SECOND CHANCES (ORIGINAL WORK)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chavez climbed the steps to the broad wooden door. He located the buzzer to the right, pressed it, and waited impatiently.

A minute later, the door opened. A girl with long, burgundy hair stood before him, dressed in a shiny black leather corset that molded perfectly to her torso, leather pants, and heels.

Their eyes met, and she stared blankly. "Can I help you?"

"I'm meeting someone here," he said, his voice low and serious.

"Who?"

"Nathan Snyder."

Her eyebrow lifted before she shifted her bored stare past him. She stepped back and raised her chin a fraction, motioning for him to come forward. He stepped far enough inside for her to close the heavy door behind him.

He started down the hallway. The wooden floors creaked below the heels of his boots, making the journey to this secret place uncomfortably loud. At the end of the hall, a turn brought them to a landing. A thick iron railing led downstairs, where the muffled sounds of the club first hit his ears.

He strained to hear what was going on behind the door they approached. Music and the uneven tones of voices. Different voices. Quiet and loud, even some laughter. Then—a shrill cry from a woman.

The girl turned the knob with a squeak and gave them passage into an enormous, oblong-shaped room that went on farther than he could see. The place was dim, not completely dark, but before everything came into focus before him, the girl had him walking away from the entrance. They approached an old wooden bar situated against the wall, where Nathan was sitting.

"Have a seat."

Chavez sat on the smooth wooden stool, loosening his tie as he did. He took in every small detail of his surroundings as quickly as he could. The walls were a deep red, made darker by the sparse lighting.

"Chavez."

He turned to Nathan, his heart stilling at the familiar tone. Nathan had that tone memorized when he wanted to get his way. "What will you have?"

A modest, but decidedly expensive collection of liquors was displayed along the wall. "Bourbon," he said. "Neat."

Nathan relayed the order to the female bartender. She slid his drink toward Chavez, her eyes cast down. He murmured a thank you and pushed it into his hand.

He lifted the drink to his lips and took the first burning swallow. He breathed in deeply through his nose, the sharp scent of the liquor filling his lungs. He took another sip before setting the glass back down.

"Well?" Nathan stared into the glass.

"The job got a lot harder," Chavez said. "There are routes to every city in America from here—she could have gone anywhere. I've tapped both the mobile and landline to the Hightower's residence as requested, but no long distance calls have come in. It's as if she's completely vanished. Right off the face of the Earth."

Nathan sipped his drink and sighed. "She didn't vanish. She's being smart."

When the lights went down, Chavez subconsciously sat up a little straighter in his chair, his attention directed toward the stage.

One long, fish-netted leg peeked out from the curtains, the lime green heels she wore at least four inches high. Then a hand followed on a lean and elegant arm, wrist rotating in a graceful circle as she commanded the audience's attention. At last, the full figure appeared, slender and stunning, dressed in a lime corset and black panties with matching trim. Her fishnet thigh-highs were held in place by garters and her blonde hair was straight and long. At that moment, Chavez was sure this woman was the desire of every man in the room.

As the music started, the star walked over to her pole and hooked her leg around it, grinding her hips provocatively in time with the beat. She gave a sultry gaze from beneath heavily mascaraed lashes and let her head fall back, as if the pole was an immense source of pleasure. The crowd went wild as she proceeded to climb up the pole, opening her legs to the sides in a split position while spiraling down to give everyone a good look at her barely covered crotch.

Chavez was just as captivated by the rest of the audience, so much so that he almost forgot Nathan sitting beside him.

All too soon, the first song blended into the next, and she began to tease the crowd further, unhooking the clasps running down her front that kept the two halves of her corset together, one at a time. She walked the edge of the stage, presenting the top of her stocking-covered leg for the men to stuff bills into. In no time, she had quite an impressive amount. When she had toured the entire platform, she returned to the middle, out of reach, and let her back rest against the pole, sliding down into a squatting position with her legs spread wide as she popped the last clasp of her top apart and opened it up to reveal her breasts, letting her eyes shut and her head tip back as if in ecstasy.

If the cheers had been loud before, they were deafening now, and a fresh set of hands pumped into the air, clasping sweaty wads of money. Chavez wondered just how much these men carried, and just how much of it ended up in the women's pockets.

She shrugged out of her chartreuse top and let the fingers of one hand trail down her stomach to where her skin met the black fabric of her thong, and for a moment, Chavez thought she was actually going to expose herself further. However, she abruptly closed her legs and slid back up the pole, back pressed against it as she wiggled her hips rhythmically. It appeared she was not only a master performer, but a master tease as well.

By the end of the next song, it appeared she had every man in the room wrapped around her finger, and when the time came for her to walk into the audience, she could hardly get through thanks to the throngs of men shoving money in her face, all too eager to buy a little of her time and her body. A large, menacing looking man whom Chavez presumed was a bouncer appeared to escort her to the back of the room, where she could pick and choose who got a lap dance and who didn't.

With the diva gone, the music resumed again, and now it was the rest of the dancers' turns to divest themselves of their tops.

Chavez cleared his throat and directed his attention back to Nathan. "I need more time," he said.

"How much time?"

"A couple months maybe. I'm not sure," he lied. Realistically, there was no way he was going to be able to track Angeline down.

"No, there's no time for that."

Chavez leaned in, hoping to persuade him. "Nate, I could help you find someone for this position. Someone with the same background who can bring the same qualities to the table that I can. I don't know why—"

"This isn't a negotiation." His voice sharpened enough to attract a couple looks from the club.

Chavez closed his eyes and delivered his next words as calmly as he could. "I understand you perfectly. If you're hiring me to use my brain, however, you might want to tell me at what point I should lie down and let people walk all over me. Or are you the only person who'll be doing that?"

"This isn't about you, you sonofabitch." Nathan slammed his hand down on the table, attracting a few more stares from the club again. Frightened, Chavez sat back in the stool to gain a few more inches of distance from his anger. "I love my wife very much. I need your help to find her so I can bring her home. This is where she belongs, here with me. Now drink up."

"I'm not thirsty," Chavez murmured.

Nathan's eyes became so cold that Chavez immediately picked up his glass and started drinking it. They drank in silence, and occasionally, their eyes met, cool blue mirrors of each other. Chavez would be lucky to escape Nathan's wrath on the way back to the car. This wasn't like bickering with his chief or keeping people on the right track at work. He was poking the giant, and he wasn't sleeping.

"There's a little booth in the back waiting for you," Nathan said. "Have another drink. Enjoy the show. And the woman, of course." Drink in hand, Nathan stepped away.