Page 56 of Precious Legacy
“So…” Haven arches a brow, clearly wanting more information than the two words I provided.
“He was surprisingly calm. I told him what happened and I think now he understands why I want to join the police.”
Blowing the hair out of her face, she folds her arms. “He was definitely pissed,” she states.
“One hundred percent,” I laugh. “But he gets it.”
“Then maybe he can help Varo understand, too?”
“Maybe.” Sidestepping Haven, I make my way to my bedroom to start rummaging for something to wear. I’m really not in the mood to go out, but Haven and I both know I need this. I need to take my mind off what’s happened—even if it’s just temporary.
By the time I’ve selected my outfit—a pair of black skinny jeans and a glitter ball style crop top with matching straps—I’m pretty much ready to go. I’ve left my jet-black tresses wavy and wild, and my makeup dark like my soul.
In a matter of minutes, Haven is shoving me out the door and into the taxi she pre-booked. It doesn’t even take us as long as I thought to get to the club in question, and when the cab halts abruptly, I can see why Haven wanted to come here.
From the outside, the nightclub looks like a seedy place where you’d come to cover your illegal businesses up. With aline of people outside waiting to be permitted, Haven was right in saying this is the place to be.
She pays the driver before we step out onto the chilly sidewalk. As always, Haven is wrapped up in her big overcoat, which I can’t help but snort at as she pulls me past the line of grumbling patrons.
A burly man stands tall in the doorway to Mosaique, his demeanor intimidating to say the least. His face is stern, his neck covered in tattoos that are barely concealed behind his collar. He’s silent as he gives us a once over before nodding to his equally scary companion, whose thick tattooed fingers reach for the handle, pulling the door to the club open for us.
We walk through a lobby style room, where a coat check kiosk is situated to the side. Haven hands over her coat and then tugs me through another set of doors.
As soon as we step through, I’m hit with the sights and sounds that can only be described as an amusement park, yet I’m totally here for it. The ceiling is alight with multicolored lasers bouncing from every surface in the vicinity. The music pumps so loud that I can taste my eardrums, but that’s not what captures my attention.
It’s the women hanging from hoops and ropes and ribbons above us. They twist and twirl like acrobats, legs splitting, hair flipping and wide smiles blinding us from below. Mesmerized, I don’t realize I’m gaping until Haven shouts in my ear, snatching my attention. I have no idea what she just said, but when I snap my gaze to hers, she gestures for a drink.
I nod emphatically, tearing my gaze from the sight above and following my best friend to the bar. Thankfully, its bar is on the other side of the room, where the music doesn’t feel like it’s penetrating every orifice. I can hear Haven better now. Clearer, too. She orders us our usual drinks of choice whenever we go out, and I turn to admire the scene around me.
On the dance floor, bodies slide and grind to ‘Gimme what I want’ by Miley Cyrus, sweat glistening on their skin under the heat and intensity of the lights. It’s got a sexy, sultry vibe that bleeds into the fun and liberating atmosphere. Between the colors and music, I can anticipate losing myself in the crowd too, letting go of my inhibitions, ignoring my surroundings and just feeling the bass. With Haven by my side, it makes it a little easier to avoid the anxiety crawling up my throat from being in a room full of drunk guys eye-fucking us.
I turn back to Haven to find two glasses of champagne in front of us. “What’s this?” I grimace, lifting the glass to inspect it.
She shrugs back, gesturing to an area just away from the bar where a group of men lounge back in their private booth. I lock eyes with one guy as he lifts his glass in the air, and even though he’s partially hidden by the shadows, I recognize him in an instant.
“Haven,” I grind out. “We shouldn’t be here.”
She spins around, brows furrowed angrily. “Why not?”
“Because I’m pretty sure this place is owned by the Russians.”
A guiltless smile crosses her lips as she brings her glass to her mouth. She tosses the drink back effortlessly, sinking the entire thing before she licks her lips. “And the Russian alcohol tastes a hell of a lot better than Haldon’s,” she giggles.
Rolling my eyes, I raise my champagne flute to Milo, who watches us carefully, then sip the bubbly slowly. “You do know the Russians supply your brother with the same alcohol,” I state, turning around to avoid his eye contact.
“Ahhh… shut up and enjoy the night!” She spins around and saunters her way over to the light-up dance floor that reminds me of something out of Saturday Night Fever.
“Haven!” I call after her, but she doesn’t listen. While I don’t like the idea of being here, I follow Haven’s lead. Roman told me to stay away from Milo, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. It’s not my fault he was here at the same time as me.
I follow my best friend’s lead, sliding between the dancing bodies until we’re in the center of the room. I close my eyes as Haven takes my hands and we dance to the track of Ariana Grande’s ‘Bad Idea’. The irony of the title isn’t lost on me, but while I’m here with Haven, I’m at least staying out of trouble.
The music shifts between R&B and sultry pop, our bodies slick with sweat as I realize we’ve been dancing for over an hour. Gesturing towards the bar, Haven nods and I make my way over to order more drinks.
“What are you doing here, Lani?”
I jolt away from the bar at the familiar voice, my heartbeat thundering to the bass of the music and my own panic. I turn to see my brother leaning against the bar, his expression furious as he glares down at me, his dark brows knitting together.
“Vee,” I gasp, clutching my sequin top. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of?—”
