Chapter Three #2
It doesn’t take me long to pull up to Shadows to Nate.
Mr. Bright Eyes.
Part of me wants to reach out to him; offer to help, though I know I shouldn’t.
Sure, it’s not all that farfetched that I might do something like that; I’ve checked on survivors before, so it’s not like I’d be doing something out of the ordinary.
But it’s more than just curiosity about the guy’s well-being or seeing how he’s doing.
I want to touch him. Run my fingers through his hair—which must be soft as hell—and hold him against me until he unravels all that tension he’s carrying. Something tells me the fire isn’t his first catastrophe.
Which is precisely why I should not text Lacey at the tender hour of twelve-thirty and ask about him.
Absolutely not.
I let out a frustrated growl and decide to get out of the car, otherwise I don’t think I ever will. I remind myself why I’m doing this, why I’m here.
Once, this place was a comfort. Now it feels like being gone for twenty years and coming home for a funeral.
I pull out my phone and pull up my app to scan my QR code that lets me into the building.
Most of the patrons have to reserve a table or a room or get on the waiting list because the main floor that’s open to the public fills up quickly.
Though there’s no line right now because it’s still decently early enough.
This place sees the most activity around one-thirty a.m. I don’t know why, that’s just how it is.
The doors open automatically, and I enter to see Leighanne working the podium.
“August! So lovely to see you..”
She flashes a sensual smile my way, and I nod at her.
Just hearing someone say my name—my real name, August—almost makes me stop dead in my tracks and reconsider.
I chose to go by August here—when I am teaching or playing—because I wanted to keep my job and my personal life separate. Lot of good that did me.
“Who’s working tonight?” I ask, my heart already starting to race.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t looked at the sub list yet. Though FoxStar is doing a electro-bondage demo in about ten minutes upstairs.” She flashes her eyelashes at me, and I wonder if this was a good idea at all.
“Thanks,” I grunt as I shuffle past her podium. I think maybe I need a drink first. Just to settle my nerves.
I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve done this a hundred times. More than that, probably. So why do I feel like it’s the first time all over again? It’s only been two years, not twenty!
Two years is a long time… maybe I’m just rusty.
Maybe I just need to jump back in head first.
The hallways are familiar, but not the same.
The black and red motifs etched in the wallpaper, the aura of warmth that heats the closer I get to the main dance floor.
The music is deep, and heavy on the bass.
Some woman sings about Ghostface and dark romance books amidst the hellish melody, and I note the crowd is pretty thick.
The bar is packed with people, as is the dance floor. The crowd makes my skin crawl. One thing I’ve always loved about this place was its intimate feel. This isn’t intimate. Not by a long shot. It’s damn near claustrophobic.
But before I can turn around, I hear a familiar voice.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Daddy August, in the flesh.”