CHAPTER ONE | SIENNA
One Week Earlier
I gave one final tug to the scratchy lace wig cap that hugged my scalp, then I ran my fingers along the faux hairline to ensure that none of my natural strawberry blonde had poked through the silky platinum mane.
Tonight, everything had to be perfect… and that meant that every last hair had to be accounted for. Both natural, and otherwise. I took a step back from the mirror and inspected my reflection. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me.
My fair skin and freckles were hidden under a spray tan and body glitter, and colored contact lenses had turned my green eyes a cartoonish shade of lilac. Fake eyelashes were glued to my lids and adorned with rhinestones, and my lips were painted Kylie Jenner pink.
Then there was my outfit. I wore a vinyl bubblegum pink mini dress that hugged my body like a second skin, accentuating my natural features—like my small waist and curved hips—as well as my unnatural features—like the silicone butt pads I had slipped into my underwear, or my average B-cup tits that had been transformed into grapefruits thanks to the super bombshell sexy angel bullshit push-up bra that I was strapped into.
To match the vinyl dress, I wore a pair of violet stilettos that had seven-inch icepicks for heels. I looked like a cross between Ariana Grande and a Bratz doll… and tonight, that was exactly the look I was going for. I flicked a curtain of icy blonde hair over my shoulder, then I gave my reflection one last once-over.
“Give ‘em hell, girl,” I winked at myself, then I spun around on my heel and strutted out of the bathroom and into the nightclub.
A few years ago, the Black Diamond Lounge was nothing more than a seedy outpost located several blocks away from the Las Vegas Strip. That all changed when the club came under new management.
The new owner applied an “out with the old, in with the new” philosophy. The club’s old decor, house DJ, and late-night tapas menu were all out… and topless dancers, a rotating schedule of EDM DJs, and bottle service served by cocktail waitresses in skimpy corsets were all in.
The transformation was a success. Locals and tourists flocked to the club in droves, and seemingly overnight the Black Diamond Lounge became a real Las Vegas establishment. Of course, there were rumors; whispered conspiracy theories that there was more to Black Diamond’s newfound success than trendy decor and strip shows. Something sinister.
That’s exactly what brought me here tonight.
The night was young, but the Black Diamond Lounge was already filling up. Round tables dotted the dance floor, blocked off with red velvet ropes and Reserved placards. A few eager early birds had congregated at the bar, sipping on cheap draft beer as they gazed up at the topless dancers who were gyrating mechanically to some Avicii remix.
In one particularly dimly-lit corner of the bar, a group of older patrons had staked their claim on a leather sofa. They wore mirrored sunglasses and smoked cigars, shooting coils of smoke that laced through the air and changed colors as the strobe lights over the dance floor flicked through all the shades of the rainbow.
A group of twenty-somethings in plaid button-ups and khaki shorts crowded around one of the reserved booths; tourists celebrating a bachelor party. Their ringleader was arguing with a cocktail waitress over the price of bottle service, and as I strutted by, I overheard him saying, “$500 for one bottle of Grey Goose?! That’s insane! Back in Minnesota, it would cost me $100!”
I had a smile on my face. I had to present myself as someone who felt at-home in a place like this. Like this outfit, the hair, these shoes—were second skin.
I sauntered across the dance floor and made my way towards an empty section of the bar. I needed to be alone because I needed to be approachable.
Before my ass had even touched the stool, the bartender had swooped in front of me. He deposited a paper napkin on the black glass bar top, then leaned forward on his elbows and blinked up at me.
“Hey sweetheart,” he winked, cracking a piece of gum between his teeth. “What can I do for you?”
That wink made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t show it. Instead, I pursed my lips into the coy Kylie Jenner smile that I had been rehearsing all week, then cooed suggestively.
“How about we start with a drink?”
My fingers had been manicured with gaudy, bullet-shaped acrylic nails, and I had to dig both sets of them into the palms of my hands to stop myself from cringing at the sound of my voice. Sexy was a foreign language to me, and my attempt to sound coy felt as natural as the jumbled-up sentences I used to string together when I took Spanish 101 back in college.
This was all for show, and I needed to master it if I was going to get the job done. Luckily the bartender was too preoccupied with my unnatural assets to notice.
“I know just the thing,” he winked again, then he spun around to face the neon-lit shelves stocked with glass liquor bottles behind the bar. It was amazing that he did, because I hadn’t even mentioned my poison. What was he, a mind-reader?
While the bartender prepared my drink, I let my eyes make another lap around the club. A few new faces had joined the herd at the bar, and the old men in dark sunglasses were still smoking their cigars on the leather couch. The Minnesota bachelor party must have caved and ordered bottle service, because the cocktail waitress was sauntering towards them with a bottle of Grey Goose housed inside a metal birdcage.
The DJ scratched vinyl as he swapped out Avicii for Nicki Minaj. I recognized the song: ‘Truffle Butter.’ The beat pulsed from the speakers as Drake’s voice filled the club. The strobe lights flicked to blue, casting an aqua-colored glow over the dance floor and shooting neon beams down on the dancers, who were twerking in perfect harmony on the stage.
“You like what you see?” a deep, raspy voice whispered directly into my ear.
Startled, I spun around on my barstool and found myself staring directly into a pair of cold, glassy black eyes.
I recognized him right away. Luis Barva; my target.
I had never met him before, of course, but I must have seen his photograph hundreds of times; enough times to commit every detail of his face to memory. That wide, pockmarked nose; that dimpled chin; that creepy John Waters mustache…
Not waiting for an invitation, he tossed himself onto the empty barstool next to me. He plucked the cigar from his lips and exhaled two streams of smoke from his nostrils, then he stared at me expectantly.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
My heart hammered in my chest. I thought that I would have more time to practice playing coy with the bartender; more time to warm up and get into character. But things were moving faster than I had anticipated, and now I was sitting face-to-face with my target, and I felt like I wasn’t ready.
Don’t fuck this up! the voice inside my head screamed.
I took a deep breath, then pursed my lips back into that coy little smile and feigned indifference as I flicked my hair over my shoulder.
“Hmm,” I made a sing-song hum, then I turned my attention back to the bar.
The stakes were high and I had just played a dangerous hand. Luis Barva was a powerful man; the kind of man who expected to be recognized, especially in his own night club.
I tried to catch a glimpse of his face through the hedge of fake lashes that rimmed my eyes, waiting to see if my gamble would pay off. It was highly likely that I’d made the wrong move entirely.
After several seconds of stone-cold silence, he tapped out his cigar on the glass bar, then he reached a bejeweled hand towards me.
“You must not recognize me. I’m Luis Barva,” he introduced himself. “Owner of this beautiful establishment.”
I had to play dumb. Pretend like I knew nothing about him. Like I was nobody.
So, I waited a few moments before I turned back to him and plastered on my best blow-up doll face—eyes wide and mouth open in the perfect pink ‘O.’
“No way!” I gushed. “You’re the owner of this club?!”
“That’s right,” he nodded proudly. “And you are?”
He shoved his hand towards me again, and this time I placed my hand in his.
“Eve.”
“If you’re Eve, that must make this Eden,” Luis smirked, then he raised my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. I had to muster every morsel of self-control so that I didn’t cringe or keel over on the spot. I hid my revulsion by batting my false eyelashes and pursing my lips together.
Luckily the moment was cut short when the bartender appeared in front of us.
“Cotton candy cosmopolitan,” he said proudly, presenting a martini glass filled with a frothy pink elixir and garnished with a tuft of cotton candy. I opened my mouth to thank him, but Luis beat me to it.
“Hey, can’t you see we’re trying to have a private conversation here?” he snapped.
“Sorry, boss,” the bartender said quickly, then he slunk away like a scolded dog with his tail between his legs.
Luis glared after him for a few seconds, then he turned his attention back to me:
“So, Eve,” he said, drumming his bejeweled fingers on the glass bar top, “I’m going to cut right to the chase.”
“Oh?” I raised my stenciled-on eyebrows, playing it cool even though my mind raced.
His eyes gleamed darkly as he stared at me for several seconds. Then he leaned forward so that only a matter of inches separated his face from mine, and he whispered, “How much?”
I sucked in a breath and nearly choked as the stench of his whiskey-laden breath infiltrated my lungs.
This is it, I realized. This is what I came here for...
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” I giggled, sounding intentionally awkward.
“Don’t play dumb, doll face,” Luis said impatiently. “You know exactly what I mean.”
Of course, I already knew exactly what he meant and this was exactly what I wanted. I had to stick to the script. This was the most crucial part of my performance.
“I don’t,” I blinked up at him innocently as I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the martini glass and swirled the pink cocktail around without taking a sip.
He narrowed his eyes at me, then his lips twisted into a filthy smile.
“You really are a good girl, huh?” he cackled. “I’m asking you how much it’s gonna cost me to spend the night with you.”
I gulped—and this time, I let him see it.
“Come on,” he tapped his fingers on the bar. “What do you want? A thousand? Five thousand? Ten g’s?”
“I’m not for sale,” I said in a small, squeaky little voice. I was still in character, but this wasn’t Eve’s voice anymore; it was my own.
“Of course you are, toots,” he chuckled. “Everyone in my club is for sale. Hasn’t anyone ever told you about this place before?”
I shook my head, playing dumb even though I knew what I’d walked into. Luis narrowed his eyes and studied my face, then he sat back on his bar stool.
“You ever play one of those carnival games?” he asked me. “You know, the ones where you gotta toss a ring around the milk bottle, or throw darts at a wall of balloons?”
“Sure,” I nodded slowly. I already had a sick feeling that I knew where he was going with this…
“What happens when you win?”
“You… get a prize?”
“That’s right,” he smiled, revealing a row of stained brown teeth and gold-capped canines. “A big furry teddy bear or a pretty little unicorn.”
I nodded silently.
“Well, that’s exactly how my club works,” Luis told me, lacing his fingers together so that his gold rings clinked against each other. “You play a game, and if you win, you get a prize.”
“What kind of prize?” I asked. It was another question that I already knew the answer to, but I wanted to hear him say it.
He just smiled, eyes still gleaming, and said: “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
I had been preparing for this moment for months, ever since the assignment had been dropped on my desk and I had gotten my first glance at Luis Barva.
My heart thumped in my chest and my stomach was in knots. I swallowed heavily, then I slowly nodded my head.
“Good answer,” Luis smiled, then he slid off of his barstool and offered me his hand. “Let’s go.”
Luis led me across the dance floor, towards the corner of the club where the old men smoked cigars on the leather couch. He signaled something to them, and they immediately jumped up and shifted the couch to the side, revealing an unmarked door.
Luis tapped a passcode into the door. It swung open to a dimly lit hallway.
“Ladies first.”
I hesitated. I knew that this could still go wrong. Luis could be bluffing; he could be leading me straight into a trap.
Or he could be leading me straight to the prize… I reminded myself.
I stepped carefully through the door, then made my way down the dark hallway. My stiletto heels clacked loudly on the concrete, masking the sound of Luis’ footsteps trailing behind me.
Another bouncer waited for us at the end of the hall, this time a burly hulk of a man with a pistol tucked into the waistband of his black Dickies.
When he saw Luis, he pulled aside a black curtain and ushered us through.
Stepping through the curtain was like stepping into another world.
Similar to the club’s main dance floor, the room was filled with flashing lights and clouds of cigar smoke.
Unlike the dance floor, there was no dancing or music. Instead, the room was filled with card tables. There were dozens of them, and each table was surrounded by a ring of players, all deeply engrossed in whatever card game being played.
At the center of each card table there was a giant gold birdcage, and inside each cage there was a woman clad in lingerie.
“Now you understand?” Luis asked, turning to me. “They are the prizes.”
Of course, I understood. I knew all about Luis Barva’s “prizes.” I had read the reports and seen photographs… but those reports and photos hadn’t prepared me for seeing it up close, in real life.
The women in the cages didn’t look like prizes; they looked like prisoners. I buried my anger in a tight swallow. Just the sight of it made me sick. I had to clench my fists, dig my nails into the palms of my hands to keep my reaction under control.
“Just like a carnival game, right?” Luis grinned. “The men play for their prize. Winner takes all.”
“Sounds like prostitution,” I said, unable to disguise the disgust in my voice. Luckily Luis didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s a game.”
“You’re still selling women.”
“Please,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. “I already told you: everyone is for sale.”
I felt Luis drape his arm over my shoulder and my body involuntarily stiffened with disgust.
“No need to be so shy, Eve,” he said. “Why don’t you pick out a prize? It’ll be my treat.”
“Oh, I already picked my prize…” I said. Then, in one swift movement, I shoved his arm off of my shoulder and stepped directly in front of him. I dug my fingers into the padded cup of my stupid push-up bra and slid out the silver badge that had been concealed there.
“Agent Sienna O’Malley, Nevada Gaming Commission,” I identified myself, flashing the badge. “Luis Barva, you are under arrest for the unlicensed operation of a casino, and for the illegal operation of a brothel in Clark County.”
The casino went totally silent… and then it turned into a madhouse as everyone pushed back their chairs and desperately searched for an escape route. I already knew that they weren’t going to get lucky; the only way out was the same way that we had come in.
Luis knew that, too. His face went from cognac to tomato red, and his dark brows furrowed in disgust as he glared at me as I began to read him his rights.
“You have the right to remain silent—”
“You fucking cunt!”
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” I continued. “You have the right to an attorney—”
“This is bullshit!” Luis spun around to make a run for the exit, but he only made it as far as the black curtain before he was tackled to the ground by a man in a plaid button-down shirt and khaki shorts; the same guy that had been arguing over bottle service with the cocktail waitress. Officer Grant Curtis of the LVPD, disguised as a bumbling Midwest tourist visiting Las Vegas for his bachelor party.
Officer Curtis held Luis down to the ground as he cuffed him, then he glanced up at me.
“Thanks for your help tonight, O’Malley,” he said stiffly. “We’ll take it from here.”
I stepped aside and watched as the rest of the undercover officers descended on the basement casino, snapping handcuffs and rattling off Miranda Rights.
As I watched, I tugged off the scratchy platinum wig and shook out my natural strawberry blonde hair. The blood supply immediately returned to my scalp, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Another one bites the dust.