Page 301 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘Figure it out,’ Lachlan tells him.

He walks to the edge of the massive space and steps onto a speaker to lighthouse the crowd.

No sign of him.

The Men’s Room is on the other side.

Lachlan navigates quickly through the masses and heads inside, wincing helplessly at the sheer amount of not bathroom business going on, if the noises are anything to go by.

‘Hey, gorgeous,’ someone calls out to him. ‘You wanna—’

‘Nope,’ he answers sternly, and then calls out, ‘Julian!’ to a round of catcalls and cruel laughter, all of which he’s immune to. ‘Jules!’

Impatient with the lack of a response, he pulls himself up and peers over the stall doors one by one, ignoring protests.

He’s not there.

‘Fucking hell,’ he mutters, pulling out the phone again, showing the picture. ‘Anybody seen him? Anyone?’

‘I saw him,’ one guy pipes up, close enough to Julian’s age.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘For a twenty, I saw him real good.’

Lachlan hands it over.

The boy says, ‘He went up on the roof with some creep.’

‘When?’

‘Like two minutes ago.’

Lachlan makes it to the top floor in record time, so focused he’s practically seeing in black and white.

The rooftop portion of the club is VIP.

‘Membership card,’ the bouncer requests in a bored drawl.

‘I don’t have it on me,’ Lachlan says, pulling out his wad of emergency cash and handing the entire thing over.

The bouncer opens the rope. ‘Just keep a low profile.’

‘I will.’

The rooftop is enclosed beneath a vaulted glass canopy, the winter sky visible above through a dusting of light snow. Recessed heaters turn the air beneath tropically warm. Bronze fire columns burn between low velvet lounges. Black marble tables gleam with champagne buckets and silver trays not used to carry food. The music is quieter up here. Servers in sheer black move between private cabanas veiled in gold mesh, pouring drinks. Beyond the glass balustrade, Varrow spreads in every direction, high-rises dotted with pale gold windows, and in the distance, Lachlan can just about make out the silver line of the coast miles away, shining beneath the moon.

The most cursory of glances shows him that security is practically non-existent up here. Privacy and luxury have been prioritised.

No cameras, no one watching.

The bouncer is only there to grant or deny entry.

He knows Jules is up here.

Walking quietly, Lachlan picks up a tray and holds it the way the staff do, scanning absolutely everybody he can see.

Not Jules.