Kevan’s unease continued to rise as she watched the goings on within the club. She had been the one who had wanted to go out, anything to get her mind off her beach man, but from the moment they had walked through the club’s doors, she’d had an uneasy feeling in her gut.
Instead of being on the dance floor, dancing him out of her head, she was sitting at the table watching everyone around them with suspicion. Scanning the crowd for what must have been the hundredth time, all she saw were the different Races enjoying themselves.
Sometimes she wondered what it would be like not to know about the other Races, but that wasn’t their lives, never had been, and never would be.
Myrna had shocked all of them six months ago, when, two weeks after her attack, she’d quit her job, and taken one here at Sanctuary. Myrna refused to talk about the attack; Kevan had always thought there was more to it, even though they had all brushed it off as a simple mugging.
The old converted warehouse appealed to Kevan’s sense of design, from the huge dance floor to the tables on the lower level that surrounded it. The main bar took up the entire wall opposite the stage where either the DJ or a live act could perform, and if one had enough money or pull, you could ascend the stairs at either end of the club to the VIP section, private balconies hanging over the floor, presiding over all. The design had class, but with enough rough edges to appeal to some of the more unsavory characters that frequented the club.
Myrna worked the main floor with three other servers, and the line in front of the bar was filled with customers waiting on their orders. The lighting was subtle, the light show over the dance floor moving shadows across the walls. The fact that a were owned the club was the only problem she could see.
Brennan, being Brennan, had tried to force Myrna to quit, but Myrna had put her foot down and refused. She informed Brennan that she liked her job, the pay was fair, the tips were good, and Alexander Wulfson was a decent boss who didn’t force them to split their tips with management; besides, she was an adult and could work wherever she wanted.
Kevan knew that Myrna wasn’t impressed with Wulfson’s girlfriend, but as long as Lorrella didn’t interfere, Myrna said they got along fine.
Kevan had been watching the unfolding drama taking place not far from where they were seated, as yet another of the club’s enforcers approached the man leaning against the far wall, trying too hard to appear nonchalant, his nervous energy had him bouncing, and not in time to the music. Kevan didn’t know what he had done, but they obviously knew him.
He was young, couldn’t be much more than 21 or 22, a tall lanky kid that hadn’t quite grown into his body, but he projected a confidence that was usually lacking in men his age. She observed the obvious argument taking place between the enforcer and the man, before he threw his hands up in exacerbation several times. They weren’t loud, but she could tell the discussion was intense. Finally, the enforcer pulled out a cell phone and made a call. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she wished she could be a fly on the wall. Kevan didn’t want to be caught watching, yet every time she turned away, her eyes were drawn right back to the mini-drama; something big was happening, and maybe that was what she was sensing.
Kevan smiled, watching as yet another bouncer approached the gathering circle around the young man, and who finally pulled out his own cell, and made a phone call.