“Nice,” I hear myself say but then another woman across the room joins the other two and heads into the back of the club.
“What are the red envelopes all about?”
Kiara and Calla look at each other over the rims of their glasses and then back to me.
“You don’t know about the red letter wishes?”
Calla pours me another tequila from the bottle on the table and then leans in. “Word is, Red Letter wishes are basically the hotline help button.”
I stop mentally cruising around the room and draw my full attention back on my friend. “Help hotline. Go on.”
Kiara takes over while the men they are with listen as intently as I am. She sits up on her man’s lap and leans toward me on her elbows like she’s revealing a guarded secret and well, it probably is.
“Yeah. Crazy right? It’s like magic. But definitely not free. You write what you want, put it in a red envelope and drop it in their wish box somewhere back there.”
My curiosity has me mirroring Kiara’s posture and leaning in as if we are sharing top secret details. “What kind of wishes do they grant? And for how much?” It’s not like I have money, but maybe they don’t charge money all the time. My V-card is worth something.
Don’t judge me. Not until you have your life ripped away and promised to a man as slimy as Magnus Sterling.
Calla shrugs a slender shoulder. “Any kind, I guess. They are the mafia. I don’t think morals guide them as much as money does.”
True. “Do they always grant your wish?”
Kiara shakes her head, causing the tendrils of blond hair framing her heart-shaped face to dance. “Don’t know, babe. If they decide you’re worth their time I guess they do.”
Interesting.
Kiara’s face enters my line of vision when I look up from the golden liquid of my tequila. “I see your wheels turning. What are you thinking?”
I shake my head and grab for the makeup on the table. “Nothing. Just curious.”
I shoot back my third tequila and muster up some bravado for what I am about to do. I wiggle the compact and lipstick. “I’m going to the Princess room. You guys gonna dance?”
Kiara’s eyes light up and she shoots to her feet, dragging her current man-meat with her. “Come on, handsome. I want you to grind on me!” Kiara pulls her date to his feet and Calla does the same with hers.
I step away from the table without another glance at my friends and follow the two women with red envelopes clutched in their perfectly manicured hands. They move with purpose, weaving through the crowd of beautiful people sipping expensive cocktails as if they know exactly where they’re going.
And I suppose they do.
The black curtain appears at the far end of the lounge, heavy velvet that swallows light. The women slip through without hesitation, and I pause at the threshold, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
Beyond this curtain requires a membership. I know this. Everyone knows this. The Scarlet Thorn has layers, and the deeper you go, the more exclusive—and expensive—it becomes.
I should turn back. Go find Calla and Kiara. Pretend I’m fine until my father’s enforcers show up to take me back to my cage.Smile through the wreckage of my life for another hour before my father’s men drag me back to my gilded prison.
But then one of the women glances over her shoulder and holds the curtain aside. She doesn’t ask for my membership card or question whether I belong here. She simply waits with the casual patience of someone who assumes I’m one of them.
So I follow. Because tonight I am done being the obedient daughter who asks permission.
The corridor beyond is a study in darkness and decadence. Matte black walls stretch before us, scattered with gold leaf that catches the dim lighting from overhead chandeliers like fallen stars trapped in midnight. Our heels click against black marble, the sound echoing in rhythmic percussion as we descend deeper into the belly of the Scarlet Thorn.
No one speaks. The silence feels sacred somehow, like we’re entering a sacred place.
At the end of the corridor stands a single red door with gold handles that gleam like they’ve been polished by devoted hands. The first woman slips inside, and my breath catches. She’s only gone a second before she emerges, tucking her clutch under her arm with a satisfied smile.
The woman in front of me is next. I can’t help the quiver of hope that skates over my nerve endings as I watch her disappear through that crimson threshold.
I press a hand to my stomach, willing it to settle. But my body hasn’t listened to me in years. I don’t know why it would obey my command now.
