“There’s a charity gala being held next Friday,” Stuart continues. “He expects you’ll be more than happy to provide him with a date for the evening.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?” I taunt. “You couldn’t fit in a dress?” As his features twist, I pivot away from him and start down the steps without giving him time to form a retort. Whether or not Stuart is in love with his boss or if he simply thinks the man walks on water doesn’t matter to me, he obviously thinks I’m some sort of leach. He doesn’t deserve my manners or respect.
By the time I reach the back of the limo waiting for me, Roquel is already inside, giggling and popping the bottle of champagne waiting there. Murphy stands to the side, holdingopen the car door for me. His expression is kind and I wonder if he, too, knows the kind of man he’s working for.
Do any of them know the real monster that lives in Silverwood?
I slide inside and the door shuts behind me. Seconds later, both Murphy and Hughes get into the front and the partition goes up as the car starts and the limo pulls away from the Calloway mansion. I lean back in my seat as Roquel pours two glasses of bubbly liquid. She shoves one in my hand and I don’t even flinch as I put the rim to my lips and down it all in one go.
Hopefully, she’s right and even with Morpheus’ threats still lingering over my head like a sword of Damocles, being away from the mansion and out of his sight for a night will help me find myself again. All I need is one chance.
Inferno is the kind of nightclub that children of the rich and famous take for granted. It’s not unusual to spot Hollywood stars or parts of their entourage—producers, up-and-coming musicians, minor B-list celebrities—being led past the red-roped doorway.
As Roquel expected, there is a line of girls clad in skimpy dresses and guys with their hair styled like they just walked off an ad for men’s conditioner. And as Stuart told her, we drive right up to the entrance and Hughes gets out of the limo, opening our door and accompanying us past all of them.
“This is so cool,” Roquel gushes, hanging on my arm as her heels clack on the sidewalk.
“Yeah.” What little excitement I had has waned in the hour it took us to get here, only a little longer thanks to the traffic.
I have no expectations of seeing the guys here; as far as I know, they rarely leave Silverwood if it’s not to run an errand for Darrio Vargas. No, I’m not planning on running into them. My schemes involve something much more intricate. There’s a reason I chose Inferno, after all. Morpheus might know Inferno’s owner—but I know someone just as connected. The owner’s son. Paris Troyan.
The second we make it beyond the door, ignoring the whines and moans of those still shivering outside, Hughes falls back and Roquel takes the lead. Her eyes are round as she takes in the first floor of Inferno. Nine levels, the club is a beauty, full of everything from quiet lounges to loud dance floors.
“I don’t know where to even start…” Roquel pauses in front of a staircase that leads down into the main level where several round lounges and tables are already teeming with patrons.
Sucking in a breath, I plaster a smile on my face and link my arm with hers. If I’m going to make this work and get away from Morpheus’ guard dogs then that means taking advantage of every tool in my arsenal and whether she realizes it or not, Roquel is probably my best weapon.
“This is a public floor,” I tell her, leaning close. “We’re going up to VIP, remember?”
Big brown eyes swivel to meet mine. “This is…” She looks back to the glittering floor and bedazzled ceilings. I can imagine how it must look to someone who’s never seen so much opulence before.
The floors are black marble, so shiny that they reflect the hanging beads that come down in arcs from above. The music on this floor is low and rhythmic, quiet enough for people to actually hear themselves think and talk. That’s not what I want at all.
“Come on.” I urge Roquel down the short stairs and to the left, following a path all the way past the lounges to the bar there.I cast a look back at Hughes. “We’ll be good,” I tell him. “Are we allowed to have a few drinks?”
Hughes merely nods. Underage or not, with enough money, people turn a blind eye. Roquel looks like she’s ready to sign up to swap bodies.
I step up to the bar and a bartender immediately pauses. “Two Hurricanes,” I say. He nods and continues on as Roquel turns to face me, propping her hip on the edge of the long silver-and-black counter.
“Okay, so I seriously don’t know what you’ve been complaining about,” she says. “You get to do shit like this—come to the city, go to nightclubs, get first-class service—and you… want to come back to Silverwood Public?” Her brow furrows and she shakes her head. “I just don’t get it.”
I press my lips together, glancing back as Hughes takes up residence against the wall some feet away. The sensation of his intense gaze roving the room before landing on me again and again is a reminder that no matter what Roquel might see—the glitz and the glam ofInfernoand the beautiful closet full of designer clothes—nothing in the world is free.
For all of this, the payment is my fucking soul and body.
The bartender drops two frosted glasses with reddish-orange liquid atop two black napkins before us. “Compliments, of course, Miss Donovan,” he says, nodding to me.
Roquel’s eyes go round and I immediately have to repress a scowl as I lift one of the glasses to my lips. I suck back a sharp punch of the alcohol and juice mixture. As the man disappears down the counter, she turns back to me.
“Holy shit, he knew who you were?”
“Stuart said that Morpheus was taking care of it,” I remind her. “And I’ve been here before.”
She takes her drink, eyeing me over the top of it. I finish mine in record time, slipping the empty glass back onto the bar before I turn away and lean back against the counter.
“You’re so weird,” she murmurs, sipping on her drink.
I laugh, but the sound is hollow. “Do you see that guy over there?” I ask, pointing out a man with a leather bomber jacket chatting up a redhead that’s clearly not giving him the time of day.
