Following a hell of a few weeks’ worth of work, Ryker was hell-bent on enjoying a damn night for himself. He was in such a good mood, he contemplated asking Marcus to join him, but he soon realized what a crack-brain idea that was and thought better of it.
Kallisti House of Burlesque was a famous attraction, particularly among the powerful lowlives that a ghost like Ryker typically haunted, but this was his first visit. He sauntered into the House and opened the kind of tab that said he was willing to drop a shit ton of money.
“Tell your girls, the more handsy the better.” He dropped a card with a glare that said he expected every dollar to be worth it.
He was dressed fine enough for the place. A shirt, open at the collar, revealed some of the burns that traced down his neck and disappeared inside. The jacket over the top fit him well, but that was the only notable thing about it. He had a pocket knife hidden inside it, but he did not anticipate needing to draw it anytime soon.
He was shown to a table by a woman in red bustier who apparently got the message from the front staff that Ryker liked (and was willing to buy) attention. She took his order while curving her arm around his shoulders and massaging the muscles she found there. Only once did he notice her dark gaze linger on his facial scars. To her credit, they did not linger long.
She left to retrieve his drink while he watched the show.
Kallisti House of Burlesque was a famous attraction, particularly among the powerful lowlives that a ghost like Ryker typically haunted, but this was his first visit. He sauntered into the House and opened the kind of tab that said he was willing to drop a shit ton of money.
“Tell your girls, the more handsy the better.” He dropped a card with a glare that said he expected every dollar to be worth it.
He was dressed fine enough for the place. A shirt, open at the collar, revealed some of the burns that traced down his neck and disappeared inside. The jacket over the top fit him well, but that was the only notable thing about it. He had a pocket knife hidden inside it, but he did not anticipate needing to draw it anytime soon.
He was shown to a table by a woman in red bustier who apparently got the message from the front staff that Ryker liked (and was willing to buy) attention. She took his order while curving her arm around his shoulders and massaging the muscles she found there. Only once did he notice her dark gaze linger on his facial scars. To her credit, they did not linger long.
She left to retrieve his drink while he watched the show.