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No sweaty bodies.

No hookah.

No food coming out the kitchen.

No hundred different colognes fighting each other in the air.

Freckles before opening was almost peaceful.

Almost.

One of the cleaners pushed a mop across the floor near the back hallway and looked up when she saw me.

“Morning, Levin.”

“Morning.”

A security nigga sitting near the office stood up when I passed.

“What’s good, Lev?”

I gave him a nod.

“Everything straight?”

“Yeah. Delivery came already. Tyler checked it.”

“Bet.”

That was how I liked shit.

I didn’t need motherfuckers jumping up and saluting me.

Didn’t need nobody calling me boss every three seconds.

Just handle your fucking job.

We walked through the back hallway and pushed through another door.

The main floor opened in front of us.

Completely different bitch with the lights on.

At night, you couldn’t really appreciate how big Freckles was because there were too many bodies inside. Women on stages. Niggas throwing money. Waitresses moving around with bottles. Music beating through the walls. Security everywhere.

During the day, you could see the bones of it.

Big-ass main stage in the middle.

Two smaller stages farther back.

Poles polished until they reflected the overhead lights.

Black leather booths lined the walls. Tables had already been wiped down and reset. The long bar stretched across one whole side of the room, bottles stacked behind it waiting for nighttime.

One girl was onstage rehearsing in little shorts and a sports bra while another stretched on the floor beside her.

Both of them looked over.