Chapter 5 – Madeline
The bar at Club V was a symphony of glittering glass and polished metal, catching the fractured light of the chandeliers overhead. I perched on one of the sleek stools, a glass of something bubbly in hand, though I wasn’t here to drink.
My focus was on the room — the subtle ebb and flow of its patrons, the unspoken hierarchy of who got noticed and who didn’t.
I swirled the champagne absently, keeping my expression neutral as I catalogued details.
It was a game of observation; one I was starting to get better at. The laugh of a woman too loud to be genuine. The subtle nod exchanged between two men in tailored suits who looked more business than pleasure. Every interaction here had a layer beneath the surface, and I was determined to uncover it.
“Second night in a row, huh? You must be having fun.”
The voice caught me off guard, light and playful against the backdrop of the thumping bass. I glanced up, startled for a moment before my gaze landed on a petite blonde woman standing beside me.
She looked like a real-life pixie, with bright blue eyes that sparkled with mischief and a smile that seemed permanently tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her hair was a cascade of soft, golden waves that framed her heart-shaped face, and the glitter dusted across her collarbone gave her an almost ethereal glow in the low club lighting.
“Something like that,” I replied, offering her a polite smile.
She shifted the tray balanced effortlessly on her hand, tilting her head slightly as she studied me. “You don’t seem like the partying type,” she added, her tone teasing but not unkind.
I raised an eyebrow, forcing a smile to mask the slight unease bubbling beneath my surface. “What makes you say that?”
She gave a little shrug, her lips quirking up into an even bigger grin. “Most people in here are either trying too hard to be noticed or trying too hard not to be. You? You’re just... watching.” She leaned in slightly, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s the tell.”
“Quinn Carson,” she said, introducing herself with a flourish. “Bottle service extraordinaire, expert people-watcher, and unofficial social queen of Club V. It’s practically my job to figure people out.”
She extended her hand, and I shook it, her grip surprisingly firm for someone who looked so delicate. “Madeline,” I replied, offering a small smile.
She repeated my name slowly, testing it out. “Madeline…” Her nose scrunched adorably as if she were tasting something sour. “Hmm. Nope, doesn’t fit.”
I blinked. “What?”
She grinned, leaning her elbow on the bar like we were already old friends. “I mean, it’s a fine name — very elegant, very ‘mysterious leading lady in a spy thriller.’ But you’re way too cute for ‘Madeline.’ I’m calling you Maddie from now on. Much better. Suits your gorgeous little face that I just want to smoosh.”
I stared at her, caught between laughing and being completely dumbfounded. “Uh… thanks? I think?”
“Don’t mention it,” she said breezily, waving a hand like she’d just solved a major world issue. “Honestly, you should thank me. Maddie’s friendlier. More approachable. Trust me, it’ll work wonders for your brand.”
“My brand ?”
“Absolutely,” she said, nodding sagely before her grin returned, bright and infectious. “So, Maddie, you look like you’re here for more than just the fizz.”
Her energy was so overwhelming, so utterly Quinn, that I couldn’t help but laugh, my shoulders relaxing despite myself. “You don’t even know me,” I said, shaking my head.
“ Yet ,” she replied, winking. “But stick with me, sweet girl, and we’ll be thick as thieves in no time.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be amused, exasperated, or both, but one thing was certain — Quinn Carson wasn’t someone you forgot.
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “And what makes you say that?”
She tilted her head, her loose waves tumbling over one shoulder as her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Most people come here for the atmosphere, the status, or — let’s be honest — the Instagram photos. But you?” She waved a finger in a playful arc. “You’ve got this energy, like you’re watching the room instead of being in it. That’s not your average V patron behaviour.”
I hesitated, caught between wanting to deflect and wanting to know what she’d say next. “And what kind of behaviour is that?”
Quinn tapped her tray with her nails, the sound rhythmic, as if she was thinking it over. “Hmm. It’s hard to explain. Like you’ve got a reason for being here. And I don’t mean the VIP lounge.” Her grin widened, a little teasing but laced with genuine curiosity. “You’re definitely not just here to blow off steam.”
“I guess I like to people-watch,” I said finally, keeping my tone casual.
“Fair enough,” she replied, straightening up but not losing her playful demeanour. “But if you’re people-watching here, let me give you some free advice — this place has a way of pulling you in deeper than you planned.” She leaned closer, her glitter-covered collarbone catching the light as she winked. “Stick with champagne and small talk. Trust me, it’s safer.”
“Safer?” I echoed, tilting my head, trying to gauge whether she was joking or if there was something more to her words.
Quinn’s smile shifted slightly, turning knowing, almost cautionary, but still bright. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I opened my mouth to press her further, but before I could, she straightened with a practiced ease, picking up her tray. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got VIPs waiting to be charmed. Pro tip, though — keep your head on a swivel.”
“Wait,” I called after her, unable to resist. “What’s the most interesting thing you’ve seen here?”
She paused mid-step, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and mystery. “Let’s just say this place has more secrets than the Vatican,” she said, her grin widening. “And twice as many sins.”
Before I could respond, she gave a cheeky wave and vanished into the sea of patrons, weaving through the crowd like she owned the place. Her words lingered long after she disappeared, settling into the back of my mind like a challenge.
I stared after her, my curiosity burning hotter than before. Quinn’s playful demeanour had been disarming, but there was something in her tone — something in the way her smile — that hinted at more.
She wasn’t just giving me a bottle girl’s version of cryptic charm. She was warning me.
For all her glitter and pixie-like energy, she seemed like a genuinely nice girl — someone around my age who didn’t take herself too seriously.
The idea of befriending her lingered. I didn’t know anyone here in Vegas. Since I’d moved away from New York, my world had shrunk considerably. I’d left behind my friends, the ones I used to grab late-night pizza with after long shifts or decompress with after particularly brutal deadlines.
And my sister?
Well, Camille and I hadn’t spoken in years.
Not since everything with our father.
The distance between us wasn’t just physical — it was carved out of misunderstandings and years of unspoken resentment.
I’d fought tooth and nail to uncover the truth, to clear his name, while Camille had kept her distance, convinced that fighting was a waste of time.
I used to think we’d reconcile eventually, that time would smooth over the cracks in our relationship.
As the years passed, the silences between us stretched longer, heavier, until it felt easier to just let them be.
I didn’t let myself dwell on it too much. That was a wound I’d learned to avoid prodding, the kind that didn’t heal but didn’t bleed openly either. It just lingered, a dull ache I kept buried under layers of busyness and purpose.
Vegas was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to focus on my work without the shadows of my past creeping in.
Standing there in the middle of Club V, Quinn’s words lingering in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the connections I’d left behind. Connections I wasn’t sure how to rebuild, even if I wanted to.
I straightened, shaking off the thought. That was something for another time — if ever.
The hallway was quieter than I’d expected, the pounding bass of the club reduced to a faint hum. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and glitter of the main floor — a space not meant to be seen by anyone who wasn’t supposed to be here.
I slipped through the slightly ajar door, careful to let it close softly behind me. The lighting was dim, utilitarian, a far cry from the opulent chandeliers and coloured spotlights of the club’s public areas.
My heels clicked softly on the tile floor, and I winced, adjusting my steps to make as little noise as possible.
My heart thudded in my chest, a mix of nerves and adrenaline. This was the kind of moment I lived for — the thrill of stepping into the unknown, of chasing down the threads others didn’t even realise were there to pull.
I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. A misplaced folder, a suspicious document, maybe even a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear. Anything that could crack open the secrets this place was hiding.
Ahead, the corridor branched off into a small network of doors. Most were unmarked, but a few bore discreet plaques — “Storage,” “Personnel,” and one that simply read “Restricted.” That one caught my attention immediately.
I moved toward it, my fingers brushing the handle, when a deep, gravelly voice cut through the silence behind me.
“You’re getting good at this sneaking-around thing.”
I froze, my pulse spiking, before turning slowly.
Jaxon stood at the end of the hallway, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. His broad frame seemed to fill the narrow space, and the dim light caught the sharp planes of his face, making his dark eyes even more intense.
I forced a smile, willing my voice to sound casual. “You’re really good at making me feel unwelcome.”
“That’s because you are unwelcome,” he said, his voice flat and unyielding as he stepped closer.
His presence was overwhelming — like he was carved from granite and just as immovable. The air between us felt sharp, charged, and just the tiniest bit infuriating.
“This place is huge. It’s easy to get lost.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, though I swore I caught the faintest twitch, like he was holding back a smirk.
“Save it,” he said, his tone clipped. “We both know you’re not lost. This isn’t a playground, Scout.”
“Scout again?” I quipped, folding my arms. “You sure like that name for me, don’t you? What’s next? You going to warn me about quicksand and bears too?”
He took another step closer, the weight of his gaze pinning me in place. “If I thought it would get you to stop, I just might.”
“Sounds like you’re worried about me,” I teased, unable to help myself.
“I’m worried about what kind of mess you’re going to drag me into,” he said, his jaw tightening. “This place isn’t for people like you.”
“People like me?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “You’re curious, stubborn, and you’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “You’re not wrong about the curious part. But as for the rest, maybe you shouldn’t assume so much. You might be surprised.”
He let out a sharp breath, his irritation evident. “What’s it going to take to get you to stay out of trouble?”
“Trouble?” I said, flashing a bright, saccharine smile. “I’m just a girl at a club. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?” I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to match his intensity.
The air between us felt charged, like a live wire waiting for a spark. I wanted to push him further, to see how far I could test him before he broke that gruff, controlled exterior.
But there was something else beneath the surface — something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and focused, but there was a flicker of something else there.
Concern?
“You’re going to get yourself in shit.” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make it sound more like a warning than a threat.
“Maybe I’m not as fragile as you think,” I replied, my tone sharper than I intended.
His gaze held mine, steady and unwavering, as if he were trying to unravel me with sheer force of will.
“Go back to the bar,” he said finally, his voice firm and controlled. “And stay there.”
I smiled sweetly, the kind of smile designed to push buttons. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered, I straightened, raised a hand, and gave him a quick, mock salute. “As you wish, Sir.”
The look he gave me could have melted steel, his eyes narrowing into something between disbelief and simmering annoyance.
For a split second, I thought he might actually laugh — or maybe explode — but he did neither, his restraint infuriatingly intact.
Turning on my heel, I walked away, my steps slow and deliberate, refusing to glance back. Even as I blended back into the crowd, I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and unrelenting.
And fuck, if it didn’t make the corners of my mouth twitch with satisfaction.
As I stepped back onto the main floor, the thrum of the music and the press of bodies hit me all at once, but it wasn’t enough to shake the feeling.
Jaxon.
Even with the crowd between us, I couldn’t shake the sensation that his eyes were still on me, like an invisible tether that refused to snap. It wasn’t just his words that lingered — gruff and warning, as if he thought I’d shatter if I pushed too far. It was the way he’d looked at me, his gaze piercing, as though he was trying to unravel every secret I’d ever tried to bury.
The moment I left the hallway, I’d told myself it was over. I’d made my exit, escaped unscathed, but Jaxon’s presence clung to me, just as impossible to ignore as it had been when he stood towering in front of me.
I sipped at the champagne I’d grabbed from a passing tray, the fizz doing little to settle the churn of emotions in my chest. I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed by his interference or… something else.
Scanning the room, I tried to focus. My purpose here hadn’t changed, even if the imposing head of security seemed determined to block my every step. I had a job to do, and no number of brooding stares or sharp words was going to stop me.
As I weaved through the crowd, I couldn’t help but feel it — that nagging sensation at the base of my neck, like I wasn’t just being watched by Jaxon anymore.
I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the faces around me. Most were distracted by the glitz and glamour of the club, lost in their own conversations or their overpriced cocktails. But as I turned back, my pulse quickened.
Someone was watching me.
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly who, but the weight of it was unmistakable.
My instincts screamed for me to stay calm, not to make it obvious that I’d noticed. So I took another sip of champagne, forced my shoulders to relax, and moved casually toward the bar.
Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe the adrenaline from my near-miss with Jaxon was still coursing through me.
Or maybe…
I swallowed hard, the thought trailing off unfinished.
Jaxon’s warning echoed in my mind:
“You’re going to get yourself in shit.”
Trouble. That’s what he thought I was. What he didn’t know — what I didn’t even want to admit to myself — was that trouble might already have found me.
I slid onto a barstool, keeping my movements calm. I wasn’t about to let whoever — or whatever — was following me think I was afraid. If there was one thing I’d learned, it was this:
Never let them see you sweat.