Page 8 of The Prince and His Bodyguards
“One or the other. Or both. What we do know is that it’s likely a working girl would have no trouble taking you. They wouldn’t mind being double penetrated, nor would they start speaking in tongues, or start crying when it happens. That’s the worst,” he adds.
“Absolutely the worst,” Rizza grunts in agreement. “I hate seeing a woman cry.”
I roll my eyes.
“You guys are such softies, despite being part of the Lysenian elite guard,” I remark. “Seriously, half the woman we train end up in tears.”
“They do,” Rizza concedes. “And I hate it.”
I merely shake my head again.
“No, I appreciate the suggestion but I’m not going to use a professional. It’s not suitable and it’s fucking embarrassing if you think about it. Why would a prince need a working girl, much less a porn star?”
“Well, I’m just saying that these ladies are used to double penetration,” Rizza says in a slow tone. “You wouldn’t need to sic us on them. They’d be … .ah,experienced.”
“That’s true, but no. I’m not going to pay for sex. We’ll find her, sooner or later.”
With that, the conversation ends and I disappear into my chamber to change into running clothes. Mizhir, Rizza and I work out together because I like to stay fit with a combination of aerobic exercise and strength training. But my bodyguards’ comments are disheartening because we’ve been in Chicago months now, with no leads. Where is my special girl? And how do we find her? Gritting my teeth, I pull on my sneakers while vowing to double my efforts … or to die trying.
CHAPTER4
Ali
It’s pretty pathetic that I’m doing this, but hey, I’m an amateur detective and I’m not going to let my first experience with Club Z deter me. Okay, so I came away empty-handed last night, but now I’m back at the club the next afternoon, determined to use my wits to get what I want.
“Um, hi I’m Ali?” I say while shooting the doorman a dazzling smile. “I’m not sure if I’m technically on the visitors list, but maybe?”
The doorman squints his eyes at me with no hint of recognition whatsoever.
“No,” he states in a flat voice.
“Come on,” I wheedle, doing a twirl in my short dress so that the hem flares out a bit, showing off my creamy thighs. “It’ll be fun!”
He stares at me again, those black eyes impenetrable.
“No,” he says again. “Scram. We don’t deal with underage girls.”
I bite my lip because I’m not technically underage, I don’t think. Nineteen is legal, right? Maybe not for alcohol, but since this is a private venue, I don’t think we’re breaking any laws.
Fortunately, at that moment who but Bartender Mike strolls by in the foyer. He’s dressed casually in a jeans and t-shirt, seeing that it’s only five p.m.
“Mike, Mike!” I call, flapping my hand at him through the glass door. “It’s me, Ali, remember? From last night? With the aperol spritzes? I was with my friend.”
The gray-haired man stops and squints at me for a moment, as if he’s trying to place my face. But then he nods, and shoots the doorman a glance.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says in a low growl. “Let her in. My shift hasn’t started yet, so I’ll talk with her.”
The doorman waves me inside with an exasperated look, and I wonder if this happens all the time. Are there tons of women dying to get into Club Z, who offer bribes, booties, and lots of smiles? Probably, come to think of it.
But happily, I trot inside and follow Mike into the bar area again.
“Oh wow, it looks different with the lights on,” I say, looking around. “And where’s all the furniture?”
“They’re cleaning it,” Mike says, wiping down the shiny wood surface. “That shit is really dirty after a party, so they wheel it out, do some serious disinfecting, and then wheel it back in. My understanding is that the club actually owns two sets of furniture to allow the cleaners enough time. As a result, the décor tonight will be slightly different,” he adds in a light voice.
I blink.
“Goodness, two sets of furniture? But this place is huge! It must cost a fortune, and where do they store it?”