Page 21 of East

But Wick really ought to be doing his job. That’s an objective fact, untainted by whatever I’m beginning to feel for Thea.

I check my watch. I only started my set twenty minutes ago. People are dancing. If I stop now, it’ll ruin the flow of the entire evening.

Fuck!

The Jade Sanctum can’t afford to ostracize its clientele, and the people here love to dance. Our house-made liquors are our main draw, but the music is a very close second.

When Rouge Montrose’s organ harvesting plot was exposed, all her employees who had done nothing wrong were fucked over. A lot of patrons stopped coming altogether because of the bad press, and a lot of our infrastructure was taken care of using the money Rouge got from the black market. Bianca ceded control to all the clubs under Rouge’s control—besides her flagship, Aces Underground—to their new respective owners. She said at the time it was because it was the right thing to do, but now I’m wondering if she just knew these other clubs were a lost cause. We’re in a much more precarious position than we were under Rouge. Not that I fault Bianca. These clubs are adjusting to being run legally for the first time since they opened.

I don’t usually mind scrounging to meet the bottom line. I’m in a much better position than I ever was in Vegas. But with the stability of my new life here in Chicago comes my obligation to place my patrons’ needs first during club hours.

Which means I can’t leave my post at the DJ booth. Not now. The club and my employees—even the ones I’d like to knock upside the head for talking to beautiful women I’d like to keep for myself—need me.

So the show must go on. For now, at least. I can take a break in thirty minutes or so.

In the meantime I’ll face away from East. Keep my mind off Thea as much as I can.

Wick is a creep. A smart girl like Thea wouldn’t go for him in a million years.

At least, I hope that’s the case.

I just met Thea tonight.

I don’t know her at all.

9

THEA

I turn around with a smile, expecting to see Aus.

But the low voice didn’t come from him. It came from a man I recognize as the bartender of the West. I didn’t get a good look at him since Aus skipped his section when he gave me the tour.

I blink a few times. “That’s very generous of you, but I can buy my own drink.”

The man—God, his eyes are so dark they’re almost black—shakes his head. “Your money’s no good here.” He glances up at Kin. “Put it on my tab.”

“Y-Yes, W-Wick.”

I cock my head. “Wick? That’s an unusual name.”

He smirks. “Our parents were unusual people.”

“Our?”

He glances toward Kin. “Kin’s and my parents. We’re brothers.”

I widen my eyes. “You are? You don’t look anything alike.”

They don’t act anything alike, either. Kin is a fidgeting mess, skinny, kind of average-looking. Wick exudes a dark confidence, with broader shoulders and way more muscle mass than his brother. He’s quite attractive, if you’re into the dusky, brooding type.

Which I could be with another one of these drinks in me.

Wick has dark hair, and he’s painted his fingernails black and is wearing eyeliner. Not a look I’d typically be into, but it works for him.

He’s nothing compared to his boss, but Aus is busy. He’s not even looking over at me anymore. I’ve been catching him stealing glances all night, but he seems to have moved on.

Besides, there’s no harm in striking up a conversation with this man. He can’t leave the club until closing, anyway. He works here.