Tracking Evil: Bucharest Pt. 01

Now it was just gone 11pm and she was shuffling forward in the queue outside the club. Her day had started in a queue at passport control and it seemed that the security outside this place were even more particular about who got inside than the airport security had been about who was allowed into the country. She glanced up at the bright neon lettering that read 'BASS INSTINCT". The play on words, Bass versus Base, signalled to her that the information Vlad had supplied about the owner of the club being foreign was probably right. The joke would probably be lost on a lot of non-native English speakers.

At the door finally, Denisa suffered the appraising looks of the two bouncers. She was wearing blue jeans... of a sort. The top half had been cut so that it was now a mini denim skirt, half an inch higher and her black panties would have been visible. The 'legs' of the jeans started just above her knees. Each leg of the jeans was connected to the skirt by two long thin strips of denim that buckled on at the top, front and back. The net effect being that her supple muscled thighs were visible. She had also bought a black bikini, tossing aside the bottom half. The small triangular panel of the bikini top kept her modesty but only just, the cool night air stroking her nipples to visible life. Her final purchase had been a thin cropped leather jacket to match her black bikini. Always an exhibitionist, Denisa had turned the dial up to ten, ensuring there was plenty of her fit body on display. Her shit kickers were on her feet, the flared ends of the jeans neatly disguising the freshly polished boots.

"In," came the curt approval and Denisa swayed her way into the club.

Her first thoughts were 'money' as she took in the expanse of the club. Coloured neon swathed the walls and bar counters. There were a number of small dancing areas, orbiting the main dance floor that looked capable of holding a few hundred revellers at a time. The bars, she counted four separate ones, were well staffed, people being served with only a short wait time. Randomly scattered around were stages. These consisted on a raised platform where dancers, obviously in the employ of the club, could move to the music solo, in pairs or even small groups of three and four dancers. Then of course there was the DJ. High above the crowd and the dancefloor beneath, Zeus staring down from Mount Olympus as the pulsing music he played sent the mere mortals beneath him into frenzied motion. Someone had definitely invested heavily in the club.

The building was huge. The first-floor level was thronged with people. While there wasn't a second floor as such, she noted a few stairwells that led to wide balconies set twenty feet above the crowd, small oasis's where people sat, drank and watched from. Where she'd been outside, she'd definitely estimated that there was a third level, it only took Denisa a couple of minutes before she spotted a small elevator door, a hulking guard outside it.

For the next thirty minutes she blended with the crowd, moving through what must have been the cream of Bucharest's society. Mostly young although she noted knots of people as old as forty. All looked as Vlad had predicted, rich or beautiful. After her second circuit, she was ready to admit defeat. There was nothing out of place, except maybe for the fact that there was nothing out of place. The club security was tight but even handed and polite. No drunks, no fights, no signs of drug use or drug sales. Just a lot of people having a great time. Basically, a dead end.

"What can I get you?" The bartender spoke to Denisa and she realised she'd drifted towards the bar without thinking.

"Vodka coke, hold the coke," she answered, adding quickly, "make it a treble."

His eyebrows rose slightly up his forehead in surprise but he didn't question her choice, splashing out three measures of vodka into a long glass. Denisa smiled in thanks, over paying and waving away the offered change as a tip. She was confident now that she would get no answers here, the night a waste of time. It was at that point that she decided to save something of the night. With a flick of her wrist, the treble vodka disappeared down her throat and she pushed the now empty glass towards the surprised looking barman.

Then Denisa worked at the buckles of her outfit, stripping away the denim legs so that she was only wearing the 'micro skirt' version. She stuffed the legs into her jacket pockets before pulling it off in turn.

"What's your name?" Denisa leaned on the bar top as she addressed the bartender once again.

"Adam," he answered.

"Great, look after this for me will you Adam?" Denisa tossed him her jacket, blew him a kiss and headed to the dance floor.

On the floor, Denisa moved her way deeper into the crowd, awkwardly shifting and skirting past people dancing, seeking a bit of open space. Finally, she had some room, the music shifting as she arrived in place, the DJ cueing up a David Guetta song.

Denisa closed her eyes and began to move. Slowly at first, her mind still chewing on Maria, on Ioana, her own childhood in this city. The music, the physical pulse of noise patterning across her bare flesh as she danced combined to relax her. As she relaxed, her movements became more and more fluid. She let her mind wander as the music lifted her clear of her troubles, granting her a moments respite.

Not uncharacteristically for her, Denisa's thoughts flowed to her own brand of happy place. As she swayed to the music, she relived some of the fights she had endured recently. Wrestling men twice her size, giving and taking punches, driving kicks in to oh so sensitive spots, fingers clawing out an eye, gouging sweeps of her hand. Some of that action and a lot of that deadly intent leeched into her dancing. She moved from being sexy, to being dangerously sexy as her body swayed as lithe as a reed in a breeze on the dance floor. Clad in just her black bikini top, micro skirt and knee length black boots, her dark hair fanning out as her head swayed and ducked, in her mind she was stepping past blows from assailants, their attacks coming close but not close enough.

As happens, those same violent thoughts, those same violent memories caused her libido to kick in. Now as she danced, the hands that had sought to harm her were now seeking to touch her, stroke and caress her. Denisa shifted from avoiding them to stepping into them, welcoming the rough palmed touch of dangerous men. On the dance floor, her lips parted to show bright white teeth, her tongue peeking between them as the bounty hunter relived some of her sexual escapades. Powerful thrusts from potent cocks, tongues probing and licking, dark hard flesh pinning her to crisp white sheets. Her breath came faster, not from the act of moving on the floor though. The supple gyrating, jiggling movements that had been tinged with violent intent, still as intense as before but dripping now with overt sexuality.

Denisa had danced through three separate tracks in this fashion, a small halo of space appearing around her, her fellow dancers moving away to witness her better. The tap on her shoulder was jarring in its unexpectedness, Denisa's eyes fluttering open, inwardly cursing herself for so easily letting her guard down.

Beside her stood a big security guy, the same one who had been stationed outside the elevator.

"Someone would like to talk to you," he said in a flat bored voice.

"Cool. Great story, must be nice for them," Denisa said, stepping past him and heading to the bar to recover her jacket. She was thanking the bartender Adam when the security guy caught up to her again.

"My boss, the club manager, would like a minute of your time," he said, removing all ambiguity from the summons. Denisa didn't look at him, instead she turned to Adam.

"This on the level or just some bullshit the security uses to get a girl alone?"

"Ummm... on the level," Adam replied, eyes flicking to the guard and back to Denisa.

"Okay, cool. You lead the way there, Hulk" she said cheerfully, patting the guards enormous bicep. He grunted, not amused and guided her towards the elevator.

Chapter Three: "Tolerance cannot seduce the young" Emil Cioran

Once she was inside the elevator, the guard went back to his post outside of it. Denisa had only the choice of a single button marked with an arrow pointing up, the only other button pointing down was already lit up. She tapped her selection, the doors sliding shut, the elevator rising the forty or so feet to the third floor in seconds. The door opened and a handsome black man in his late thirties greeted her with a smile.

His suit, no tie, was expensive. Denisa had an eye for clothes, a small weakness that she often posted on Insta. She knew immediately that whoever this man was, he was mid-level at best judging by his wardrobe. That would make him the club manager but certainly not the owner.

The elevator had opened out into a small hall, windowless and seemingly sound proofed as there was barely a whisper of noise from the club penetrating it. There were a few doors leading off the hall and the smiling man walked to the nearest without comment, opening it to reveal a plush looking office into which he waved Denisa. Who didn't move, folding her arms in a negative body gesture instead.

"Why'd you bring me up here?" Her challenge was clear, no discomfort or fear. Annoyed curiosity the fairest interpretation.

"To have a talk, to make an offer," he answered in good Romanian but accented. French maybe? No, not French but close. Well that certainly confirmed the foreign owner theory, not that it had anything to do with Maria.

"Yeaaah, not really a talker," Denisa answered.

"No, I believe you, I saw you dancing, I certainly think your talents lie in the physical, not the conversational. Still, indulge me. A drink first?" Denisa had to admit, he didn't rile easy, a point to him for that. She gave him a shallow nod, walking into the office as he bid.

The suited black man fixed them both drinks, allowing Denisa a chance to study him further. Average height and build, goatee, shaved head, good poker player... not a hint of emotion in his eyes. He looked as advertised, a businessman. But there was something beneath that. Maybe because she herself kept her true nature beneath the surface, she picked up the same from him.

He handed her a drink and she took a sip, smiling in thanks. He smiled back, his eyes did not.

'Got you' Denisa thought to herself, 'fucking shark, aren't you?'

The shark returned to his side of the desk, sitting comfortably behind it, in a deep leather chair. He took a decent sip from his drink, eyes never leaving her. Denisa knew a test of wills when she saw one, the shark obviously waiting on the poor little fish to ask why she'd been summoned. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction, holding her thoughts and her words to herself.

He seemed to grow bored of the silence, though he didn't acknowledge her victory in this. Instead, he pushed a few papers around on the top of the desk in a blatant act of self-importance before finally speaking again.

"You're new, aren't you?"

"Younger than this whiskey anyway," Denisa quipped, offering him the merest glimpse of a smile.

"To the club. New to the club. I haven't seen you here before," he added in clarification.

"Shit... you remember everyone who walks through the door?" Denisa treated him with a smirk this time before swallowing it with another sip of her drink.

"Only those that make an impression," the Shark answered, and he gestured behind her. Denisa didn't quite turn her back on him but she shifted enough in her own seat to look behind her, seeing a number of security monitors, displaying live feeds from the club below. This was where he must have watched her dance.

"So, I'm getting a free drink because you liked how I danced?" Denisa was growing tired of the game. So, the guy was hitting on her. So what? It didn't bring her closer to finding out what happened to Maria.

"Liked would be a serious understatement. What I saw of your performance moved me enough to offer you a job." He let that hang in the air for a moment, seeking to gauge her reaction. Denisa didn't have one to show, whatever he wanted from her, she wasn't in the mood to give. Another time perhaps she might have played, satisfying her own itch, but enough was enough.

"Well thanks for the drink and all but I have to go," she said, setting the now empty glass on the desk.

"Already? But I don't even know your name? You haven't even heard my offer." She'd give him this much. He was a persistent motherfucker.

"Maria," she said, for no other reason than her dead friend was haunting her mind.

"Maria. Second Maria I've met lately. Common name here I guess," he answered.

'Not that fucking common' Denisa thought, remembering Arlene's advice that coincidences might exist but to never discount them.

"Okay, fine." She settled back in the chair. "What's the job?"

"Well... Maria. There are two jobs on offer. Firstly though, since I believe people should be informed before taking employment here, this club that I manage is under ownership with an organisation. One I am a part of. It's not just a business to us, it's also somewhere we hang out to enjoy ourselves. Understood?" She nodded, wishing he'd get to the point or pour her another drink.

"Offer one, I can use someone who moves like you, putting that much of her sexuality into her dancing. There's a podium out there with your name on it if you'd like?" Denisa didn't blink, she just kept watching those cold dead eyes of his.

"Fine. Well, offer two is more of a 'hands-on' role. As I explained, men from my organisation come here at times to relax and indulge in what we've built here. We call this level 'the house' and people... women... who work here we call 'pets'. Do i need to spell it out?"

"No, I'm not that new," Denisa answered. A whole level for men to indulge themselves... Denisa couldn't imagine Maria taking either offer had they been made, but supposing she had? Drugs seemed more likely to play a role in the second job.

"What's it pay? The pet job I mean."

The Shark drew an expensive looking pen from a sheath on the desk, scribbling something on a business card before sliding it across to her. Denisa lifted the card, keeping her expression neutral. She leaned over, taking a pen for herself. Very deliberately she drew a line through what he had written before writing beneath it. Then she flicked it across the desk towards him.

His reaction made her rethink the idea about getting this man into a poker game. His eyes might have held no emotion, but his eyebrows rose significantly when he read her counter offer.

"And you think you're worth this?"

"Question is. Do you think I'm worth it?" Denisa settled back in the chair, raising a hand to her mouth as if stifling a yawn. The Shark grinned, gleaming white teeth, a predator's smile.

"You know what. I think you are. Even if it's just to see how much of that attitude you keep after working here a while."

He rose then, moving around the desk to perch on her side of it. Indolently, he pulled down the zipper of his pants, reaching inside to draw out his flaccid black cock. As Denisa looked on, her own face betraying an interest she should probably have masked, the Shark wagged his cock in his hand so that its long length cut through the air sluggishly. With each consecutive swing, his black cock became less malleable as blood pumped into it, swelling and stiffening it.

"Time to earn your first pay check," he said.

Well, she had known this was coming, Truth be told she actually welcomed it. For Denisa, there was an indelible link between sex and violence. The frustration and grief that she had welling inside her since hearing about Maria craved an outlet and if she couldn't hurt those responsible right now, this at least would vent the pressure a little.

She got onto her knees, reaching out to take over handling his cock from him. The Shark grinned, releasing the shaft as her small hand stretched to grasp the girth of it. Denisa started slow, her tongue circling the glans at the tip of his black cock, her own impression of a shark circling its prey. It was a lighter shade than his shaft and after a few sweeps of her tongue it was thoroughly wetted. Above her, she could hear his breathing shift, his stance not as casual as it had been, desire stiffening his pose.

She let the head of his cock slowly sink between her pursed lips, tilting her head back to look up at him. His flat nose, nostrils gaping like craters, as he drew in a sharp breath in reaction to the sensation of her mouth beginning to consume him. Those eyes though, even with this, they remained flat and hard, staring down at her beautiful face as inch after inch of his cock slid into her maw.

"That's right. Look up at me. Big brown eyes of yours... soft wet mouth. I knew you had talent," the Shark spoke as half his length was now drawn inside, the tip of his cock hitting the back of Denisa's throat.

Denisa let her head bob up and down on his cock then, alternating speed and depth as she sucked on it. The taste was, as always, moreish. Once she had the flavour of a cock on her tongue, she found herself gorging on it, savouring it. Her palate compelling her to suck harder still.

"Get a little spit on there, I know you aren't shy... come on," he coaxed her, Denisa responding immediately, spitting a number of times on his shiny black skinned cock, smearing her spittle as she went back to sucking on him.

"Slut," he gasped in response to a particularly strong inhalation by Denisa.

That got her fire stoked. She released a fragment of the pent-up emotion inside her, going crazy on his big black cock. Denisa didn't confine herself to sucking, she now kissed, licked and lapped every portion of his thick shaft. His balls didn't escape her attention either. Her fingers delved within his pants, pulling them free so that she could tongue them in turn, sucking one and then another into her hot mouth, releasing them, his scrotum smeared with her saliva.

Then she went back to his shaft, cramming it into her mouth like a Dickensian orphan gorging on cake. It hit her throat and kept on going, Denisa's eyes wide and staring, punishing herself on cock in an act of self-flagellation. She choked and gagged holding it in place for a count of three before succumbing to her body's need to ease up on it. Her pussy was on fire at this point and she longed to attend to it. The stubborn nature that ran deep through her didn't want to give him the satisfaction that she was incredibly turned on just from giving him head. She ached to be filled, to be fucked, to have a release.

"Fuuuccckk, I think you might have done this for free..." The Shark was clearly impressed and she could also tell he wasn't far from finishing either. Denisa rapidly gnawed toothlessly on his shaft, moving her head up and down, drawing it deep, spitting it out, her two hands now working in concert with her mouth to bring him off.

His hands clamped down on the back of her head, forcing her onto his hardness as he began to spurt inside her mouth. The copious discharge had Denisa gulping, his girth making it difficult to swallow properly, sperm dribbling from the corners of her mouth.

"Well, I have to say, you certainly seem worth the price," the Shark declared a couple of minutes later. He had milked his cock over Denisa's tilted face, her mouth wide open to take the last remnants onto her tongue. Her mouth was a mess, sticky tendrils of spunk on her chin, lips, teeth and gums. It had been worth it though, the act making her a little less on edge as well as securing her the 'job.'

"What's next?" Denisa asked, taking his offer of some wipes to clean herself up, a freshly poured drink to wash away the last traces of his ejaculation.