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“Aw, no way!” he responds enthusiastically. “You’re so lucky! Me and my bros have been wanting to get in there for ages. Are you waiting in line or are you on the list?”

It’s just small talk, I remind myself, fighting a panicked feeling at his questions. Once upon a time, this wouldn't have bothered me, but now, with the amount of times a stranger turned out to be one of Colton’s PIs, I’m paranoid. But no, there’s no way that a random Uber driver who got called from an app is really in league with my ex. There’s got to be limits to my craziness.

“I’m on the list,” I reply tightly. My arms come up around my middle again and tighten, comforting me slightly.

“Wow,” says College, super impressed. “You must be super connected. Hey, if I gave you some names, do you think that you could get me and my friends on the list? We’ve tried to get in before, but the lines are crazy long, and we ended up wasting an evening.”

“Are you even old enough to get into a club?” I ask skeptically. From what Jade described to me, Sacrilege sounds like an over twenty-one kind of club.

College grins at me in the rearview mirror again. “We’ve got some good fakes.”

Ah, to be young and trying to sneak into clubs again. I can’t even really remember being that innocent. But I’m only twenty-four. It wasn’t that long ago, but I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the last nine months, but mostly in the last three.

“Sorry,” I say before looking out the window. “It was my friend who got me into the club. I don’t have that kind of pull.” I keep my gaze out the window, trying to say without words that I'm done talking. College seems to get the message, and the rest of the drive is in silence.

About twenty minutes later, we finally pull up in front of the club. The rain is lighter on this side of town, and I can make out the building as we approach. It’s huge, bigger than I expected. Jade said that it was in an old church that’s been converted into a club, but she could have mentioned that it was a whole damn cathedral. Black stone spires reach into the night sky, lit up in hues of red and blue from spotlights on the ground. The huge wooden double doors stand atop hewn stone steps, and a line stretches from the door down the road, even in the rain. College wasn’t kidding when he said it was crazy. The whole thing is topped with a neon sign reading “Sacrilege,” in huge red letters. The whole place looks and feels taboo, just from the outside. My stomach clenches again. The whole sexy party thing was never really my scene. I really don’t belong here, but I have a mission.

I get out of the car, and College rolls down his window, passing me a card. “In case your friend is feeling generous,” he smiles, looking young and charming. Maybe before Colton, I’d have been swayed by that charm, but instead, it just leaves me feeling nervous. I don’t want to refuse his card, though. What if he gets mad? I don’t risk it. Instead, I give him my no-teeth smile and slip his card into my little clutch. I’ll throw it away later.

Turning away from the car, I remember Jade’s instructions. Ignoring the line, I walk up to the door where an absolutely terrifying-looking man stands at the entrance. He makes our bouncers look like choirboys. The same tattoo I remember on Mr. Scary is inked onto his throat, along with more ink I don’t recognize, but some of it looks like the kind you get in prison. He has a tablet in front of him, and he looks up as I approach, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Honestly? I get it. Looking at the crowd lined up down the block, I see plenty of girls way prettier than me and dressed to kill. I wouldn’t think much of me either.

I try not to feel totally insecure as I say, almost shouting over the din of the muted music from inside and the rain. “Hi, I’m on the list.”

Mr. Scarier again looks skeptical, but when he responds, his deep bass is still polite. “Name?”

“Andromeda Smith,” I reply. “Jade sent me?”

That last part was supposed to be a statement, but it turns into a slightly pleading question. A couple of girls in designer mini dresses at the front of the line are staring absolute daggers at me as I talk to the bouncer. The jealousy in their eyes is close to hatred, and I can see them picking apart my appearance. I thought I looked pretty good when leaving my apartment, but now I am hugely aware of my ill-fitting dress and light makeup. I should have at least put on a red lip.

At the sound of Jade’s name, however, the bouncer’s demeanor changes. There’s a hint of respect now in his features. He scrolls through the list on his tablet and then says, “Andromeda Smith. There you are. Come this way.”

He unhooks a velvet rope to his left, and I step through, leaving the girls in line to stare hatefully at my back. As I pass the bouncer, he presses a hand to his ear and says, “Boss? She’s here.”

Boss? Mr. Scary? Was he waiting for me? I know that Jade called him to ask him to bring me in front of his boss to ask for protection, but I didn’t know that Mr. Scary was a “boss” himself. Ignoring the persistent feeling that I’m about to do something stupid, I ascend the stone steps. At the top of the steps, there's a door with another intimidating bouncer. He opens the door for me as I approach. Sound like a wall hits me, the music blasting at full force. My delicate musician’s ears feel assaulted, but there’s nothing I can do but go in.

Inside is amazing. That’s the only word for it. The architecture is lit with colored lights, showing off the neo-Gothic decor. The walls are carved with saints and gargoyles, and immense columns stretch all the way down a vast room. Up on the dais where a priest would have given a sermon, a state-of-the-art DJ table rests instead. A man in a mask is at the board, controlling the thumping music. I’m not really into this kind of music, but I think I recognize the mask from a billboard somewhere. Do they have a famous DJ in-house?

I stand kind of like a deer in the headlights, looking at the tableau in front of me. The religious fixtures are at odds with the carnal displays all around me. People move sinuously together, in time to the music, worshiping each other with their bodies. It’s a lust-hazed kind of chaos. The foster mom I had before Granny Jean was a fundamentalist Christian, and I think this scene would have given her a stroke. It’s definitely not like anywhere I’ve ever been before. I’m a small-bar-with-friends kind of girl, not whatever this is. It’s grandiose and beautiful and terrible. An artist’s eye made this place, but with an obvious ax to grind. Whoever made this hates religion, that’s for sure, and Catholicism in particular.

I’m struggling to know what to do when a tall, broad man emerges in front of me that I vaguely recognize from the few times I glimpsed him at the theater: Mr. Scary.

“Andromeda?” he asks, his deep voice somehow cutting through the din of the music.

I nod. “Andi, please.”

He grabs my elbow in a respectful grip, steering me toward the sea of dancers. “Then you must call me Gaspard. I’m Jade’s friend. This way.”

Jade’s friend? That’s an interesting way for an ex to describe himself. He leads me across the dance floor, the bodies parting like the Red Sea as he passes. Even in their haze, it’s like the dancers realize someone dangerous is amongst them and they scurry out of his way.

When we are off the dance floor, he takes me to a spiral staircase that I didn’t notice before. A bouncer stands in front of it, and a sign hangs on the velvet rope that reads “VIP.” Mr. Scary, or rather, Gaspard, walks toward it and doesn’t even say anything before the bouncer undoes the velvet rope and steps to the side. Up we go, the view from the staircase is like looking at a party in Hell from Heaven. We reach the second floor, which is made up mostly of supper tables in private alcoves. It reminds me a little of La Couronne Bleu, but the similarity ends there. Waitresses in scanty costumes bring bottle service to the VIPs at the tables, and exotic dancers twirl and writhe in front of the tables in a not-quite-private show. Gaspard doesn’t take me to any of these tables. He continues to steer me through the VIP area until we reach an unassuming black door that blends in with the walls. I wouldn’t have even noticed it if he hadn’t brought me right to it.

We go through the door, and blessedly, the music cuts off, extremely muffled by the door. This hallway we are in must be soundproofed. We walk along the hallway, winding this way and that, before we get to a door with a placard on the front that says “Council Chamber.”

I expect us to go straight into the room, but Gaspard stops and turns to me. “Did Jade explain what to do?” he asks gruffly.

“State my case, be respectful, don’t show fear, no matter what happens,” I recite dutifully. Though what she meant by “no matter what happens,” I still don’t know. I wish she wasn’t so scared of that damn NDA.

Gaspard nods. “Jade is wise. The Fraternity is nothing like you’ve ever known, Andi. We are not normal men, so you cannot expect us to act like normal men. If the Commandant hears your case and decides we will help you, there is no going back for you at that point. His word is law. And if he decides not to help you, you will thank him for the honor of his ear and then leave without another word. Do you understand?”