Stick around and find out

ALEX

A slut?

How could he so bluntly say that to me? Noah lied, and I might work in a nightclub, but just as a waitress, but I'm not a slut. I'd rather die than sell my body for cash. It's just something I would never do, regardless of the pressure.

"I'm not a slut," I meant to sound very bold, but my words quivered when they came out. Something about the way they were staring at me killed my confidence.

I could be wrong, but they seemed to be ripping off my clothes with their heated gaze, fumbling my boobs and teasing my pussy. They were doing it all with their eyes, not holding back. Weren't they much older than I was? Was it right to stare at me like this?

It was rude and inappropriate, but I couldn't deny that my body wasn't reacting to their stares. I've been ogled at, but nothing ever heated me like this.

Again, I wondered who they were and why did they seem to not care about the world? They held a dangerous aura of authority, like they owned everything, even the breath I was taking.

"You could have fooled us," The one who held a phone earlier chuckled. "How much do you owe that jerk? Or do I ask, how much does your pussy cost for a night? We could get you a level-headed customer. Trust me. He's not gonna leave your face with a bruise,"

Just then, I was consciously aware of the sting on my face from how hard Noah hit me a while back. But I was more concerned with how badly I was being pictured right now. My dignity was being trampled on, and I hated it.

"I'm not a slut. Yes, I do work in the nightclub downstairs but just as a waitress. Nothing more,"

"With all that…?" He gestured at my sultry outfit and, of course, my body, "Who are you kidding?"

I went speechless, unsure of what to say. The situation and my appearance already landed me in a hard spot. I couldn't argue my way out of it. I couldn't prove that I wasn't who they thought I was.

"I've got a piece of advice for you — don't fuck jerks anymore, and don't take cash if you're not gonna give out. Stay out of trouble. You might not be so lucky next time,"

"And don't run into random rooms anymore. That's how you get killed,'' the one dressed in a three-piece suit added. He had a frail smile, and so did the one standing in front of me. If only I knew their names.

But somehow, I was more intrigued by the one who had chased Noah off with his rage. He already strutted to the corner with his back turned to me. He had put on the shirt that was hanging on his shoulder. He seemed fucking pissed by my presence, and that kinda made my heart twitch a bit.

It was weird. They were strangers and seemed dangerous, and I already had two of them talking to me. What should it matter if the third one was treating me like I was fucking invincible?

"Get going," The one who did most of the talking said. He was smiling again, displaying his dimples. But then, I should know better than thinking his smiles were real.

My quivering legs led me to the door and out of the room.

"Not even a bloody 'thank you' from her, ungrateful bitch!" The guttural voice rasped. It was him—the one who ignored me.

"Chill, Rhett. At least we had fun."

Rhett. Was that his name? What about the other two? And who were they?

The questions churned through my mind as I returned to the nightclub.

"Alex," Gilda motioned at me, as I came in, to join her at the bar. I did, still a bit distracted by my thoughts. "Where the hell did you go?"

"Tell me something first. Is Noah still here?" I asked, glancing around. But the place was packed to the brim. I couldn't easily tell if he was still here or not.

"No, he left a while ago, and he was in an awful mood. Did something happen between you two?"

"No, nothing–"

"You've got a bruise." She spotted out, trailing a hard on my cheek. "Did he do this?"

"Don't worry about it, Gil. I'm fine." I forced a small smile, and then I asked. "Do you know if the nightclub has prominent guests for the night?"

"Well, some of the suites were booked. Why?"

"Nothing. Just asking," I smiled again, giving her a quick hug. It seemed out of the blue, but honestly, I needed the hug more than she did.

I needed it to help calm my heart and all the hormones that awakened from my encounter with those men.

"Did something happen to you, Alex? You're being weird right now," Gilda asked. Her voice was laced with concern.

"I'm fine." More like, 'I would be fine' because right now, I wasn't. I still had the shirtless, sinful images of those men imprinted in my head. Their deep baritones echoed in my mind, and the way they ogled at me made my heart race madly. What the hell was going on with me?

"Uhhh.." I added. "are there any guests today? In the suites?"

"Why?" Gilda squinted.

"Nothing really. Just saw some movement."

"Well, the Boss is entertaining the Alcatraz brothers. The owners of this club and almost every other big clubs in the city."

"The Alcatr...?"

"Shush." Gilda placed a hand over my mouth. Her eyes widened, her cat-eyeliner giving her a comical look. “Don't say that name out loud."

The genuine mix of fear and excitement in her eyes sent a chill through my veins. But my curiosity got the better of me.

“Who are they? The Alcatraz brothers?” I whispered.

“I don't think—”

I narrowed my eyes, “Come on, tell me.”

“You can't speak about them to anyone, okay? Say the wrong name to the wrong person and you could end up in a body bag, butchered to pieces and thrown into the sea.”

I winced.

“That's not an exaggeration. But, oh my god, the Alcatraz brothers are something else. They're filthy rich, like private islands and superyachts rich. And hot as hell. Imagine dark, brooding eyes and chiseled jaws that could cut glass. They’re always impeccably dressed in custom suits that just scream money.”

“Wow, sounds like a dream.” I said as my mind went back to the ordeal I had just experienced.

“A dangerous dream,” she whispered. “They’re into everything you can imagine—arms dealing, human trafficking, drug empires. They’re the kings of the underworld. The allure is undeniable, but they leave a trail of destruction wherever they go. Not even the hounds of hell have such a huge love for carnage and power as they do.”

These thoughts consumed my mind as I walked into the house after my shift. I arrived home and my mother was breathing down my father's throat, grabbing his shirt, and raining curses on him in the living room. It all had to do with his refusal to reconnect with his "rich" family. I didn't know the full story, and I wasn't about to stick around and find out.