“Not yet, honey. I need you to meet someone.” Her voice is so ridiculously sweet, almost covering the rot inside her.
The car stops in a dark alley full of other shiny luxury cars and we head to some club.
I hate clubs.
I was supposed to learn about this the normal way—sneaking out of my room in the evening, meeting my friends and going clubbing with fake IDs, getting drunk, and then sneaking back to our homes in the early morning.
But no, I got to know it differently—dark private strip rooms smelling like cash, girls twice my age with huge boobs almost dripping out of their corsets, and VIP booths with lines of coke I would never touch.
We walk through the hall, descending the stairs to the VIP section as Sylvia instructs me.
“You’re finally gonna meet Lucien Devereaux and his son. He’s a bit older than you. Remember, his father is one of the highest-ranking men in Vermilion. You need to make a good impression.”
I barely hear her as we get to the VIP section and the music is banging so loud it hurts my ears. We get to a booth with three men already sitting in it.
One is quite old, blonde hair slicked backwards. Next to him is probably his son. He instantly lifts his hand and introduces himself.
“Lucien. Nice to finally meet you, you must be Kasien.”
What? He’s named Lucien too?
Jesus Christ, can this be any more ridiculous?
Even his light blond hair is slicked back the same way as his old folk’s.
He’s much bigger than me. He must be eighteen at least. I try to be as polite as possible, sitting next to them.
“So, you’re the Varner boy,” he smirks and lifts his glass. “You look younger than I expected.”
He’s pissing me off already.
“You look like you copy your father’s haircut,” I say and gesture to the girl with drinks to bring me the same he has.
Lucien lifts an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk. Sylvia gives me a short death stare, then gets back to her old friend.
“Bold,” Lucien mumbles.
“Not really, just honest.”
Lucien leans backward, relaxing on the sofa, still staring at me, while I stare at the dancers.
“So do they make you sit through the negotiations too?”
I turn to him, checking the vibe.
“Every single one,” I respond quietly, the annoyance in my voice very obvious.
Lucien lifts his drink just when the girl brings me mine.
“Cheers to being raised for shit we didn’t ask for,” he says with a weird hint of sentiment in his voice.
I hesitantly lift my glass and clink it with his, not giving him an answer.
We may have shit in common but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends.
He looks like a snake. Also like those popular jocks from high school teen movies.
We swap some words here and there, both of us visibly bored and wanting to be somewhere else. Rick left and didn’t come back, and Sylvia is disgustingly close with Lucien’s father.
