Page 19 of The Second Sight
Brooklyn’s attention shifted fully to Seven now, her protective instincts kicking in as she sized him up. Her eyes traveled from his perfectly styled blonde hair to the lingering hand he still had placed possessively on my hip. Her expression held a mix of appreciation for his obvious good looks and also suspicion of his intentions.
“And who are you?” she asked.
Before I could answer for him, Seven stepped slightly forward, extending his free hand toward Brooklyn.
“Severin Crackstone,” he said, his voice carried over the music without seeming to shout. “But everyone calls me Seven.” He smiled, displaying the full perfection of his attractive face. “I’m afraid I’m to blame for your friend’s disappearance.”
Brooklyn took his hand, and I watched her expression soften. Seven’s charm was working like magic.
“I spotted your friend Kasi near the bathroom and couldn’t resist talking to her,” Seven continued, releasing Brooklyn’s hand. “I’m sorry for monopolizing her time. I should have realized she was here with someone.” He sounded genuinely apologetic, his acting so flawless I almost believed it was Oscar-worthy.
“Brooklyn Deneer,” she replied, and I couldn’t believe she gave him her last name. Did she forget she was twenty-one, and not forty-one? “Kasi’s best friend.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Brooklyn,” Seven said, somehow making her name sound exotic and interesting. “Kasi was just telling me she’s in college.”
I hadn’t told him anything about my studies. Why did he even say that? All he knew was I attended college, which was out for the summer.
“Yeah, she’s super smart,” Brooklyn said. “Full scholarship and everything.”
Why was she telling all my business to this stranger?
“I was just about to invite Kasi to join me in the VIP section,” he said smoothly. “But I’d be delighted if you’d both come. My table has plenty of room, and the drinks are on me.”
Brooklyn twisted her lips. The VIP section was legendary at this club. Brooklyn had done her research before she picked the Fountain of Youth nightclub to celebrate my birthday. VIP here was exclusive, expensive, and nearly impossible to access unless you knew someone. Seven had just dangled irresistible bait in front of her.
“VIP?” Brooklyn repeated. “For real?”
“Of course,” Seven said, as if offering access to exclusive club sections was something he did every day. Maybe it was. “Consider it my apology for stealing your friend.”
His hand slid around to my hip, and his fingers brushed my stomach. To Brooklyn, it probably looked like the casual touch of a man interested in me. To me, it felt like a mousetrap.
Seven’s light eyes found mine, and the message in them was unmistakable: Play along. Pretend. Keep your friend safe.
“Let’s continue our conversation somewhere more comfortable?” He offered.
Brooklyn was already ready. I forced my lips into a convincing smile. “Sure,” I said. “Sounds fun.”
“Perfect,” Seven replied with a smile. He kept his hand firmly on my hip as he gestured toward the far side of the club with his other hand. “This way, ladies.”
As we moved through the crowd, Seven positioned himself between Brooklyn and me, effectively separating us. Brooklyn walked slightly ahead, her excitement evident in her bouncing steps. Seven leaned down, his lips close to my ear again.
“Very good,” he murmured. “You’re a natural actress.”
I said nothing, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I felt trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape. I was being forced to smile and nod like everything was fine.
Brooklyn glanced back at us. Her face flushed with excitement. As we approached the velvet ropes that separated the VIP section from the rest of the club, I realized I was walking willingly into the lion’s den and bringing my best friend with me.
But what choice did I have? Seven knew my government name and Brooklyn’s too. The thought of what he might do if I refused made me terrified. I didn’t even know what he was truly capable of. For now, all I could do was play along and hope to find a way out of this nightmare.
Seven caught my eye and smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “You’re going to enjoy yourself.”
The VIP section was separated from the common areas by thick velvet ropes and an invisible barrier of exclusivity. A stern-faced bouncer stood guard at the entrance, his massive arms crossed over his chest. His eyes scanned the crowd. When he spotted Seven approaching, his demeanor shifted subtly.
“Mr. Crackstone,” the bouncer acknowledged, unclipping the rope without hesitation.
“Nick,” Seven replied with a casual nod.
The atmosphere changed immediately, as if we’d stepped through a portal into another world. The music was still audible but muffled enough for conversation. The lighting was subdued, creating pools of warmth rather than the disorienting strobe effects of the main floor. Plush leather couches and low glass tables replaced the crowded standing areas out on the main floor.
