𝐓𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝟑 | 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

song: black atlass - sacrifice

⋆･𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞･⋆

I roll up the sleeves of my black dress shirt and slide out of my car, the low thud of the bass from the club pulsating through the night air. Stepping into the neon-lit chaos of Inferno, I'm immediately flooded in a kaleidoscope of flashing red and pink lights that dance across every surface.

Confidence flows from every step as I make my way to the main bar, expecting to find Gianna there, but reality delivers a swift slap in the face. Instead of the fiery bartender, I'm surrounded by a group of blonde bombshells with their breasts on full display. Amidst the sea of bleached hair, I do spot a dark-haired girl, but she's not the one I'm looking for.

I walk up to the counter, a smirk playing on my lips as I catch the gaze of a petite blonde who's eyeing me like I'm the main course at a buffet. I may not have time for marriage, but a quick late-night encounter wouldn't tie me down for too long.

"What can I help you with, handsome?" she chirps, her voice carrying across the clamor of the club. Her high-pitched tone grates on my nerves, like someone scraping a fork against a plate. Immediately, I forget about the encounter I had in mind.

"Any chance a woman named Gianna is working tonight?" I inquire, my patience waning as I glance around the crowded space.

"Get in line sir, others are already waiting," she chuckles, her laughter laced with a hint of mockery. I can feel my irritation mounting, a slow burn beginning to smolder beneath the surface.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I retort, my tone sharp and tinged with annoyance, as I fix her with a steady gaze.

"Listen, I can book you for VIP room 4, but you'll have to wait for a little while," she finishes, her voice slicing through the air like a sharp knife. Her words irritate me.

A VIP room... So, she is indeed a stripper. I chuckle under my breath at the thought of how she's most likely dancing and undressing for a bald man in his 70's just so he can get his 2-inch cock hard right now. The absurdity of it all only adds to my frustration. It's not the profession itself that bothers me, but rather the implication it carries. Women who resort to such means, in my view, lack a certain level of self-respect. Then, I remind myself that she is just a random woman, not my girlfriend or whoever and she can do whatever she pleases to do.

The next thing I do, I may regret, but I've got too many problems running inside my head, so I may as well do one more stupid thing. It's not like I'm planning on seeing her again after tonight anyway.

"10 grand to see her right now," I announce loudly, my voice cutting through the seductive music pulsating through the club. The sudden silence that follows is almost deafening. "Or is that too little for her?" I add, my irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

The blonde bartender freezes, her eyes widening in disbelief as she takes in my words. "Okay, I'm sure I can get you in within five minutes when I clear her schedule," she stammers, her voice laced with uncertainty. This woman has a fucking schedule even though she's a bartender? Jesus fuck, Gianna. You're not quite the woman I thought you were.

"50 grand." I say lowly and a gasp escapes the blonde's lips. Then a grin appears on her botched face. This is the moment I should've shut my mouth. That much money, only for a woman with a smart mouth to possibly piss me off? I'm clearly not thinking straight, and I blame my father and Bianchi for that.

"Let me walk you over to the room then," the blonde says eagerly, sliding out from behind the bar with a spring in her step. I follow her up a few flights of stairs, the dark carpet muffling our footsteps. When we make a left turn, she shoots me a quick glance before opening the door just slightly.