The strobe lights were nearly blinding as I peeked out from behind the backstage curtains, seeing the two women dancing lecherously around the metal poles in the center of the stage. In the front row, sporting a sleazy grin that would make you shudder with disgust, sat Miguel Santiago in all his asshole-ish glory. He was staring up at the strippers, a stiff drink in one hand and a wad of money in the other, urging them to remove what little was left of their racy clothing. I didn't have to imagine how uncomfortable that was for those girls – it was written all over their faces.
"Tali, are you sure you want to go through with this?" Dallas's voice came through my hidden earpiece.
His tone was a mix of worry and anger. He despised my plan and didn't want me to carry it out. He'd already tried to talk me out of it three times, but I was determined. I couldn't see a better option for taking down Santiago and Bellucci.
Really, I didn't want to execute this particular plan either, but I felt like I had no alternative. It was the easiest, least messy way to get to them. The hardest part would be for Dallas and Matt, taking out each bodyguard, one by one. The bodyguards were the most dangerous enemies because they were specially trained for situations like this one. But once they were out of the picture, Santiago and Bellucci really weren't all that talented in defending themselves.
"Yes, Dallas," I grumbled back at him, and I could see him rolling his eyes in the dim lighting.
I'd been keeping an eye on Dallas, Matt, and our adversaries, my focus constantly dancing back and forth between their locations around the club. Dallas sat at the bar, nursing a beer, while Matt was leaning up against the wall on the darker side of the room, not too far from where the small army of henchmen were dotted. They'd formed a spaced out half circle around their bosses, and I'd taken note of the fact that most of the men seemed to be more interested in the scantily clad women than in protecting Santiago, Bellucci, and whomever the third man was beside them.
When I turned away from the curtains, the woman in charge of the entertainers scurried over to me, telling me that the night's show was coming to a close and the drug lords would soon be headed to a back room beside the dressing room where they would enjoy their own private show – my show. She warned me for the second time that the men often liked to take advantage of the private stripper and indulge in more than just an eye-pleasing show. I shuddered at the thought, but I wouldn't let it deter me.
While the other girls were out onstage performing, I'd been getting ready for my act, stripping off all of my weapons and tactical gear and slipping on some lacy lingerie that left almost nothing to the imagination. I knew there was no way to conceal my knives and firearms with the minimal clothing I would be dancing around in, but that hadn't stopped me from trying to at least hide a small knife in my bra to no avail.
"Guys, I'm going back to secure the room," I told Matt and Dallas. "You'll know if anything goes awry."
"I really don't like this," Dallas muttered again, and I had to stop myself from mentioning that I'd done plenty worse performances to nab suspects in the past – he didn't know about those escapades.
"It'll be over soon," I tried to assure him as I headed down the hallway to the secluded room. "It all depends on how fast you two can bump off the muscle heads."
If all went well, Dallas and Matt would be finished getting rid of the drug lords' minions by the time my little dancing act would come to an end, and they could then barge in the room and help me finish the job with Santiago and Bellucci. It all sounded pretty simple to me. Clearly, I'd gotten too used to this shit...
While I waited for it to be my turn – cringe – I made quick work of setting up the private room. First, I stashed my weapons in places no one would see them but me. Next, I dimmed the lights to a low glow to better hide my identity. Then I removed my microphone wire and hung it around the glittering disco ball in the center of the ceiling – I couldn't wear it because my despicable audience would spot the tiny black item, but I could put it where it wouldn't be seen, and it would still carry sound to Matt's and Dallas's earpieces. That way, they'd be able to hear every little noise during my private show, and they'd know when to barge in if my cover was blown before I was ready to reveal my identity to our enemies. At the same time, my hair would hide the bud in my left ear and I'd be able to hear everything that was happening on the boys' end, too.
I took a couple huge gulps out of a water bottle and studied my reflection in the extra-large mirror that was leaned up against the wall. I'd taken my bun down to reveal semi-curly hair that cascaded over my shoulders and down my back, hiding not only my earpiece, but also any ability for my viewers to see through the nearly transparent material of my bra. I slipped on a short satin robe, my final wardrobe article, and now it was time to wait.
Eyeing the mirror, I thought it would come in handy. I could shimmy around the pole in the center of the room with my back to Santiago and Bellucci and still keep an eye on their every move by watching the mirror.
A loud scratch of static sounded in my earbud and I scrunched up my nose at the foul noise. Seconds later, Dallas's voice came through again, my blood pressure taking a hefty increase at his words.
"Hey, Tali. The show just ended up front," he informed me, his voice low so no one around him could hear. "Bellucci and Santiago are getting up from their chairs right now. Matt and I are going to get to work on the goons out here as soon as Dumb and Dumber head your way."
I laughed softly at his stupid nickname for the drug lords, but then footsteps coming down the hall caught my attention.
Taking one last look in the mirror, I dashed into the main dressing room that was connected to the private room by a single rickety door. I hid on the other side of the door, waiting, listening for when Santiago and Bellucci would enter the private room. I could hear their boots clanking against the squeaky floorboards. Finally, I heard the door close behind them. Now, it was my turn to perform.
Adding the final piece to my ensemble, a matte black masquerade eye mask, I walked through the dressing room out into the hallway and came face to face with one of the bodyguards who had been stationed right outside the room I would be stripping in.
I was startled by the unexpected foe, but kept my cool, awkwardly trying to walk around the broad-shouldered man who resembled a Spanish version of John Cena. Before I could reach for the doorknob, though, the guard stopped me, grabbing onto my upper arm rather harshly. I suppressed a wince at the sharp pain that shot through my healing gunshot wound.
"Soy la bailarina privada." I told him that I was the private dancer that the drug lords were expecting.
The man studied me with a sickening smirk and eyes that wandered my body hungrily. He proceeded to pat me down for weapons before I could go in, his hands lingering in places that made me especially anxious for Dallas and Matt to kick his caveman ass.
I glanced down the hall to the bar area. The loud music pulsing through the club would work wonders for muffling any sounds of a struggle between the hired guns and Matt and Dallas. Our plan could be severely compromised if Santiago or Bellucci heard any commotion outside our room.
When the bodyguard was finally finished amusing himself with the extensive pat down he'd given me, I took a deep breath and opened the door to the private room where two of the most wanted, most hated villains in Europe and the Americas sat, eagerly awaiting a scandalous strip show. It would take all the self-control I could muster not to lash out at them in rage before it was time.
A repulsive feeling settled in the pit of my stomach at the sight of Miguel Santiago and Enrique Bellucci turning in their seats to look at me.
As I entered the darkened room, I closed the door with my hands behind my back, holding eye contact with the criminals and discretely locking the door so that none of their guards could come running in. When the time was right, Dallas and Matt would know to pick the lock or bust the door down. We'd already discussed that part.
I was nauseated by the fact that I was dressed like a prostitute in the same room with these two pieces of utter shit, but I knew I had to play the part. I couldn't deviate from the plan. So to begin, I started walking towards the men, swinging my hips back and forth with each step as I sashayed up to the small platform where the pole was anchored, walking between the two bastards.
My face was burning hot with anger and embarrassment, and I was glad the room was so dimly lit that Santiago and Bellucci wouldn't be able to see the redness on my cheeks.
I could feel my pulse, a thunderous drumbeat radiating all throughout my body, when I first grabbed ahold of the pole. I was so pent up with angst and dread, excitement and disgust. I couldn't remember my nerves ever being so fucked up over a mission before.
Doing my best to keep my identity concealed, I began my routine with a slow, teasing removal of my robe, tossing it onto Santiago's lap. Earlier, I'd taken off the bandage that had been around my injured arm, knowing they would've noticed the oddity. I crossed my fingers that neither of them would see the still-fresh wound I was sporting.
I danced erotically around the pole, the same way I'd seen the women onstage perform, but mostly keeping my back to the eagerly watching men. I was extremely thankful for the eye mask I'd found in the dressing room, or I was pretty sure that one of them might've recognized me already.
As I twirled around the pole, noise began to infiltrate my ear and I strained to listen carefully to the live feed in my earpiece without getting distracted from my production. I could hear grunts and groans and punches being thrown. Dallas and Matt's voices occasionally filtered in and out as I listened to them murder their way through the drug lords' line of defense. I had yet to hear a single gunshot, and I suspected the armed guards' guns had silencers on them, just like ours did.
When I spun around the pole for the seventh or eighth time, I realized that Santiago was becoming very impatient, half-drunkenly demanding that I stop with the teasing and lose the rest of the lingerie-esque clothing that was barely covering my body. Bellucci immediately agreed, shouting at me in his thick accent. But I refused to let them run this show. Nobody told me what to do – my A.R.T. superiors had even come to terms with that fact.
I tried to stall by shimmying around the platform in different ways, shaking my ass a few seconds longer, and hiking a leg higher up the pole when I twirled in circles around it. But I knew that wouldn't hold them off for long, and I hoped like hell that Dallas and Matt were almost finished with the guards.
Just when Santiago was about to make another demand, someone came banging on the door and shouting to the drug lords. I recognized the voice as the John Cena lookalike. Something had gone wrong. He was pounding on the locked door, hollering in Spanish to the men that they were being ambushed. Then he cried out in pain and I heard it both from my earpiece and from the other side of the door. Someone, Dallas or Matt, had shot him.
Rage coursed through Santiago and Bellucci, and both men shot up from their seats, cursing and lunging toward me. To my advantage, only Santiago had come armed, and he pulled out his pistol at the same time that I retrieved mine from behind the stripping platform. In the darkness, it was hard to see what was going on, but I skillfully whirled around, gun in hand, and fired, hitting Santiago in his left shoulder. He howled in pain, but it only slowed him down for a second.
Bellucci, improvising, lifted the chair he'd been sitting in and hurled it at me. I ducked, but one of the legs caught my arm, tossing the gun out of my hand.
"Not so easy now, is it, Bonita?" Santiago's gritty voice sounded as he stepped toward me, his gun aimed at my face.
Outside in the hallway, the fighting continued between Matt, Dallas, and what sounded like two of the drug lords' minions.
"You underestimate me." I forced a confident laugh.
He took another step closer while Bellucci stood a few feet away, studying me, seemingly expecting his associate to do all the work.
"Who are you?" Santiago demanded. "You're not a dancer. What agency are you with?"
I ripped off my eye mask, tossing it to the floor and holding my assertive pose.
Bellucci's eyes flashed with an evil rage while Santiago was less surprised, muttering curse words in Spanish as he boxed me into the corner of the room.
Bellucci picked up my pistol from the floor and joined Santiago at his side, both men thinking they had the upper hand.
"I thought the Alpha Reconnaissance Taskforce hired the best," Bellucci mocked my agency with a low growl of a chuckle. "Thought they would've gotten rid of you after you shot your own fuck partner, Natalia."
I inwardly cringed at the way he said my name, but I wouldn't let them see that it bothered me.
"Let's show this bitch who's in control here," Santiago suggested to his friend with a twisted grin.