"You sure it’s okay I’m here?" I chew my lip, nerves prickling my gut.
"Yes, of course," Jeremiah says easily. "Our meeting will be quick. After that, we dance."
Their boss called this meeting. Something about territory, money, drug-dealery stuff. I don’t ask questions. I’ve learned not to. The less I know, the safer I stay.
The invite came with a location: Rave. A downtown club I’ve only ever heard whispered about, but never entered. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I could never afford a night out there. Apparently, their boss owns it.
“W.W.B.W.D.?” Jeremiah leans down and murmurs in my ear.
I grin despite myself.What Would Blair Waldorf Do?A mantra I started saying years ago, half-joke, half-prayer. Jeremiah caught me saying it once, and now he uses it to nudge me when I need a boost of confidence.
I roll my shoulders back and set my face. Resting bitch face, activated.
Tonight, I look like the woman I’ve spent the past yearpretending to be. Someone poised. Someone dangerous. Desired, even.
My hair falls in loose waves. My makeup’s sultry and sharp. The shimmery nude mini dress I’m squeezed into glows against my tan skin. I feel hot. I just don’t feel like I belong. Not yet. But I’ll fake it until I do.
We bypass the line. At the door, Pauly gets a fist bump from the bouncer and we’re waved through. No ID check. No questions.
Inside, the hallway is dark and narrow, but the lights ahead pulse like they’re beckoning. The music swells with every step we take. We have to push through packs of sweaty, beautiful people before we finally break into the club’s main room. And it’s stunning.
A live DJ is elevated on a lit platform. The crowd below him is pure movement. Grinding, laughing bodies shimmering under kaleidoscope lights. It’s intoxicating. Chaos, but somehow choreographed.
We make our way to the bar. I order a vodka cranberry because it’s the only halfway elegant drink I know. Something tells me they probably don’t do dollar beer here...
While I scan the club, a man in a tailored suit approaches. He’s handsome, with brown skin, neatly twisted dreads, and a smile that says he doesn’t have to try. The kind of man who owns the room just by standing in it.
"Pauly. Jeremiah," he greets, teeth impossibly bright.
"Marcus," Pauly replies, instantly deferential. "We were just heading to VIP."
"No sweat. I saw you on my way in." Marcus’s gaze lands on me. "Who's your friend?"
“She’s not involved,” Pauly answers, a little stiff.
Marcus shrugs. “Bring her. Wouldn’t want to leave a beautiful woman by herself.”
He turns and walks away without waiting for confirmation.He’s the kind of man who knows we’ll follow.
I glance at Jeremiah, uncertain. He sighs and takes my arm. “Just stay quiet. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t give any more information than necessary.”
We trail Marcus to VIP. The bouncers barely glance at us. Upstairs, the noise dulls. Glass walls overlook the dance floor, and the space is outfitted with private booths and top-shelf everything.
Marcus slides into one of the booths like he owns it. I guess it’s because he does.
"What’s your name, gorgeous?"
"Aro," I say, gripping my drink too tight.
He watches me take a sip. "How come I haven’t seen you before?"
"I don’t usually hang around this part of town."
"And what part do you usually hang around?"
I glance at Pauly. He gives a subtle nod.
“The poor part.”
