Chapter 16 Eva
EVA
For the last few days, Penny and I have been capitalizing our evenings planning Thea’s birthday while she’s out running. Her mum lives in Australia, and her father and sisters are in France this year, so we are organizing a surprise for her.
Though after tonight, her present may get a downgrade.
Because there is pineapple on the pizza, again. Fish and chips from the local chippy was the original plan, but apparently that’s not allowed because it’s not Friday. Thea’s rigid rules are a pain in the arse.
My roommates and I gather on the leather couch in front of the coffee table. Penny plops next to me, squeezing me between her and Thea.
“Is Caden coming over?” Penny asks with a smile and wiggles her eyebrows.
The girl is persistent. I’ll give her that. “No, he said he had a thing.”
“More likely, he doesn’t want to be ambushed by you again,” Thea points out and picks three slices from the takeaway box.
How this girl is so thin when she eats like that, I don’t understand.
I guess her daily runs and active metabolism take care of it.
Me? I get breathy from climbing the stairs, so I have to really watch myself.
Like tonight, when I’m sticking to beer and peanuts.
Because, frankly, that pizza is not worth the extra calories.
“What? I was just being friendly,” Penny complains.
“He was supposed to stay with us for a week, and he couldn’t have run out of here faster.”
I bite my lip then sip my beer, looking down at my feet. That may not be Penny’s fault. But I can't tell them that.
“Hey, I’m not London-bred like you two. In Devon, if you saw a nice guy, you had to act fast or they were gone.” Penny waves a hand. “Anyway, I’m glad he isn’t here. Girls’ night in is exactly what I needed today.”
Thea stops eating, and I stop drinking. Then we exchange a look.
“Did you say… a night in?” I ask.
Penny rolls her eyes, theatrically. “What, I’m not capable of one night in?”
“No,” Thea and I answer together, shaking our heads.
“Fine.” Penny sighs, throwing out both her arms. “The Vault is shut down. Some idiot fried the electrics. And I’m banned from my usual group because I slipped and broke their precious table lamp.
There is an event at 99—Poker and Pleasure,” she says, enthusiastically, then makes a face.
“But it’s invite-only and super-exclusive. So, I guess I’m stuck with you two.”
“Thanks,” Thea mocks. “Maybe I should have taken that extra shift at the library instead.”
“Is there literally anything more boring than a library, T?” Penny groans. “You’ve got to indulge a little.”
“I’m very happy with my boring life, thank you very much.” Thea smiles, then turns to me. “By the way, you were right, Mason Grant was fine. I saw him on his Ducati earlier.”
“Told you,” I mutter.
“So, what’s the deal with the Grants and your grandfather, again?” Penny asks while pouring hot salsa over her slice of pizza.
“Not sure.” I shrug, biting my nails. “Old business rivalry, I think. I never asked.”
“Good for your grandfather. Reginald Grant is super scary. I mean, you don’t need a DNA test to confirm Mason is his son, right? Even though Mason’s hotter than this sauce.” Penny licks the hot salsa off her finger.
My jaw hardens, I don’t know why. I shouldn’t care. No, actually, I don’t care.
“Oh, don’t look so sour.” Penny makes a face. “At least he’s better than the grim reaper.”
“Kane Berkeley?” I ask. “He’s the alumni, right?”
“Yeah, he’s the oldest,” Thea confirms. “Wonder what it’s like in their house, with Mason, Hugo, and Kane and all that devious energy.”
“I dread to think,” I mumble.
“Okay, answer me this.” Penny slaps the leather arm of the couch. “If you had to, which one of those three would you kiss, which one would you marry, and which one would you kill?”
Thea chuckles, half-choking on her beer. “I think the kill is obvious, don’t you? Anyone in their right mind would choose Kane.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Hugo is pretty annoying.” My injured hip throbs in agreement. “Besides, I would rather not go near Kane, even if it was to kill him.”
“Well, at least we can all agree who we’d all kiss.” Penny giggles, toying with her hair. “Mas—”
“Can we stop the Fort talk?” I cut her off.
“Okay, okay.” Penny holds up a hand. “I got carried away. No more Fort talk.”
Thea puts on a new film on the TV, while Penny returns to scrolling on her phone, lazily hanging her legs off the couch while lying across my lap.
Her scrolls are basically cyber-stalking Caden nowadays.
It’s a shame Cade’s not into her. Penny is a jewel compared to the revolving door of flings he has had in the past.
A few minutes later, something on her phone catches my eye. A photo of Caden, and a poker table, with chips stacked.
“Where is that?” I ask.
“99,” Penny whispers. “Looks like he was invited. Lucky Ginger, huh?”
She flicks through more photos, showing his roommates and Hugo in the background too. I grab the phone from Penny’s hand, ignoring her gobsmacked expression, and go back to the first photo with the stacked chips.
That’s a lot per player.
“Do you know how much the buy-in is?”
“10K.” She shrugs, like it’s nothing. And maybe to others, it is nothing.
But to my friend, that's a crazy amount of money. After Caden’s dad left, his mum really struggled.
Dad worked with Linda for years. He confided in me when I naively invited them to our skiing trip to the Dolomites.
I have been careful not to bring it up with him, even when I confront his toxic gambling addiction.
But I know for a fact the only way he bought into this game is if he didn’t. Someone else did.
Is he nuts? Borrowing money from the actual mob? What the fuck is wrong with him?
I jump to my feet, knocking over my empty beer bottle.
“And where do you think you are going?” Thea demands as I run into my room.
“99.”
My feet slap against the pavement, my short, pointy heels slipping on the uneven stone with every other step as I trek across long cobbled streets. I tug on the hem of my dress, left, then right, then left, as if somehow symmetry will cure the pricking unease crawling up my skin.
I underestimated how far away this stupid secret club actually is.
99 seems to be hidden behind tall abandoned buildings, at the deep end of the dodgy side of Fort, where I have never been before.
No shit. I can’t even go to the salon without Jack or one of the guards following me, let alone a place like this. The Uber driver would only drop me off a few streets away, so I have had to walk through shady back alleys to get there.
Alone.
In the dark.
Wearing a short crimson Versace dress.
I would have rather worn something that would make it easier to blend in, but when Penny said red was the theme for tonight, I didn’t have a choice.
Cold air freezes my breath, all the way down to my lungs, as I slowly make my way, looking at the phone for directions and getting weird looks from rowdy strangers.
I have been complaining about my protection detail for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to find yourself walking alone in the middle of the night in strange places.
My fingers tug on the curls of my hair-do that Penny did in a rush before she slapped a criminally red lipstick on my lips to match my dress. Thea stood by the door with her arms crossed, silently begging me not to go.
But what was I supposed to do?
Caden wasn’t picking up his phone. I had left seven voicemails without a reply. And Jack wouldn’t take me. He shut me down before I finished talking. He’s not allowed inside these clubs. And if he can’t come in, there’s no way he’s letting me near the place.
“It’s your security I’m responsible for,” he said. “Not every stray you collect by the minute.”
Apparently, my friends’ safety and wellbeing isn’t part of his job description.
Well, screw him. It’s part of mine.
Finally, I turn the corner of the alley and find myself in front of the neon-red sign.
99.
My steps falter as I stare at the daunting building, set back from the road, which resembles a gatehouse of an estate, hidden behind tall gates. A place that could shut down its iron doors if the police accidentally show up.
For a moment, self-preservation washes over me. “Am I really doing this?” I mutter to myself.
Behind me, a car horn blares, jolting me into motion. And then it’s too late. I’m standing outside the silver gates, facing the bouncer, who stands outside the entrance, thick arms folded over his muscular chest, face carved in stone, eyelids half-closed in permanent boredom.
“Invitation,” he growls.
He measures me curiously as I fumble for the red envelope Mason gave the other day, hoping desperately it’s still valid. When I finally find it, he scans the barcode.
The machine beeps green, and I let out a sigh of relief.
The silver gates creak open. I take a deep breath, swallowing said self-preservation, and walk in with a pit in my stomach.
Every step feels like a mistake, but I steel my nerves as I walk through the dark lobby. I pass the neon-red sign of Poker and Pleasure into a room with red-and-black décor and lace eye masks laid out on a thin console table. I grab one, sliding it on before anyone recognizes me.
As I step deeper into the main lounge, I’m thankful for the disguise.
This place is not The Vault. No crowds, no strong smell of beer, not even much noise. Just hushed whispers, intimate, diffused, candlelight, and soft background music. People sit around on sofas and armchairs in small clusters.
But that’s not all.
Girls and some guys walk around wearing something between nothing and barely anything, gliding into dark hallways arm in arm with guests.
They are all in red. Guests in black.
Fuck.