Omicidio

Chapter 1

I swung my middle finger out of the window as I slammed on the breaks. "What the fuck is your problem?"

I swear, no one knows how to drive anymore.

I pulled my Mercedes Benz into the underground parking lot. "Hey Charlie." I said tossing the keys to one of the men in his uniform polo shirt. He caught the keys with ease and brushed passed me.

"Hello Miss Shakur," he sat quickly in the driver's seat, "Go make that money, girl."

As I walked across the street I couldn't help but notice the full moon glistening through the dark night sky. Approaching the club I hooked a left to the back where I entered through a staircase to the basement.

As I walked no one seemed to notice me but as I passed I could feel the glares seeping through the leather jacket I wore. The clicking of my heels came to a stop as my eyes skimmed down the schedule made for the night.

Desire
10:00p.m. - 4:00a.m.
Stage Performance 10p.m. - 1a.m
Bartend 1a.m. - 4a.m.
2 fifteen minute breaks

"Nice and simple." I mumbled taking a seat in the chair in front of the mirror.
_____

I glided down the walkway as the DJ played my song. As usual, all eyes were on me. The rhinestones on the white bikini style costume twinkled brightly in the spotlight above. The body glitter sparkled as I moved my legs towards the pole at the end of the stage. Heavy makeup covered my eyes and a mask covered a section of my face.

I did as I always did - squinting my eyes and tilting my head down a bit - causing a mysterious seduction to cascade my facial expression.

Men flocked around the edge of the stage smiling and throwing money. I did my tricks, my splits, and my turns easily. I've had much practice. I've been on this same pole for 7 years - since I was sixteen.

As I danced I let my eyes wander. I absurbed the crowd thoroughly trying to find the wealthiest man to dance for. I was a professional at this. Its how I became so successful.

Every man in this club is filthy rich; most of them being gang members, drug dealers, mobster, pimps, or men from the mafia. These men don't throw dollars, they throw twenties. If you're good they throw fifties, but if you're the star dancer like me - the vital reason half of these men even came tonight, you get hundreds. Never do I leave the club without at least $100,000 a night - no less.

Just as I decided to turn around my eyes brushed against one man that i considered to be worth a second look.

How rare.

I stuck my butt out and swivelled my hips to the crowd. I could feel the light pieces of paper spanking against my ass. I squatted down and started maneuvering my hips up and down to the beat, making my biggest money maker shake and wobble. I could see the puddle of hundred dollar bills drown the tips of my red bottom heels.

Raising myself up I got closer to the edge, giving heavy spenders more up close action. I turned my head grazing over my shoulder watching my ass work until I looked up and met eye contact with the man with the pitch black eyes. He was sitting alone at a table in the middle of the club, sipping on a drink. I didn't stare long.
______

I hung up the four costumes I had finished using on a rack before changing into my uniform for waiting tables and bartending - a simple pair of spandex shorts that barely past my ass, a cropped bustier that pushed my cleavage up to their maximum, a pair of heels, and a mask that lingered around my eyes - everything in black. The purpose was to match the elegant theme of the club.

Unlike most clubs, this club is for the wealthy and only the wealthy; you could tell by the display. Although there were drug and prostitution exchanges there were also men in suits discussing business deals and ideas.

I took my spot behind the bar and started to take orders. I scanned the dimly lit room in the process.

The marble floors were shiny and dark just as the walls were. Silver tables scrambled along the room as booths lined the border. Tall thin busty woman in masks danced and served rich men in suits as the strobe lights beat off their body glitter.

Of course I wasn't tall or thin but I was busty, curvy, fat in the dairy air, and a hell of a lot better dancer and bartender than the rest. I was better than them at this - my pay showed quite the significant difference.

My eyes fell along dark eyes again, staring at me shamelessly.

When I'm not on stage, I hate being stared at.

I handed a trio of men a tray of shots. One grabbed my hand. "What a pretty lady."

I rested my elbows on the table. "But you've never seen my face. How would you know?" I hinted at the mask.

He smirked. "Because I imagine your face to be as pretty as your body." His eyes drifted to my chest. I smirked and looked back out to the tables where dark eyes was dismissing a few strippers.

Maybe he's taken.

I pulled my hand away from the man in the trio and greeted another costumer. As I mixed his drink, I could feel the heated stare of someone. Darting my eyes up, I met gases with darks eyes again.

I handed the man his drink never taking my milk chocolate brown eyes off of his dark ones. Shit - if he was going to stare then so was I.

"Hola mami." Said the man who took my drink. I didn't look his way. He chugged the drink down, leaned over the bar and pressed a few folded up bills into my breasts. He took my hand and kissed it slowly making me look towards him. "I hope to see you again." He said thickly and left. I diverted my attention back to the dark eyes still glued to me. I noticed a grin on his lips - his glass was empty.

I lifted the lever to pass the bar and enter the floor. I stalked toward my prey swishing my hips as I walked. Never once did he take his eyes from me. I expected to speak first but was dumbfounded when he made the effort.

"What's your name?" He spoke clearly - voice deep raspy and defining - very powerful. He leaned over on the table resting his arms. The motion seemed to ruffle the suit that clung to his wide heavy muscular arms.

I licked my lips. "I'm Desire."