The Beach Club

3. Alvaro

     When the sun comes out, it drives the girls wild. And here in Ibiza, the sun comes out almost everyday.

     The girls that fly in from England are my favourites. Just an inkling of sun and they throw on the skimpiest bikinis they can find and long to get their bodies wet. Hell, they'd walk around naked if it was acceptable.

     I sure as hell wouldn't mind.

     Tonight is like any other night; me and my brother Diego working the strip, scanning the crowds for the most special girls that we can find. Okay, not all of them, but sometimes, to get the special ones, you have to take your chances with the dogs too.

    It's easy though. Diego and I don't go a night without being prayed on by desperate girls who just want a night of fun. Sometimes, quite selfishly, we give it to them—because we're only human at the end of the day—but more often than not, we kick those rats to the curb. There's nothing I despise more than a desperate whore.

      "Those three, over there," Diego mutters. I follow my eyes to where he ducks his head, spotting three girls dressed in short skirts and cropped tops.

I shake my head. "Too slutty. Cheap."

Of course, the majority of the girls out here are only looking for a good time, so slut is the theme they aim for. But I'm better than that. I have a good—no—a perfect eye for the special girls. The ones who don't flaunt themselves like their life depends on a good fuck. I'd even say better than my brother, because often Diego doesn't give a shit who he brings back to the beach club. I, on the other hand, care very much.

     Diego runs his hands through his disheveled hair. His muscles tighten as we continue to scan the vicinity. Sometimes, we have nights where we have no luck. It's part of what we do. But others, we strike gold. And just as my eyes land on a stunning brunette across the way, I know in this moment I've struck not only gold, but a bloody diamond too.

I nudge Diego, but I get a head on him because I'm already sure of my target. "Girls girls girls!" I shout. The brunette is linked arm in arm with her friend who's quite obviously less valuable. But, as I said, we have to take the good with the bad. The gold and the copper.

    They turn their heads, firstly taking in the beach club. Though, how couldn't they? It's the largest beach club on the island and makes all the other wannabe beach clubs look pathetic. Still, I take my hat off to them for trying. After the girls get a good look at the club, they look to us. The way the brunette's eyes seem to dilate the closer I get is unmistakable.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was cautious. A girl with her guards up. A perfect little princess in need of someone to ruffle those silky, immaculate feathers of hers.

And I'm just the guy.

     I introduce myself and my brother. I ask if they're looking for a good night out (I mean, why wouldn't they be?) and I turn on my charm. Girls go mad for it, especially the foreign ones. The English girls specifically are downright crazy for a tanned, muscular and tattooed body, and I can offer all of that.

     The delicate, sweet señorita introduces herself as Poppy. Poppy. What a fucking beautiful name. My own little poppy flower. I drink in her dark eyes, silky brunette hair and that slim body of hers. Her small, perky breasts are hidden behind her black dress, but it's low enough that I can make them out. Just.

     I subtly nudge Diego in the side and he finally takes his eyes off the tall blonde-brunette one. I think I heard Poppy call her Zara. She seems nice and all, but I can tell already she's one of those desperate ones. Her boobs are pushed out like fucking balloons, begging to be stared at. I don't mind the view, but girls like her are no challenge. They're disposable and replaceable and they don't satisfy me.

     Poppy, on the other hand. She's rare. I can tell that already. I'd like to get to know her better.

    Diego shoots me a quick look that suggests sweet victory when the girls agree to join us at the beach club. It's not hard; the Luna Beach Club is the biggest beach club for miles around. It steals a huge chunk of the sea that pundits use as a pool. There's dance floor after dance floor and loungers at every corner. It's a tasteful mix of casual, cozy and electrifying depending on what time you visit. To add to it, we serve the best cocktails. No question.

     "This is crazy!" Poppy squeals as we welcome them in and tag their wrists with a band. "Insane!"

    I smile, and Poppy smiles back. She has a beautiful smile that hides a million secrets. With her though, it'll take more than alcohol and empty compliments to get them out of her. She wants love. I can tell. I'd bet all my money on her friend not even knowing her deepest desires because she keeps them that close to her heart. But I can tell. She's been hurt and she craves a love she's never experienced.

I can offer that too.

     Partly.

~

The beach club is at full capacity when we lead Poppy and her friend Zara to the beachfront, offering to them loungers that overlook the sea that's now dark but painted under the moonlight. The way the waves crash against the shore gets people in the mood for drinking—makes them believe the night is their own. I don't get why, but I don't question it. Business is business and our uncle doesn't care how the money is made, as long as it is.

Our uncle, Jose, is a grade A dick. Diego and I lost our father when Diego was six and I was three. He was a drug abuser, and his death was nothing more than a result of an overdose. He was a dick too, though. He used to beat our mother senseless every time he was using (which was pretty much all the time) and one day our mother just up and left without so much as a goodbye. I didn't blame her—I still don't—but I often find myself wondering if she's still alive. Whether she thinks about the two sons she left behind at the hands of that monster. When dad died, we were brought up by Jose. He wasn't the best caregiver but also wasn't the worst. But he was driven by money. He always had some small business running out of his shitty Spanish villa, and although most of them were illegal and centred around drugs, he often dabbled in the world of clubs and nightlife. His partner, Antonio, suggested they buy out the beach club and blow it up to be the best of the best—which they achieved hands down. Only, fast forward seven years later, it doubles as a base for their illegal business too.

     I give the girls a cocktail on the house—the best one we offer; A Punchy Sunrise. The liquor is doubled and is sure to loosen the girls up in no time. Zara wipes her glass clean—as I expected—but Poppy sips at hers cautiously. She probably thinks I've spiked it. She's not wrong to be wary; there's plenty of dickheads out here that do that to girls for fun. But I wouldn't do that. I'm nothing like those cowards.

I'm smarter.