Whenever I felt the need to shift, I channeled it into my dance. It made my performances erotic, and tips were plentiful because of the savage look in my eyes and predatory movement of my body.
Club Sin had a long stage with one pole and multicolored spotlights. The smaller stages had poles, but they weren’t hugely popular in bars except with Chitahs, who seemed to enjoy the acrobatic stuff. The big attractions were the elaborate dances performed on the big stage. We occasionally choreographed together and made it something fun, but usually the girls were trying too hard to earn tips, so they preferred coming up with their own moves if they had to share the stage.
Customers enjoyed the girls putting on a show that told a story, and the chairs around the main stage rarely stayed empty. The rest of the club had curved swivel chairs surrounding polished tables. Many Breed clubs were laid out the same to give customers a sense of familiarity and comfort, so the bar ran along the left side of the room. The VIP area on the right was for private parties, and that’s where the girls banked with private lap dances for high-paying customers. No sex went on in our club, although who knew what happened outside the doors? I’d received a number of tempting offers, but no amount of money was worth selling my body like a prostitute. I had enough sense to separate the business from my personal life.
I changed out of my platforms and into a pair of silver heels before heading toward a table in the back where Daphne was slurping on a martini.
“I want that dress,” she said, admiring my tight-fitting black outfit.
“Honey, how are you holding up?”
“Freaking the hell out,” she replied, poking at an olive with her fingernail. “I had a little chitchat with your friend, Reno. I’ve never met a PI, but that’s one scary fucking man. I can’t imagine what kind of woman would go for a guy who looks like he eats nails for breakfast.”
I plucked an olive off her napkin and ate it. “He’s a doll. Have you heard anything new?”
She shook her head. “The girls are scared, and Dean’s afraid they’ll start looking for another job. What if this is some maniac stalker? Or maybe someone has a personal grudge against the owner and he’s taking it out on us. What do you think happened to Skye?”
Daphne still had on her stage clothes, including a classy black top made with small rhinestones that she’d borrowed from me. Long beads draped in loops from the sides and connected between the breasts in multiple rows.
“I don’t want to know what happened to her,” she said, not waiting for my answer. “Gives me nightmares just thinking about it. Dean won’t let the bouncers walk us to our cars since he’s more concerned about maintaining order inside, so we’re going to start walking each other out in pairs. When you get ready to leave, just grab one of us. If I could afford a bodyguard, I’d hire one, but it’s probably worthless unless someone was specifically coming after me.”
“Do you think it’s random?”
“Those two girls had nothing in common except that they both were Shifters. Different hair colors, body types, ages—it just doesn’t make sense. Don’t serial killers go after girls who look alike?”
“That’s one thing I’m not an expert on,” I said with a nervous sigh.
She sipped her drink and got a faraway look in her eyes.
I patted her hand when she set down the glass. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over anything. My friend will look into it, and if there’s anything to be concerned about, you can bet he’ll help us. Just be sure you’re not withholding any information. He’s one of the best.”
“Everyone can’t stop talking about it.”
“The girls need to pull it together or they’re going to scare off the customers,” I said. “Chitahs can smell fear, so that’s not the kind of atmosphere we want to create. Keep them calm and let them know an investigator is looking into it. The last thing we need is a nervous girl getting onstage and shifting into her animal. I’m sure some of the men wouldn’t mind knowing what her animal is, but if she begins attacking customers…”