Page 10 of The Masked King

JADED.

I’ve no idea what kind of club it is, or how the pristine business card came to be on the back step of a busy bar at the precise moment I was there, but I kept it for a reason.

Maybe that reason is Bianca.

She always has this effect on me, even broken, as if she taints everything she touches.

Before I can talk myself out if it, I grab the card and close the bedroom door softly behind me as I go. The decanter of brandy is still on the coffee table where I left it, but I don’t need liquor.

I need a distraction.

There’s no sign at the address on the card to indicate that the club even exists.

No security outside.

No one coming or going.

It’s 2 a.m. But this is New York, the city that never sleeps. I’ve spent enough nights out on the town, drinking till dawn, and then moving onto private parties to know that an exclusive club with zero information on its business card will welcome the kind of clientele looking for a buzz after midnight.

I step up to the doorway and locate a hidden buzzer on a narrow panel between the frame and the door.

Almost immediately as I press it, the door swings open.

The small foyer inside is dark when the door closes behind me, and I instinctively slide my hand into my pocket.

A woman appears in front of me holding a flashlight in one hand. Her gray hair is scraped back into an austere bun so tight it slants her eyes. Her lips are painted red, the lipstick making her mouth appear wider and plumper than it is. She’s wearing a black suit and black turtleneck, no ID on her lapel, nothing to indicate that I’m in the right place, and that she isn’t a psychopathic serial killer waiting in the dark for her next victim.

“Invitation?” Her voice is softer than I expected, in complete contrast to her severe appearance.

“Will this do?” I produce the business card embossed with shiny green letters.

A small smile appears and then vanishes as quickly as it came. “The entrance fee is ten thousand dollars.” She produces a card reader with almost superhuman agility and holds it in front of me.

“Maybe the invitation should carry a warning about how much it costs to get in.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

I smile involuntarily. “You raised the fee because I queried it?”

“Twenty. Pay it or turn around and walk away, no questions asked.”

In any other circumstances, I might be tempted to do just that. But I’m here now, and my curiosity is piqued, and my sister is currently unconscious in my bed.

I pull my Centurion card from my wallet, tap the top of the card reader, and tuck it away again along with the so-called invitation. This will be the most expensive drink I’ve ever ordered, assuming they hold a liquor license.

“I’ll take that.” The woman shines her flashlight on my wallet and holds out her other hand, palm upward. When she has it in her possession, she adds, “You’ll get it back when you leave.”

“Am I supposed to trust you?”

“The door is right behind you if you don’t.”

I incline my head and wait for her to continue. The room is so dark, the only light from the flashlight in her hand concentrated on the two of us, so I haven’t seen another door.

“Cell phone and weapons next.”

Maybe I should consider cutting my losses at twenty grand and walking away, but my Spidey senses are telling me I’m in no immediate danger of losing my life, and whatever comes next is going to be worth it.

Or it’s at least going to make me forget Demi for a short while.