Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Finally our bracelets glow vibrantly as we make our way to the dance floor where the DJ is wearing a black matte mask with two long horns and a wide snout. People around him are bumping and grinding to EDM beats while a strobe light flashes to the rhythm of the music.
I turn to Bianca. “Who’s our contact here?”
“Zebulon Minos. He’s the original owner of the club, and Rouge bought it from him a while back. But she kept him on as second-in-command.” Bianca looks around and her eyebrows twitch. “There he is now.”
I look over. Zebulon Minos is a middle-aged man with a mane of long silver hair framing a wide, chiseled face. The strobe light bounces off a gold medallion etched with a lightning bolt, and he’s wearing an eggshell blazer with similar patterns running down the sleeves. He’s a solid man with an extremely broad build.
We walk over, and his eyes widen as he sees Bianca. “Miss Montrose. I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of your presence here at MINOS.”
She extends her hand. “I thought it was time I checked out some of my sister’s other clubs. We just came from the Noir Parlor.”
“Wonderful.” Zebulon shakes her hand. “How is Lucie doing?”
“Just fine.” Bianca glances over her shoulders. “Is there somewhere we could speak privately? I have a matter of some urgency to discuss regarding my sister.”
Zebulon widens his eyes. “What about your sister?”
“We’d rather not discuss it here,” I interrupt. “It’s sensitive.”
“I assure you I know nothing about Rouge Montrose except that she owns the club and checks in weekly,” Zebulon says quickly, a vein bulging in his thick neck.
Yeah, he’s hiding something. He doesn’t want us to know what he knows.
“Please, Mr. Minos,” I say quietly. “I assure you we can make this worth your while.”
He blinks several times. “You mean money?”
“Not necessarily,” Bianca says. “But we believe that my sister may be engaging in some illegal activities. If she is removed from her position as head of this club, I have the power to ensure that the ownership will return to you.”
Zebulon strokes his beard. “That would be nice. I don’t hate what Rouge did to update this place, but I do miss overseeing everything.” He frowns. “But still, I don’t think I have any information that would be of any value to you.”
I nod. “Let’s just chat then. If nothing you say is helpful to us, then no harm done. My girlfriend and I will have simply had a wonderful night at your club.”
Bianca’s eyes widen at my use of the word “girlfriend.” I didn’t mean to use it. I referred to her as my friend at the Noir Parlor.
If she’s into it, we can make it official. If not, I can write it off as me just assigning her a part for the evening.
I hope it’s the former.
Zebulon takes us into his office, outfitted in a white marble desk—again with yellow lightning bolts flaring along it—across from two fluffy armchairs of the same color. We take a seat.
Zebulon clasps his hands on top of the desk. “What were you hoping to find out?”
I open my mouth, about to ask if he’s seen any suspicious activity from Rouge, when another thought occurs to me. When we were at the Noir Parlor, Lucille mentioned that she rarely heard from former servers once their contracts with the club were up. Some of them were actors, so at least a few of them would have been successful and checked in. Even more would have likely begged for their job back after the film industry spat them back out.
The new girl at Aces. Dudley’s eyes flashed to her momentarily when I was asking around. The Eight of Spades. She must have replaced someone in her section.
Is there a connection?
I lean forward, my voice hushed even though we’re in a private space. “Your servers here. Are they on five-year contracts?”
Zebulon furrows his brow. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“It seems to be the case for all the workers at Rouge’s clubs. Does she bring them in herself?”
Zebulon nods. “She does, from Greece and Italy primarily. Brings back some people to work for the club, gets them set up and housed in the States.”
“And when their contracts are up, do you ever hear from them again?”
Zebulon’s eye twitches, and he takes a deep breath in. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. People move on in their lives. Do you check in with your first employer very often?”
“We’re not talking about a job flipping burgers at the local fast-food joint, Mr. Minos.”
“Zebulon, please. Or Zeb.”
“Fine, Zeb. But it’s hardly comparable. This is a job connected to one of the most powerful women in the city of Chicago, if not the country at large. There’s a reason Rouge Montrose refers to herself as a queen. She has more influence and authority than actual queens.”