Read Online Vice (Fireborn Wolves Book 1) by Genevieve Jack - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Genevieve Jack
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for anything she served, but the guests were encouraged to tip her for her service. If the patrons asked for high-end wines or top-shelf liquors, they were available at the bar at an additional cost.
“Any other services you wish to provide are between you and your customer,” Nate said with a smirk. “But don’t leave the floor without letting me know.”
“What services might those be?” she asked.
Nate gave her a condescending look and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Sometimes the men ask for a private audience,” Nickie said from beside her. “You are allowed to say no, but you should totally say yes.” She winked. “Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my! Just don’t let them sink their teeth into you.” She wagged her puffy white deer tail and strode deeper into the throng of men, a tray of champagne flutes balanced on her hand.
The idea that one of these men might ask for a private audience made her stomach flip. It wasn’t vulnerability that set her on edge. To the contrary, as a werewolf on the night before a full moon, she was the danger, capable of ripping a man apart if she wasn’t careful.
She worked her way around the outer edge of the crowd, along the line of potted trees and flowering bushes that gave the club the illusion of an outdoor garden. The plants gave her a sense of peace and security. The room was dark aside from candles on the bar-height tables and white globe string lights that drooped in zigzagging swags across the timbered ceiling. On a platform at the front of the room, an alternative rock band began playing a tune she’d heard before but couldn’t remember the name of.
“Thank you,” a young man in a panther mask said, lifting a coconut shrimp from her tray and tucking a bill into her apron. His gaze darted to her breasts before turning back to a gray-haired man in a leopard mask. They continued their conversation, something about pharmaceutical investments. The older man lifted a shrimp from her tray without looking at her. He didn’t tip. She moved on.
At the next table, the men were too wrapped up in organizing a charity golf match to pay her any mind. They leaned over the table, trying their best to hear each other over the music. She extended the tray between them and smiled. They each took a shrimp, seeming to barely notice the as-good-as-naked woman holding the tray. Still, they stuffed her apron with bills before she moved on.
Near a set of stairs at the back of the room, a table of four men seemed more interested in each other than in her. They enjoyed what was left on her tray and handed her a tip directly, rather than tucking the money into her apron like everyone else.
By the time she’d finished her first round and returned to the kitchen to replenish her tray, she’d forgotten there wasn’t a thing between her and the night besides a thin stretch of latex. With so many beautiful women serving Hunt Club, maybe she blended in with the scenery, no different than a beautiful blooming plant or a piece of artwork. She picked up another tray and melded back into the crowd, thinking the evening might be easier than she expected. In a few short hours, she’d discreetly drop the fairy box in the kitchen on her way out and put the entire experience behind her.
As the night wore on, she forayed deeper into the crowd, taking an interest in the variety of males drawn to such a place. There was a bachelor party, a job interview, and a politician and his protégé. The bits and pieces of conversation that flitted past her ears kept the work from becoming boring.
She was on her fourth tray when she found herself at the farthest corner of the room, slightly cut off from the crowd, in an area thick with flowers and trees.
“Over here.” A burly man in a brown suit called to her from deep within the burrow of vegetation. The bear mask he wore was designed to look grumpy but the man’s tone made her believe it was a reasonable reflection of his human
“Any other services you wish to provide are between you and your customer,” Nate said with a smirk. “But don’t leave the floor without letting me know.”
“What services might those be?” she asked.
Nate gave her a condescending look and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Sometimes the men ask for a private audience,” Nickie said from beside her. “You are allowed to say no, but you should totally say yes.” She winked. “Lions, tigers, and bears, oh my! Just don’t let them sink their teeth into you.” She wagged her puffy white deer tail and strode deeper into the throng of men, a tray of champagne flutes balanced on her hand.
The idea that one of these men might ask for a private audience made her stomach flip. It wasn’t vulnerability that set her on edge. To the contrary, as a werewolf on the night before a full moon, she was the danger, capable of ripping a man apart if she wasn’t careful.
She worked her way around the outer edge of the crowd, along the line of potted trees and flowering bushes that gave the club the illusion of an outdoor garden. The plants gave her a sense of peace and security. The room was dark aside from candles on the bar-height tables and white globe string lights that drooped in zigzagging swags across the timbered ceiling. On a platform at the front of the room, an alternative rock band began playing a tune she’d heard before but couldn’t remember the name of.
“Thank you,” a young man in a panther mask said, lifting a coconut shrimp from her tray and tucking a bill into her apron. His gaze darted to her breasts before turning back to a gray-haired man in a leopard mask. They continued their conversation, something about pharmaceutical investments. The older man lifted a shrimp from her tray without looking at her. He didn’t tip. She moved on.
At the next table, the men were too wrapped up in organizing a charity golf match to pay her any mind. They leaned over the table, trying their best to hear each other over the music. She extended the tray between them and smiled. They each took a shrimp, seeming to barely notice the as-good-as-naked woman holding the tray. Still, they stuffed her apron with bills before she moved on.
Near a set of stairs at the back of the room, a table of four men seemed more interested in each other than in her. They enjoyed what was left on her tray and handed her a tip directly, rather than tucking the money into her apron like everyone else.
By the time she’d finished her first round and returned to the kitchen to replenish her tray, she’d forgotten there wasn’t a thing between her and the night besides a thin stretch of latex. With so many beautiful women serving Hunt Club, maybe she blended in with the scenery, no different than a beautiful blooming plant or a piece of artwork. She picked up another tray and melded back into the crowd, thinking the evening might be easier than she expected. In a few short hours, she’d discreetly drop the fairy box in the kitchen on her way out and put the entire experience behind her.
As the night wore on, she forayed deeper into the crowd, taking an interest in the variety of males drawn to such a place. There was a bachelor party, a job interview, and a politician and his protégé. The bits and pieces of conversation that flitted past her ears kept the work from becoming boring.
She was on her fourth tray when she found herself at the farthest corner of the room, slightly cut off from the crowd, in an area thick with flowers and trees.
“Over here.” A burly man in a brown suit called to her from deep within the burrow of vegetation. The bear mask he wore was designed to look grumpy but the man’s tone made her believe it was a reasonable reflection of his human
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