The Divorcee Murder Club

Seis ~ 6

The upscale nightclub is going off.

It's a thirsty Thursday at Penthouse and a line wraps around the building with the thump-thump of bass reverberating through the masonry. I'm checking IDs and opening velvet ropes for scantily clad women in sparkling dresses and perfectly quaffed men in tailored outfits. I hate it here. So many pretentious snobs flashing money as if that'll get them in faster. They're barking up the wrong tree if they think I give a fuck.

But then I see that gorgeous set of thick hair poking out from the crowd. Mindy is standing on tiptoes, trying to glimpse over the sea of heads, gauging how long it'll take to make it inside. Lucky for her, I'm the doorman.

Our eyes meet, so I wave her forward. Heads turn her way as she latches onto her friend's arm and they begin weaving past everyone. She's stunning tonight in a gold strapless dress hugging her curves like a gift I want to unwrap—tug on the ribbon with my teeth. And those open-toe stilettos lacing up her gorgeous calf muscles make me want to bite my knuckles.

"You came." I smile.

"This is Nadia." She motions to her friend who is sexy in a cute way. The kind of girl whose nose you want to boop because she's too adorable for her own good. She's curvier than Mindy. Thick. And wearing a little cobalt blue dress that flares at the hips, showing off some thigh.

"Have fun in there."

The velvet rope parts and they step inside the club, with Mindy glancing over her shoulder before disappearing into the darkness.

I want her.

So damn bad.

But I'm terrible for her.

An hour later, I'm chomping at the bit for a break, so I signal the other doorman and wander into the swanky club. I run my fingers down the glossy black corridor walls which spills into the coat check area where dim chandeliers cast a faint glow across the shiny black tiles. People are standing around mingling and some give me a head nod, while others dap my knuckles. They think they know me because they see me every week, but they know fuck-all.

The black tiles end at a staircase cascading into the bowels of this place and fog floats from the dance floor towards the mirrored chandeliers scattered across the ceiling like disco balls. I search for Mindy through the sea of flashy outfits as I descend and spot that golden dress of hers by the bar. It's funny how quickly a smile spreads over my face but I freeze as I reach the last step.

Mindy isn't smiling.

And some asshole has her by the arm.

Shoving through a crowd of grinding bodies is worse than surfing through a mosh pit. I don't even care that I'm a little rough and when people see the security badge dangling from my neck, their scowls drop. It helps that I'm tall and have a physique that spells, do not fuck with me.

The asshole in question starts pulling Mindy through the crowd and when her friend Nadia intervenes, he shoves her hard in the chest. That's when my feet accelerate and within seconds I'm blocking their path and my hand is grabbing a fist-full of his slippery Gucci collar.

"Take your fucking hand off her. NOW." He glares at me, but sees the badge and releases Mindy's arm, so I let go of his shirt. "You're eighty-sixed."

"What?"

"Canceled. Banned," I say through my teeth. "Now get the fuck out."

"Yeah, ok, buddy," he mocks and pulls out his wallet.

"I'm not playing. You're done here!"

"Do you know who I am?" he scoffs, and waves three crisp hundred dollar bills in my face. "Take this and buy yourself a clue."