Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I didn’t even abandon it when Laurie threatened to break up with me. I loved her, thought she was end-game material, but she turned out to be like every other girlfriend I’ve had. Just in it for the potential of power and prestige.
So, after several weeks of jacking off on my couch, I decided I’d rather find a good piece of ass to ease the blue balls Laurie left in her wake.
I could have gone to one of my regular haunts, but I decided to finally check this place out. Aces Underground, where my dad went when he was “at the club.”
I wasn’t anticipating this. The colored lights, the unlabeled liquor bottles, the tattooed waitstaff wearing next to nothing. This doesn’t match my dad’s vibe at all.
But I kind of like it.
I spent the first year working at the haberdashery trying to cultivate a particular aesthetic. I went up and down the streets of Chicago, checking inside every antique store, haggling with the owners for a good price on certain items. I got that old gramophone for a steal, same for the awesome set of wingback chairs and the vintage register. Most of the time, the people running the shops were just happy to make a sale at all.
But all the work I did on the shop pales in comparison to what the owners have done with this place. The theming is next level.
There’s a small empty table by the bar, so I take a seat. Almost immediately, a young lady with porcelain skin and dark-brown hair approaches me. I instinctively look right at her tits, which are spectacular. I then notice that the pattern on her bikini top is tiny white spades over a black background. She has a tattoo of a spade on her left shoulder, and the number three on her right.
She closes her eyes and bows her head.
I blink. “Are you here to take my order?”
She nods.
I cock my head, confused. “Cat got your tongue?”
She wrinkles her forehead.
“You can talk to me, you know.”
She widens her eyes and then shakes her head.
“You can’t speak?”
She presses her lips together and gazes around.
“You can speak, but you won’t?”
“Correct, Mr. Hathaway.”
I turn around to the cool female voice behind me and widen my eyes. A gorgeous woman, late thirties, wearing an outfit that makes the waitstaff’s look normal. Big poofy collar, and a crimson ballgown that looks like something straight out of Bridgerton. Her hair is bright red and styled in an elegant—if not slightly stuffy—updo, and she is bedecked from head to toe in rubies. She extends a hand to me, and the gem-studded bracelet around her wrist tinkles.
“Rouge Montrose. I’m the owner of Aces Underground.” She looks me over. “We’ve been expecting you for a few weeks now, Mr. Hathaway. We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”
I swallow. “Well, my father left me his membership here. I wasn’t even aware that was something someone could do.”
She crinkles her eyes. “My grandfather insisted on that policy when he started the club. It was during Prohibition, you know, and people would disappear from time to time. We decided that members could bequeath their membership to their next of kin in the event that they died of something other than old age.” She lays a hand on my shoulder. “My condolences on the loss of your father, by the way.”
My brain goes haywire at her touch. I’m not sure why—she’s only touching my shoulder—but it’s sending an electric shock through me that I haven’t felt since…
Since Laurie.
And from deep within my bowels, Mad Maddox opens his eyes, sniffs around.
“We weren’t particularly close,” I say.
Her eyes sparkle. “Yet he saw fit to leave his membership to you.”
I nod. “I was his only child. The only one who could inherit it.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She cocks her head. “Still, though, he could have simply opted to not pass his membership forward.”
“Well, he did.” I run my hands through my hair. “And believe me, I could use a drink after the last few weeks I’ve had.”
“Of course.” She gestures to the server. “Three, why haven’t you taken this man’s order yet?”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Her name is Three?”
“You see her shoulders, don’t you? She is the Three of Spades. We call the servers by their numbers here.” She points one of her long fingers at Three. “We have a philosophy that servers should be seen and not heard. Truthfully, we hardly want them to be seen at all, unless”—she leans closer—“one of our patrons wants to see them.”
“How do you mean?”
“Interpret the meaning however you will, Mr. Hathaway.” She gestures to the curtained-off areas surrounding the club’s perimeter. “As a member, you are allowed to reserve a private space by the hour. The spaces have very comfortable chairs…and beds. If you’re interested in some company in those spaces, I am happy to arrange that for you.” She gestures broadly across the club, where servers—mostly women, but a few young men—are milling about, carrying drink orders. “Pick a card, any card.”