Chapter 11 Wren #3
Hours later, the apartment looks like a tornado tore through it.
Liv couldn’t decide on an outfit so there’s clothes everywhere.
Now she’s doing her makeup in the bathroom mirror while sitting in the sink.
She’s blasting a playlist called “Bad Decisions & Good Lighting,” while I sit cross-legged on the floor, trying to decide if I should be brave enough to wear the dress.
She turns, one eyebrow arched, eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man.
“Are you seriously hesitating right now? That dress was made for reckless choices and to get free drinks!”
I laugh, but it’s the nervous kind that has me clearing my throat. “It’s practically lingerie.”
“Exactly,” she grins. “Let the men grovel at your feet.”
Eventually, I cave, slipping into the red lingerie and black dress.
Adjusting the straps, I try to ignore the feeling of my heart about to beat right out of my chest. But when I look in the mirror, I don’t see the mess of the past week.
I see someone standing a little taller. Someone dangerous and alive.
Olive whistles low. “You hot bitch! You’re gonna start a riot tonight!”
We finish getting ready in a blur, waiting for the rest of the group to get here so we can all drive together. Liv wants to Uber but I don't trust those things.
“Come on, Wren. Just let me get the Uber so you can get shit faced, too. The whole point of a girls night out is to get drunk.” Liv gives me the most pitiful looking sad face that almost has me changing my mind.
“No, seriously it’s ok I’ll just drive us. I have to go in early tomorrow for Retta, she’s out sick.” Retta never calls off and she’s done it twice already. There’s no way I'm getting too drunk to be able to show up and that tends to happen when I go out with this group.
“Okay Captain Buzzkill, but you’re at least taking a shot with me.” Liv pulls out her phone and gives it a smirk, “Harper is here with the others, let’s go break some hearts, baby.”
With that, we set out to the car to meet the others. I can’t help but smirk back. It’s hard to stay in a shitty mood when Liv is around. She’s a walking, talking middle finger to sadness.
After all the anxiety while getting ready, I think I’m finally ready to enjoy the night and let go, or at least pretend that I have.
I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find out there.
Maybe a distraction or a spark of something real.
Maybe I need proof that the world hasn’t stopped spinning, even if mine has.
Or maybe I just need a fucking drink. Regardless, I have a gut feeling tonight is the turning point.
For what? I’m not sure, but I feel something's coming. And for the first time in days, I don’t feel afraid of it.
The bass hits before we’re even through the door. The music is loud and pulsing, even from outside. I can very clearly hear Southbound by Artemis playing through the doors. The bouncer barely looks at our group as he pulls the velvet rope aside, and suddenly we're inside.
The air shifts the second we step through the entrance. The Devil's Den. The club that looks as if you’re stepping into some twisted, high end version of hell.
Everything inside is soaked in deep reds and blacks.
Heavy velvet curtains drape the walls akin to some kind of demonic royalty.
Gothic arches tower overhead, making it look similar to an old cathedral with black marble floors.
The lighting is low and moody casting a warm, wicked glow over everything it touches.
So yeah, it was like hell, if hell had a dress code and bottle service.
A massive chandelier hangs above the main floor, all black iron and glinting red crystals, swaying slightly with the rhythm of the bass.
It gives the effect of blood dripping from the ceiling, making the room look more sinister and sexy.
Fog machines blow smoke low on the floor, causing it to look as if everyone is floating and the entire building is one big cemetery in the night.
Along the back wall is a golden staircase leading to the balcony level where the VIP booths sit, looking down over everything.
It’s how I imagine royalty peered down at their subjects.
One booth in the center is larger and slightly higher than the rest. Big enough for a large group and built to resemble a black and red velvet altar.
It’s the only booth that’s empty, probably reserved for someone important.
Most of the other booths are occupied by couples, which doesn't seem surprising with the atmosphere here.
What I wouldn't give to be them. To let loose and not worry about the consequences.
I trail after Harper. She’s the only one that has been here before so I’ll follow her lead. She brings us to the bar which is conveniently located between the dance floor and a section with smaller booths. She orders us all shots without asking, slapping her hand on the bar like she owns the place.
Olive giggles beside me, her eyes are wide, already feeding off the addictive energy of the clubaddictive energy of the club. I try to match her grin, but mine feels brittle and fake. I don’t know why I can’t just relax and forget about all the bullshit.
And then there’s Taylor. She’s draped across the bar, her tits practically spilling out of her top as she giggles at something the bartender says.
Thirsty bitch. I’ve only hung out with her a couple of times.
She’s one of Harper’s friends from…somewhere.
She always just shows up uninvited when the girls go out.
She's just a damn stray that figured out where we drink.
We’re friendly, sure, but something about her rubs me the wrong way.
Maybe it’s the way she touches people when she talks.
Her fingers clearly can’t stand to be alone.
Or maybe it’s the time I caught her doing coke in Pour Decisions’ bathroom and she just shrugged about it, as if it was just a casual Tuesday.
She’s loud, flirty, and always trying too hard, especially when there’s guys around. Which is exactly why I didn’t want to go out tonight. I knew there’d be a Taylor. There’s always a Taylor.
“Okay, we are not thinking about random hot assholes, or exes, or that one time you almost set Rich’s house on fire after you found tinder downloaded on his phone,” Olive says, giving me a look while handing me the shot of tequila Harper ordered.
“That was one time in the heat of the moment.” I mutter.
She winks. “Stand by it, bitch. It was iconic.”
The tequila is rough to swallow down, but I welcome the burn.
The music pulsates through my bones and the soles of the slutty boots I was forced to wear out.
I close my eyes and try to forget about all the bad shit and just live in the moment.
Olive and I take a total of four shots before she and the girls drag me to the dance floor, their bodies already in sync with the beat. It’s like they were born for this.
At first, I just move to keep up. I throw my hands in the air, let my hips sway to the rhythm of the music, and pretend to be someone else.
It feels like a different version of me is finally breaking out of its shell, and then, I feel the shift.
It’s almost as if the air got ridiculously thicker and warmer.
Like someone just turned a spotlight on my back.
I’ve been feeling this same sensation for weeks now, I already recognize what it is.
It’s them. They’re here, and they’re watching me.
I turn, slowly and deliberately, trying to be seductive in my movements and make it seem like I know what I’m doing and I do this all the time. My eyes don’t need even a second to find them. They’re magnets and I’m made of metal.
Lennox and Kage sit perched above the chaos of the Den in the center of the VIP section.
They’re drenched in low red light, parallel to devils at their bloodstained altar.
Kage’s eyes find me instantaneously, and suddenly I’m struck by lightning.
He’s sprawled in the booth like he owns the whole fucking building, dressed in an all black suit, one hand wrapped around a drink, the other resting on his thigh.
Is that an invitation? Or maybe a threat.
Lennox is beside him, impossibly still, wearing a matching black suit. His eyes are cold and his jaw locks when our eyes meet. He doesn’t look away, and neither do I.
Gasoline in the form of tequila floods my veins, and the heat it ignites has nothing to do with the music. I want them. Both of them. With a desperation that feels dangerous, and I couldn’t care less.
My pulse pounds between my legs. My body starts moving before I can stop it. My hips roll, my spine curves, and I dance. Not to keep up. Not to pretend. But for them.
For the way Kage’s mouth curves into something sinful and smug.
For the way Lennox’s fingers flex against the glass in his hand.
I know exactly how I look right now. A little wild, maybe even a little desperate.
Eyes glazed from the liquor and the heat of too many bodies.
I can feel someone else's hands on me, but I don’t care.
My skin is flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every beat of the bass.
I dance as if I’m offering something. I’m practically begging for them to take it.
And maybe I am.