Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Fortunately, at that moment who but Bartender Mike strolls by in the foyer. He’s dressed casually in a jeans and t-shirt, seeing that it’s only five p.m.
“Mike, Mike!” I call, flapping my hand at him through the glass door. “It’s me, Ali, remember? From last night? With the aperol spritzes? I was with my friend.”
The gray-haired man stops and squints at me for a moment, as if he’s trying to place my face. But then he nods, and shoots the doorman a glance.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says in a low growl. “Let her in. My shift hasn’t started yet, so I’ll talk with her.”
The doorman waves me inside with an exasperated look, and I wonder if this happens all the time. Are there tons of women dying to get into Club Z, who offer bribes, booties, and lots of smiles? Probably, come to think of it.
But happily, I trot inside and follow Mike into the bar area again.
“Oh wow, it looks different with the lights on,” I say, looking around. “And where’s all the furniture?”
“They’re cleaning it,” Mike says, wiping down the shiny wood surface. “That shit is really dirty after a party, so they wheel it out, do some serious disinfecting, and then wheel it back in. My understanding is that the club actually owns two sets of furniture to allow the cleaners enough time. As a result, the décor tonight will be slightly different,” he adds in a light voice.
I blink.
“Goodness, two sets of furniture? But this place is huge! It must cost a fortune, and where do they store it?”
Mike merely shrugs, still scrubbing the bar.
“A storage facility, I guess. But yeah, our members like things spic and span, and they’re willing to pay to make sure it happens. Anyways,” he says, straightening while fixing me with a look. “What’s up with you? Why are you here, Ali?”
I bite my lip for a moment. While Mike and I aren’t exactly “friends” because we just met yesterday, still, we’re “friendly.” I decide to just go for it because I’ll probably be kicked out at some point anyways.
“So, I’ve heard rumors of a mysterious prince,” I begin in a low voice. “Have you heard of him?”
Mike’s expression is vague.
“Can’t say I have,” he replies while polishing a glass.
I take a deep breath.
“Well, supposedly there’s a prince here from some European country who uses women. Like he has his servants tie young women up, and then basically … well, you know what the servants do to the women while he watches. They call it “training,” but we all know what it really is.”
“Why, what is it?” Mike asks, his expression still bland.
“Well, he’s using and abusing them, of course!” I say in a righteous tone. “Who does that? This isn’t a one-night stand, or even a series of one-night stands. The so-called prince has his servants sodomize the poor girls until they’re screaming, and then he unties them and kicks them out. It’s crazy!”
“Is it?” Mike asks, bussing glasses now.
I stare at him.
“Yes, of course it’s crazy! He’d be arrested if the authorities knew!”
Mike grins at me then.
“Are you an undercover cop?” he asks, still calmly polishing wine glasses. “You could be Chicago PD for all I know. By the way, can I get you a drink?”
I shake my head, letting out a deep exhale.
“Of course I’m not a cop, undercover or otherwise! Oh my god, I can’t believe you think that.”
Mike chuckles while reaching below the bar to pour some OJ.
“Here you go. Okay, okay, I believe you. You’re not from Chicago PD, Interpol, or the FBI. But I’ve never heard of anything like a European prince who goes around tying up young girls. You must be watching too much TV. Is that from American Horror Story on FX?”
I stare at him.
“No,” I say in a firm tone before taking a sip of my juice. “It’s real, and I’m not joking. I heard it from some girls I know.”
“Girls?” Mike asks with one eyebrow raised while wiping his hands on a towel. “Pray tell, what girls?”
I bite my lip. Is this guy pumping me for information? Why is he so skeptical anyways?
“Just some girls at the Oakdale College gym,” I say in a vague tone. “Okay, I don’t know who the girls are exactly,” I confess. “They were in the women’s locker room while I was there, and I overheard them while we were getting dressed. I guess it could be rumors.”
Mike shrugs, looking amused again.
“There is a lot of misinformation out there,” he agrees. “For example, with the election deniers and all that. What do they call it these days? Oh yeah. Fake news.”
I stare at the older man, suddenly feeling very stupid. But before I can excuse myself, suddenly a woozy feeling invades my brain. Literally, it’s as if a gray mist descends on my neurons and I can hardly see as both hands grab the edge of the bar for support. Then, I slump over the wooden surface, boneless and already losing consciousness.