44. Juliet #2
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 of Inferno and 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.
Roquel’s responding gasp tells me she has, in fact, seen him.
“That’s Tanner Bromwell,” I say. “His dad owns Faress Airlines. You might know him because he plays some douchebag in that vampire television series. Two years ago, he got caught snorting coke at some house party in Eastpoint. There was so much bad press about it that his parents forced him to go to rehab.”
“Oh, wow.” Roquel stirs her drink even as she eats up the sight of the guy and my words. “That’s so sad. Addiction can be so hard.”
“He wasn’t addicted,” I tell her. “He was trapped by expectation.”
“What?”
“Tanner’s not a drug addict,” I repeat. “He’s never even smoked a joint. His best friend died of a drug overdose when they were teens. He’s… I think in his mid-twenties now?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is, Tanner was in the wrong place at the wrong time and paparazzi got a picture of him in a room with other people snorting coke.
Didn’t matter that he hadn’t touched the stuff.
His father threatened to cut him off and his agent threatened to drop him if he didn’t go to rehab and make the public think he was clean. ”
“That’s…”
“When you’re rich, image and reputation are money,” I say. “Money is everything. People who grow up rich know no other life until they’re forced to. They’re trapped in their own little world and they can’t even see past the diamonds and mirrors to find out there’s more.”
“Well, that doesn’t really seem so bad,” Roquel murmurs. “I mean, so he had to go to rehab to keep his job and parents happy? I bet it was one of those nice places that lets you keep your phone and feeds you five-star meals every day.”
I shrug. “Sure,” I say. “Maybe. Is the food really that important when the cost is your freedom?”
Roquel’s upper lip curls and she huffs out a breath. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad for poor little rich kids then you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad for them,” I say honestly. “I just want you to know that not everything is as it seems.”
“Well, yeah, okay, I guess.” She takes another long gulp of her drink, but I can tell she doesn’t mean the words. That’s fine. It’s not my job to convince her that Tanner is a decent guy. He’s not amazing, but he’s also not the worst guy either.
“My point is—it might all seem pretty and dazzling, but it’s all fake.” I glance at my glass, wishing I had another one already.
“ Everyone’s fake.” Roquel snorts and polishes off her drink before setting it on the counter. “Rich. Poor. Doesn’t matter. Do you really think all of the girls at school that hang out with Megan actually like her? No.” She shakes her head. “They just don’t want to be her targets.”
I can definitely see that. Megan doesn’t strike me as the type of girl to be able to interest or keep real friends.
“All I’m saying is that losing everything actually freed me in a way.” The glow of the purple, pink, and blue lights catches the reflection of the floor and throws rainbows across the shiny fabric of my pants. “I don’t want to give that up.”
Real friendships. People who don’t use you. Men you can rely on. It’s invaluable.
If it came down to a choice between going back to my old life of money and privilege or staying where I’m at and having to work for the rest of my life, there’d be no competition.
I choose the life that won’t fuck me over in the end. I choose the Scorpion Kings.
“Let’s go to another level,” I say, passing a look back to Hughes before leaning closer to Roquel. “There’s a dance club on the third floor, but the VIP suites on the top floor have secret rooms if you find a guy you like.”
Roquel whips her head my way. “Sold!”