All Hail the Queen (21 page)

Gentlemen Only was actually a well-laid-out and well-executed mini-paradise for well-groomed men looking for more upscale surroundings to view T & A. Naeema looked around as she waited for the round of drinks she ordered via the tablets all the waitresses used to send orders straight to the bar. Men lounged in their seats sipping high-end drinks from crystal glasses and smoked premium cigars as they watched the show. It was different from the strip clubs she had been to and she could see why the men paid their annual membership fee of five thousand and up.

Naeema had to admit that the talent was top-notch as well. Costumes. Routines. Pole work. Work the crowd. Titillate.

All of that was cool but she wanted more info than the ins and outs of the club. She looked up at the one-sided mirrors of Murk's office. She had to find out if he had retaliated against Tank and only he—or those close to him—would know the truth.

“Here you go, Queen.”

The only problem was he rarely ventured onto the floor and you could never tell if he was in his office or not.

“Queen!”

She turned at being yelled at by the bartender. “Sorry,” she said.

It was her first night of work and she had to get used to being called by her alias again. Besides the night she danced
for Fevah it had been a long time since she drew on the made-up identity.

Picking up the square tray she held it atop one arm and held the rim with her other hand as she made her way over to her group of tables to the rear of the room. The room was set up in levels based on the fee paid. The closer to the stage the more prominent a member. Because she was new she was assigned to newer or lower-paying clientele. One of the waitresses who trained her called them the low-ballers and no-callers.

Levels. They existed in every part of life just to make somebody feel lower than the next man.

“Here we go, gentlemen,” she said, setting the correct drink in front of each of the four men seated at the table. She gave the tab to the white man with red hair with a fifty-dollar cigar clenched between his perfect white teeth. He accepted the pen she offered and signed the bill to add to his tab.

She was walking away to head to another table to check on them when she spotted Diego unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat at the front of the club near the stage. She was hoping he would not show up because she was not ready to deliver on her debt to him. She moved over to the next table and took their order, being sure to keep her back to the front of the club. She kept it up as she headed to the bar to pick up the order.

“Queen, one of
my
clients wants to see you at table three.”

She looked over at Tyrai standing next to her at the end of the bar. The tall redhead, who had freckles across her shortbread complexion, was territorial. The levels existed
among the waitresses as well. Looking over her shoulder she eyed Diego as he leaned back in his seat and looked up at the topless dancer onstage as he blew smoke rings into the dimly lit air.

She had to admit the motherfucker looked good as hell. Too good.

“Aight,” she said to Tyrai, her eyes still locked on Diego's profile.

Naeema loaded her tray with the drinks and served her clients, easing the hefty tip inside her bra, before she lowered the tray and made her way around the tables to Diego. “Good evening, sir. My name is Queen. How may I serve you?” she said, pulling out her tablet.

Diego kept his eyes locked on the stage as the dancer climbed up the pole, locked her legs around it, and turned upside down with the pole now snug between her ass cheeks as she twerked. He was reluctant as hell to shift his eyes from her but he eventually did, swiveling a bit in the leather seat to look up at Naeema.

“Meet me outside when you get off . . .
Queen
,” Diego said, before turning to give her his back.

She pushed her golden wig hair behind her ear before turning and walking away from him. With a look up at Murk's office she knew she had to decide if getting closer to him was worth her getting too close to Diego.

Naeema wavered back and forth on just what she was willing to give up during her entire six-hour shift. Her mind still was not made up as she changed out of the skintight leggings and hot-pink crop top into jeans and a tank. She left the dancers and waitresses in their dressing room counting their tips and taking pics for Instagram as she left
the club through the back entrance all employees were required to use.

She paused in the doorway at the sight of Diego's convertible Benz. He sat behind the wheel with the motor running, confident as fuck that she had no choice but to honor his demand. She was about to open the passenger door but he shook his head and motioned for her to come around to the driver's side.

Confused—and relieved—she moved around the front of the whip, the lights from his Mercedes flashing across her body as she did.

“I didn't have a chance to ask you why you're doing this.”

Naeema paused before she continued the steps to stand beside his door. “I need to make extra money,” she lied smoothly. “I just didn't want people in my business, that's all.”

Diego chuckled. “Working for the man your husband testified against. You think I'm fucking stupid or nah, Naeema?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“Never that,” she assured him.
Shit.

“Then a nigga like Murk will understand why you in his club frontin'. Right?” Diego asked, trying her.

Naeema peeped his game. “If you think I'm up to something why not snitch to your boy?” she asked.

Diego shrugged. “We do business together. That's all. Plus, there ain't shit
you
can do to Murk to hurt him. So I'm out of it. Plus I need something from you,” he said, as he handed her a large Louis Vuitton box. “Inside is a package I want you to deliver for me.”

“A delivery?” she asked. “That's what you wanted?”

Diego's eyes dipped down to take in the soft swell of her
pussy in the jeans she wore. He reached out with his left hand and slid it between her thighs palming it. “When I get this the way I want it you will offer it to me. I don't highjack pussy. I don't have to,” he said pressing his thumb against the center of her lips deeply until he was massaging her clit.

His fingers were warm and the pressure was good. Real good.

Naeema released a soft but hot little gasp before she licked her lips. “You think forcing me to commit a crime is going to make me want to give you my pussy?” she asked, fighting for control.

“Who says it's criminal?”

“Then use a courier,” she countered, hating that she had to fight not to spread her legs wider for him.

“I am. You.”

Naeema felt her hips involuntarily flex as he hit the right spot and she felt herself about to cum. Shaking her head she stepped back leaving his hand in the air with his fingers stilled pursed to pleasure her.

Diego chuckled and pressed his fingers to his nose to sniff before he sucked his fingers. “Prime pussy,” he said, with a shake of his head before he shifted his car into drive.

Naeema's heart was still hammering in anticipation of the nut she almost had.

“Directions are inside,” he said, revving the motor. “And keep the bag when you're done.”

He accelerated forward and then turned to drive around the building. Soon the sound of him zooming away down the street echoed loudly.

Naeema walked around the club and stood on the curb to hail a cab. They were few and far between at two in the
morning. “Shit,” she swore as one went by already occupied.

“Queen, next time call for one about thirty minutes before you get off.”

Naeema turned and found the security guard standing at the curb beside her.

“One's on the way,” he said, looking down the street at the oncoming traffic.

“Thanks, Capo,” she said, offering him a smile. “Don't let me keep you.”

He didn't say anything but he didn't move from his spot either.

The other girls said he was married to the same woman for the last ten years and had two little girls that he adored. He never once went out the way with any of the girls and was always respectful. She was really beginning to respect him. He was a stand-up guy.

As the other workers began to pull out of the rear employee parking lot in droves, Capo remained. Eventually a yellow cab pulled out of traffic and slowed down in front of them. He opened and held the door.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Night.”

“Penn Station,” she said to the driver. Tank's Tahoe was parked there. She never wanted to give someone a chance to contact the cab company and discover where they dropped her off.

As the cabbie drove off, Naeema opened the lid to the box and moved back the tissue paper. In it there was one of the new Louis bags that slightly resembled a Birkin. She saw it online for over four grand. She couldn't afford a lot of designer shit but she stayed browsing their sites.

She lifted the bag but there was nothing underneath it. She opened it and inside was a brick of what she assumed was heroin. She closed the lid. Naeema was far from perfect but doing anything to help flood the streets with heroin was a line she wouldn't cross.
I can't.

She looked out the window and her eyes were troubled. She would rather fuck Diego than help fuck up her city.

12

N
aeema smoothed her hands over the leggings she wore with a
GENTLEMEN ONLY
belly shirt as she listened to the instructions Tyrai was giving her as she swung the length of her blond hair behind her back. When she came in for her shift Tyrai let her know Murk personally requested her to waitress a party in one of the private rooms.

“Don't make eye contact, keep a smile on your face and extra wiggle in your ass, and be like Beyoncé on the elevator to whatever the fuck they're doing. Got it?” Tyrai said, pushing her breasts up in the matching T-shirt she wore.

Naeema nodded her eyes, shifting to the door as it opened and a line of suit- and blazer-wearing men entered the large circle-shaped room with padded leather banquets lining the walls and two poles running from floor to ceiling in the center. She bit some of the gooey gloss from her full lips. Bass-filled music was already blaring in the room.

Two strippers entered in nothing but thong bikinis and thigh-high boots with their breasts swaying one way and hips another. Murk nodded and they both jumped up on the pole.

“Aight. Let's get it,” Tyrai said, picking up one of the trays of flutes they filled with pricey Ace of Spades
Champagne.

Even as Naeema handed out the flutes to the men with a smile in place she was feeling like her time at the club was a waste. She never even got close to Murk or saw him. He was interested in her working for the club but any plans she had of him being caught up in her physically was not happening. She was tempted as hell to walk away and find another way to get at him.

Someone lightly grabbed her wrist and Naeema was brought from her thoughts to focus on Diego sitting there in a light gray suit with a black shirt open at the collar. His grip tightened and the look in his eyes was clear as hell.

She knew what he wanted and she had yet to deliver. His package was hidden under the firebox of her fireplace. “Tonight,” she lied, before trying to gently pull out of his grasp.

Diego shook his head and held on, his black eyes piercing her.

Naeema felt lightheaded that he was about to expose her but he suddenly released her causing her to stumble back and have to hold the tray tighter to keep from tipping the drinks over.

“Here you go, Blondie.”

Naeema broke her stare with Diego and looked at the rough-faced dude in all black sitting beside him who reached up to take his own flute from the tray.

“Thank you,” Naeema said, accepting the tip.

The way he eyed her made her feel like she was putting on a porno for him. She kept it moving. Once her tray was empty, Naeema pulled the small tablet they carried to send orders to the bar.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Queen. How may I serve
you?” she asked, going back to the first man to whom she served the complimentary champagne.

His eyes widened as he looked past her and up at the ceiling.

Naeema turned and she arched a brow at one girl standing on the other's shoulder as they twerked for their lives . . . or the tips. The dollars weren't just raining . . . there was a storm
. I ain't mad at it.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Queen. How may I serve you?” she repeated, bending down low so that he could hear her over the music.

“Crown Royal on the rocks,” he said, before standing to add to the fray by tossing money up in the air without a care.

Must be fucking nice.

As she continued taking drink orders she felt eyes on her. She knew without looking that it was Diego and when she drew near him she saw that she was right. He removed the cigar from between his teeth and blew smoke rings as he sat with his legs spread wide. There was one hell of a show before him but it was her he watched.