And he does. He needs to know without a doubt who is behind this takeover.
Then he'll make sure there's nothing left of them.
While Hondo is using his connections, Vincent is planning on getting drunk.
Troy is getting ready to ask more questions when Cooper comes backstage and tells us it's time.
Which means Vincent is here.
"Oh, good. I was afraid he wasn't going to show up."
"All right, girls. Take your spots. Cage girls, get loaded up," Marla instructs.
I get in the cage as it is hoisted into the air and swung out over the dance floor. The eight cage dancers sprinkle a few black rose petals over the dance floor.
I watch as a few people dancing look up to see where they're coming from.
Vincent takes his place in his favorite VIP section. As he relaxes on the leather banquette, his waitress pours him a generous double shot of whiskey then finishes setting up his favorite mixers. She asks if he wants his usual bottle of champagne as well, but he waves her off. His VIP security guy has already given three beautiful women access to his section. Vincent is considering taking the trio home with him when the music stops, and the lights go out.
The DJ speaks. "A few days ago, one of our dancers was brutally murdered. She left work and never made it home. Everyone, please be vigilant when you leave any club and never go home with a stranger. Tonight, we're going to honor her life, starting with a moment of silence for our friend, Leighton Wall."
Vincent realizes the DJ is talking about the girl he killed. He hadn't learned her name that night. Hadn't learned it until he heard it on the news.
The place goes completely silent.
After a few moments, the DJ yells, "Leighton, girl, R.I.P. This utter chaos is for you!"
Vincent blinks and takes another drink, wondering what the club has planned to honor this girl. As the cages hit the platforms, and the bases light up, pink beams of light shine down spotlighting each cage. Vincent chuckles and looks around. Does anyone else not see the comedy in this moment? They are honoring her with a dance in a cage? Don't they realize if she hadn't danced in the cage, she'd still be alive?
The alcohol is finally starting to blur the edges of his day. What a clusterfuck today was. Although, he guesses it could have been worse. If he had failed the lie detector test, he'd be sitting behind bars.
The trio of girls is sipping his expensive whiskey, not one of them appreciating its rich taste. Maybe he'll kill them after he plays with them-these girls would deserve it. Then he notices that they are pointing at one of the dancers. The one who is in the same cage Leighton had danced in. She's covered in pink neon body paint and there are glow-in-the-dark tattoos all over her body.
He moves closer to the cage.
The dancer looks like . .
The song is upbeat and sassy, about a trouble-making girl.
Partway through the beginning of song, I notice Vincent near my cage trying to get a closer look at me.
When he gets close enough, I bend down, grab a handful of black rose petals, and throw them out of the cage directly at him.
Then I grab more and let them fly out of my fingers as I spin around.
Vincent plucks one out of the air and studies it.
Yeah, asshole, those are for you. A black rose petal warning, because you and your company are going down.
When the song gets to the part about flipping off the world, I raise both my middle fingers into the air and salute Vincent, which gets the crowd cheering.
I dance more.
I love this song.
Suddenly, nets in the ceiling open up and thousands of black rose petals fall like confetti over the dance floor.
Once all eyes in the vicinity are back on me-particularly Vincent's-I blow the crowd a kiss, then bend over, flip up my skirt, and reveal the big block letters running across my naughty Santa underwear.
When the crowd reads the slutty FUCK ME message on my shaking ass, the guys jump up and down, scream, whistle, and cheer.
And make some very naughty comments.
It's awesome.
And, finally, I see the response I was hoping for: pure rage in Vincent's eyes.
. . . It's her. It's Lacy. He needs to get her out of that cage or he's going to kill every guy standing around it with his bare hands. They need to get away from her. Stop that incessant hooting.
She blows him a kiss, causing him to smile, but then she bends over, flips up the back of her skirt, and shows the crowd her underwear, which has a vulgar saying on it.
Why is Lacy dancing like this? She's acting like a whore!
Like her mother.
Not Lacy. Keatyn.
He rubs his hand down his face, needing to focus. He stops, takes the cigar holder out of his jacket pocket, and palms the syringe.
That's right, be mad at me. Just me. No one else. I'm going to be way more than trouble, Vincent. I'm going to be your worst nightmare.
A hurricane of problems.
When the song finishes, a hush spreads through the crowd, except for a little murmuring as they try to figure out what's happening next.
The spotlights leave the dancers and a single pink light shines on six men dressed in black, who are now filing into the club.
You hear gasps and cries from girls as they walk by, and everyone else is straining their necks to see what's going on.
The men work their way through the crowd, carrying a coffin, and come to a stop in front of my cage.
He's furiously pushing his way through the crowd and desperately trying to get near her. He's almost to the cage when the lights flash yet again. He knows it's his chance. While everyone is looking the other way, he'll give her the shot. She'll collapse. He'll pull her out of the cage and rescue her, taking her out back for some air.
What happens next, causes him to pause. Keatyn's fallen to the bottom of the cage. He looks down at the syringe still in his hand, knowing he hasn't drugged her yet.
It's another sign. She's pretending to have passed out, so he will come rescue her. She's calling out to him. As he takes another step toward the cage, the spotlight shines directly on them, and with horror he sees that her eyes are shut and her body still.
All eyes turn toward him.
And men, who he hadn't noticed before, are standing next to the door of the cage, then pulling her out and into a coffin.
Vincent can barely breathe.
I hear the cage open and feel Cooper's strong arms pull me into the coffin.
I lie motionless as he makes the sign of a cross, folds my arms over my chest, whispers "All's good" to me, and then shuts the coffin lid.
If things go as planned, they will lead a processional of bouncers, waitresses, and clubgoers out the front door.
I lie still in the coffin, trying not to be creeped out.
This was the perfect exit for me. There's only one way Vincent could get close to me tonight.
And that's to start shooting people, which was Cooper's worse-case scenario.
I'm just praying I don't hear any shots.
I would never forgive myself if a gun fight started in a crowded place like this.
The sound I do hear is a big relief.
The beating of helicopter blades slicing through the air.
I finally let out the breath I've been holding as I feel the casket being loaded into the chopper.
Vincent follows the crowd out of the club, sees the helicopter set down, and the casket rolled onto it. As the helicopter hovers into the air, fireworks start going off.
It looks like something out of a movie.
He smirks. Gotta give it to the girl. She does have a flair for the dramatic.
He carefully puts the syringe back into its holder and fishes a receipt out of his wallet, giving it to the nearest valet. If he can get his car fast enough, there's a chance he could follow the helicopter to wherever she is going.
He's getting more irritated by the second as he watches the helicopter fly away. "Where's my car?" he yells at one of the valets.
"Um, Mr. Sharpe," the kid who he always tips well says to him. "We can't exactly find it."
"What do you mean, you can't find it?!" He points to the spot where his car is always parked, right up front. But his car isn't there.
The valet holds up the keys. "We think maybe it was stolen."
Which is the final straw today. He goes ballistic, grabbing the kid by the neck, before an off-duty policeman pulls him off.
"Sucks," the cop says. "Was it a nice car?"
"It was a goddamn Porsche!"
"Oh those are pretty. Was it red? I used to work nights as a valet at one of those trendy restaurants. Abby Johnston used to come there for dinner once a week, and she had the hottest little red one. Always wanted one after that."
"Or maybe you just wanted the hottie in it," the valet chuckles, elbowing the cop.
Vincent stomps his feet, pushes his fists down to his sides, and let's out a cry of rage.
"Dude, you need to calm down," the cop says, putting his hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I'm sure it was insured. Tell you what, I'll drive you down to the station myself and help you fill out a stolen vehicle report."
There's no way Vincent is going back to the police station.
Once the door shuts, Cooper opens the lid, so I can roll out of the coffin. I stay on my knees and sneak a peek out of the window, quickly spotting Vincent in the crowd.
As the helicopter lifts into the air, pink, red, and gold fireworks shoot into the sky.
The combination of the cheers, the fireworks, and the helicopter is deafening.
I watch the fireworks and pray that Leighton knows how sorry I am.
That I never meant for anyone to get hurt.
"That was freaking nuts!" Cooper says. "And safe. He didn't even have a chance to touch you."
"He looked mildly irritated when I threw the black roses at him, mad when I flipped him off, and completely pissed when the guys started cheering at the message on my underwear."
"Message on your underwear?"
"Yeah. I didn't mention that to you."
Cooper narrows his eyes. "What'd they say?"
"Fuck me."
"Oh, Keatyn. Jeez. We want to make him uncomfortable, not homicidal."
"He's already homicidal."
"Yeah, you're right. It was a good plan."
"And honored her, I hope."
The cop says, "I heard there was a very large anonymous donation made to the family's fund today."
"I heard that too." I smile. "Oh, Cooper! Do you have my phone? I did something else," I say, while firing off a quick text to let both Aiden and Grandpa know I'm okay.
"What?"
"How long do you think it will be before he'll want to leave?"
"If I were him, I'd be getting the hell out of there and never coming back," Cooper states.
"You should have seen his face when Cooper closed the lid on the casket," the cops says. "If I weren't armed, I would have been scared."