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like I did last time. I glance at John. Well, maybe with him I will.
    “You have a cameraman?” he asks.
    I start to say I didn’t know I was supposed to have one, but Rico’s words from my “orientation” pop into my head: “The customer isn’t only right. He’s God . Never question God. Just let His will be done.”
    “My apologies, Sir. He must be running late. I’ll go and get him.”
    Shit, shit, shit.

    “Do hurry, Lola. We gotta finish before midnight or Jesus might not forgive our carnal sins in time for Ash Wednesday.” John chuckles at his stupid joke.
    I bow and open the door Molly exited through. No one in sight. I call her name, but there’s no answer. Great.
    Unsure of what to do, I take the stairs back up to Nocturnes. The secret passage dumps me into an unused closet behind the kitchen. I peek through a crack in the door. Coast is clear.
    Kristina will be able to help me. I zip through the sardine-packed bodies toward the dressing room. On the way, I notice she’s onstage, and it looks like she’s just warming up. Damn it. Plan B.
    Duane? I scan the crowd for the burly bouncer, but no sign of him. A waitress? Bartender? There’s got to be at least one person free in this godforsaken place…
    A commotion breaks out in the far corner of the main floor. Arms and fists swing. Loud, drunken voices curse, and a collective gasp rises from nearly every mouth in the place. Attention is riveted toward a couple tables inhabited by frat boys who seem to be engaging in a turf war with a group of horny tourists. A mosh pit opens on that side of the room. Most of the house rushes over to enjoy the fight.
    I check my watch. Ten thirty. If I don’t get back down there with a cameraman in the next minute, I can kiss my house in the Garden District goodbye.
    “Shit.”
    “I love the entertainment here.” A warm body eases beside me, and I look up. Rex grins down at me with a mischievous spark in his eye. “Top notch.”
    “Yeah, it’s classy.” I scan the room again in search of Duane and find him wading through the sea of bodies toward the disruption. Lovely. He’ll be busy sorting those guys out for more time than I have to spare.
    “Hey, you changed clothes.” Rex points at my boobs. “You look good in white.”
    No shit, Sherlock. I look good in everything.

    I desperately pick through faces once more for someone— anyone who’s familiar with Hell. The few people who fit the job description are up to their eyeballs in work. I have exactly thirty seconds to make a decision.
    Rex’s cocky expression settles into something softer. “Sorry if I came off as rude earlier, but I—”
    “You ever shoot video before?” God, what the hell am I doing asking this stranger to help me? If Rico finds out, he’ll have my head, mount it to the wall in his office, and probably shove his dick in my cold, dead mouth every free minute he gets. I cringe.
    “Uh…” Rex pulls out his cell. “On my phone. Want me to shoot us gettin’ busy?”
    “In your dreams, Casanova.” I grab his hand and lead him away from one fray toward the exponentially more frightening pit of vipers waiting for me in Hell.
    “Where are we going, angel?” He grins, and I cover a flinch as we trudge through the club toward the closet. His lip rings glint under the low light, and a twinge of attraction pings my gut. The disheveled bad boy is starting to grow on me. Just a little. Kind of like a benign tumor.
    “I gotta go to work. You’re gonna be my assistant.” I guide him behind the bar. It’s easy to avoid being spotted. Most of the crowd is too busy yelling, “Fight, fight, fight!” to notice a stripper and a customer sneaking through the underbelly of Nocturnes.
    “Wait a minute. What kind of assistant? You need help getting those clothes off?” He reaches for the strap at my shoulder, and I backhand his fingers away.
    I grab him by the ears and drag his face close to mine. This guy’s my only chance. I pray he’s