“The Adlers are here,” the security lead said, joining me in my walk as I approached the ropes to the VIP section. “Wil, the one you’ve been speaking to, and Derek, the future leader.”
“No Gerard?” I asked. It was a shame. That man had been around for a while. It would have been interesting to meet someone with that kind of legacy.
“Had other business. And there’s another Adler running around here somewhere, scouting the perimeter.”
I raised a brow. The Adlers had a reputation, but our relationship had been casual so far. There was no reason to make it antagonistic. No reason to focus on the missing Adler.
The guard at the foot of the stairs lifted the rope, and I walked up the steps, finding two dark-haired brothers sitting on the same couch as Iris had. The image of her sheer stockings flashed in my mind, covering that vibrant artwork, almost like a forest, that trailed down her legs.
The younger of the two brothers stood, offering me his hand.
“Roland Price,” he said. I took his grip, giving him a firm shake back.
“You must be Wil,” I said. He nodded. “And you’re Derek Adler?”
Derek and I shook hands.
“We finally meet,” Wil said. He gestured at the vodka. “I see you’ve gotten started without us.”
“I’m always in the middle of a good time,” I said. After a waitress brought some fresh glasses, I poured us a round of shots, and we toasted to new beginnings, tossing the alcohol back. Derek hit his chest with his fist, to deter the punch of the liquor, but Wil and I took it easy. We were both used to this kind of atmosphere.
But business was business. I had items I wanted to discuss with them.
“How long have you been protecting the Dahlia District?” I asked.
“For a few decades,” Derek said, wiping his lips on the sleeve of his button-up shirt. He rolled them up to his elbows. “Dahlia was having some trouble with the police and keeping the servers in line, so our father offered our services.”
“Keeping the servers in line?” I asked.
“They tried to run away before they had paid their debts.”
So the rumors were true. The sex workers there, keeping the brothel alive, were being sex trafficked. Yeah, that needed to end. “Their debts will be lifted,” I said, making it my official first line of business. “Not an issue anymore. They can come and go as they please. And the brand I’ll bring to the location,” I grinned, “We won’t need slavery to run it. People will be begging for jobs there.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Still a club, but with more of a nightclub atmosphere. Mainstream.” I understood the value of the sexual aspect of an elite club, but the Dahlia District clearly needed more to thrive. “I imagine some form of entertainment will suffice, but not like that. Not when you can pay for a decent escort in Sage City. Anyway,” I sighed, “you said you wanted to discuss a potential arrangement?”
“Yeah,” Derek sat up. “We want to sell our product in your clubs.”
“Vanish, or the Dahlia District?”
“Both.”
“And you don’t already?” I wasn’t stupid. I knew how it worked.
Derek rubbed a finger across his chin, looking off to the side. “The Dahlia District, yes. But Vanish? It hasn’t been,” he paused, “the easiest venue to establish our footing. But with your help, I’m sure that can change.”
That was good; my security was doing their job. I liked indulging in substances as much as the next, but I needed to be a part of those deals. I was never going to let another dealer sell unnoticed.
“For a reasonable cut, I don’t see why I couldn’t,” I said.
“That can be arranged,” Derek said.
Wil lifted a glass. “I knew you two would get along.”
We took another shot, then discussed their product. Molly and cocaine, mainly. Wil handed me a sample and I pocketed it for a later time. I had something else—someone else—on my mind right then.
“Do you know Iris Weaver?” They both shook their heads, and I pulled out my phone, going to the Dahlia District’s website and pulling up that little goth woman’s profile. Little—that description was an impulse. She was tall and wiry, but still smaller than me.
Derek smirked at his brother, and Wil shoved his arm.
“Yeah, we know her,” Wil said.
“How?”
“She beat the hell out of Wil for his birthday once,” Derek said.
“Gave me one bruise, man. One.” Wil said.
“You weren’t thrilled about it.”
“What the hell was I supposed to do?”
“Is she a dominatrix?” I asked.
“Yeah, the pro-domme server at the Dahlia District, right?” Wil said. “Don’t listen to him. They had already booked her for a scene on the stage to ‘celebrate’ my birthday. And I wanted to be a good sport, but holy hell, do you know how much a single tail hurts?”
I did, actually. I never did something to a woman that I wouldn’t be willing to take myself. It was only fair that way.
“Not the preferred birthday gift?” I asked.
“Not at all,” Wil said. “I would have preferred strippers and a cake.”
“We do that every year. We had to do something special,” Derek chuckled. “Imagine what we’ll do for your thirtieth.”
“You better not.”
The two of them were a few years younger than me, almost thirty with Wil, and mid-thirties with Derek. I was in my late thirties. Birthdays seemed to blur together the older you got, but there was one way to make them memorable: a single tail demonstration with a professional dominatrix seemed like a good option.
“Do you sub?” Wil asked. I shook my head. I preferred to avoid those labels, but when I did use them, submissive wasn’t my choice. Dominant—heathen, aggressor, predator, was more like it. “Me neither.”
“What’s up with her, then?” Derek asked. “That Iris chick.”
I told them about her visit, then said, “Dahlia mentioned that she was her most trusted server and that she would be the one most resistant to change. Apparently, she started working there at a young age, so she wasn’t thrilled that Dahlia had sold the place.”
“She came to the house recently with Dahlia actually,” Derek said. “I never liked how much Dahlia trusted her. Seemed bad for business.”