supposed to be by Em’s side, but I must tell you something. You’re making it hard for me to remain loyal.”
“Consider staying with me.” I guided us forward.
“I’ll think about it, man.” He kept my pace. “But this place. Is it going to deliver? I’m trying to take some ballerinas home tonight.”
“Don’t I always deliver?”
“Well. . .in Mrs. Jones’s case, that delivery didn’t turn out well.”
I frowned.
He chuckled. “Too soon to joke about that?”
“Too soon.”
Maxwell raised his hands. “My bad.”
“Let’s go.” I pointed to the corner of the building.
A long line of ballerinas followed us. The ones that rode with us, chatted and stayed on Ava’s side. I learned all their names on our ride from the theater.
Isabella giggled. “This is so exciting.”
Fear hit Ulyana’s voice. “Are we going in the alley?”
“Shh.” Alyssa hushed them.
We rounded the corner.
An electric blue cross glowed in the alley’s darkness. A camera was above it. It zipped and focused on us.
The next second, the door opened. A tall man stepped out. “Welcome, Mr. Stronz. Do you have the passcode for this evening?”
Nodding, I shifted to Russian. “In a quiet lagoon, devils dwell.”
With a grim expression, the man took in all the people with me. Many represented my guards—scarred, tattooed, and extremely dangerous men from the Brotherhood. The rest were captivating women—the top ballerinas of the city and maybe even Russia. It must’ve been around thirty.
The man wore a grim expression. “And these are your guests?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door wider and moved out of the way. “Enjoy, Mr. Stronz.”
I gave Ava my arm.
She took it and strolled forward with me.
This will be fun.
With circular metal walls, the hall was dark black and all shiny. It was like being inside the polished barrel of a massive gun. A stream of blue light lined the ceiling and bathed our path in a dreamy haze.
Ava whispered, “I’ve never heard of this place.”
“It’s exclusive to the filthy rich. There’s a code that changes every five hours.”
“How did you get the code for tonight?”
“I called the manager. We’re colleagues.”
Giggling and soft chatter sounded behind us.
“This is a secret club.” She leaned in closer to me. “You’re not going to get in trouble for bringing all of us?”
“You’re the prima ballerina—the most talked about woman in Russia. And with you are glamourous ballerinas, dressed in the highest fashion. The manager will be pleased. It’ll make more of the top-tier want to seek the place out.”
The hallway ended at a wall.
I knocked on it.
Ava widened her eyes as the wall pushed five feet forward, revealing a glass floor. A beep sounded. The glass floor slid to the side and showed stairs. Loud music rose from the space.
“Wow.”
“You still haven’t seen anything yet.” I guided her down the steps.
Two men in black suits waited for us at the end, wearing white gloves. All around the large space people partied, danced, and drank.
As we lowered into the club, all of the delights of Club Pleasure revealed itself. It was an underground palace with a cinema-like atmosphere—grand casino meets elegant spy lounge. Red velvet furniture sat on a chessboard floor. It boasted high ceilings with glittering chandeliers that dangled pink crystals. On every table was a gold lamp shaped into a nude woman.
Music filled the air. A deep voice sang over a song with heavy bass. It was an electronic jam that didn’t amp one up to jump out of their seats. This song demanded to be danced to at the table. Many rocked their shoulders as they conversed.
At Pleasure, celebrities hobnobbed with the children of oligarchs and oil sheiks.
In the area where we walked, most of the walls were black. Some walls had red paint. I knew from my earlier visits that the red walls hid poker dens for games starting at half a million.
All turned our way. Many whispered to the other. Lots of men appeared intrigued at our tantalizing group. Surely after dinner, many ballerinas would be approached on the dancefloor.
When Ava and I made it to the end of the stairs, one of the men in black bowed. “Mr. Stronz, will your guests and you be eating this evening?”
“Yes. Take us to the White Room, please. And bring us your vintage champagne on ice with plenty of caviar.”
The man bowed again and left. The other guided us forward.