finest fashions. The car turned off the main strip and into a slightly seedier commercial district.
They were still in a higher-class section of Folsom. The limo pulled up outside a building with an awning. She stared at the neon sign above the door, unable to read the word. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” Lucian said, shifting and pulling out his wallet. He removed a card and placed his wallet back in his pocket. “Keep your hand in mine at all times and don’t talk to anyone. If someone addresses you, simply nod or shake your head.”
The door opened and he slid out. She had questions, but they would have to wait. Once outside of the limo she could hear music pumping from inside the stone walls of the establishment. Was it a club?
“I’ll wait at the corner, sir,” Dugan said quietly as Lucian took her hand.
He knocked at the black metal door, and a man in a tuxedo answered. Lucian flashed the card he’d taken from his wallet, and the man let him pass. The entrance was dark and loud. A slow, sultry rhythm vibrated the walls from speakers unseen.
“Welcome, Mr. Patras. It’s been a while,” the man in the tux greeted as Lucian paid the cover.
“Good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. This is Ms. K. We’d like a seat in the Red Room.”
The man nodded and led them through a dim corridor. The accents she could see were nice. Expensive sconces adorned the walls, which were papered in an antiquated black-and-ivory floral print. She wanted to ask if this was a bar, but Lucian instructed her not to talk.
At the mouth of the corridor there was a large room filled with tables dressed in crisp linens. It looked like a number of the functions Lucian had taken her to, except it was dark. They weaved their way to a table in the front of the room, where a stage sat as empty as a shell. Lucian pulled out a chair and she sat, sinking comfortably into the cushioned seat.
“I’ll have a brandy and Ms. K. will have a tequila sunrise.”
She faced him, her brow arching curiously. Lucian often gave her wine to sample with dinner, but she wasn’t much of a drinker being that she got intoxicated rather quickly. A tequila sunrise was the first cocktail she’d ever had. The night she’d first tried it, she drank about eight of them, and Lucian had to practically carry her home.
The other man left and she looked around. Lucian took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”
“Yes. What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
The other patrons were granted a bit of anonymity by the cleverly placed lighting. Shadows created private pockets of space. On the stage, she could make out the silhouette of what looked to be an old-fashioned button-back settee.
A woman appeared with their drinks. Her outfit was bizarre. Deep purple hues reflected in a velvet jacket. Hook buttons marched up her busty chest in military style. Her breasts were overflowing from the expensive-looking garment, and the back let out in a train reaching to her knees. Her hair was slicked back and appeared blue under the lights, but Evelyn deduced it was blond. A petite top hat perched on her head, and a black lace choker collared her neck. She looked like she’d escaped the Black Hills during the high times of Deadwood.
Evelyn’s drink was set before her, its attractive graduating blush deepening like a crimson sunrise. She took a sip. The sweet grenadine countered the burn of tequila.
Lucian scrutinized her. His posture relaxed and the thumb of his other hand rubbed slowly over his glass of brandy. “Good?”
“Mmm, very,” she agreed, easing back in her chair.
The song changed, and the lighting amended from blues and reds to pinks and vibrant shades of fuchsia. The music was a cross between contemporary and some form of opera. It was very sultry, with words in some fluid language much prettier than English.
A woman walked onto the stage, dressed in Victorian finery. Her hair was white and pinned in a crown of toppling curls.
They were still in a higher-class section of Folsom. The limo pulled up outside a building with an awning. She stared at the neon sign above the door, unable to read the word. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” Lucian said, shifting and pulling out his wallet. He removed a card and placed his wallet back in his pocket. “Keep your hand in mine at all times and don’t talk to anyone. If someone addresses you, simply nod or shake your head.”
The door opened and he slid out. She had questions, but they would have to wait. Once outside of the limo she could hear music pumping from inside the stone walls of the establishment. Was it a club?
“I’ll wait at the corner, sir,” Dugan said quietly as Lucian took her hand.
He knocked at the black metal door, and a man in a tuxedo answered. Lucian flashed the card he’d taken from his wallet, and the man let him pass. The entrance was dark and loud. A slow, sultry rhythm vibrated the walls from speakers unseen.
“Welcome, Mr. Patras. It’s been a while,” the man in the tux greeted as Lucian paid the cover.
“Good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. This is Ms. K. We’d like a seat in the Red Room.”
The man nodded and led them through a dim corridor. The accents she could see were nice. Expensive sconces adorned the walls, which were papered in an antiquated black-and-ivory floral print. She wanted to ask if this was a bar, but Lucian instructed her not to talk.
At the mouth of the corridor there was a large room filled with tables dressed in crisp linens. It looked like a number of the functions Lucian had taken her to, except it was dark. They weaved their way to a table in the front of the room, where a stage sat as empty as a shell. Lucian pulled out a chair and she sat, sinking comfortably into the cushioned seat.
“I’ll have a brandy and Ms. K. will have a tequila sunrise.”
She faced him, her brow arching curiously. Lucian often gave her wine to sample with dinner, but she wasn’t much of a drinker being that she got intoxicated rather quickly. A tequila sunrise was the first cocktail she’d ever had. The night she’d first tried it, she drank about eight of them, and Lucian had to practically carry her home.
The other man left and she looked around. Lucian took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”
“Yes. What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
The other patrons were granted a bit of anonymity by the cleverly placed lighting. Shadows created private pockets of space. On the stage, she could make out the silhouette of what looked to be an old-fashioned button-back settee.
A woman appeared with their drinks. Her outfit was bizarre. Deep purple hues reflected in a velvet jacket. Hook buttons marched up her busty chest in military style. Her breasts were overflowing from the expensive-looking garment, and the back let out in a train reaching to her knees. Her hair was slicked back and appeared blue under the lights, but Evelyn deduced it was blond. A petite top hat perched on her head, and a black lace choker collared her neck. She looked like she’d escaped the Black Hills during the high times of Deadwood.
Evelyn’s drink was set before her, its attractive graduating blush deepening like a crimson sunrise. She took a sip. The sweet grenadine countered the burn of tequila.
Lucian scrutinized her. His posture relaxed and the thumb of his other hand rubbed slowly over his glass of brandy. “Good?”
“Mmm, very,” she agreed, easing back in her chair.
The song changed, and the lighting amended from blues and reds to pinks and vibrant shades of fuchsia. The music was a cross between contemporary and some form of opera. It was very sultry, with words in some fluid language much prettier than English.
A woman walked onto the stage, dressed in Victorian finery. Her hair was white and pinned in a crown of toppling curls.
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