Page 8 of Wretched Soul
“Only if you’ll come with me.”
I set down my mug and do a little jig on the spot, my recent encounter with Connor long forgotten. And with any luck, a new man will make my green-eyed psycho a distant memory too. “We need to go shopping at lunchtime. This deserves a new outfit.”
“Drop dead sexy outfits,” Kaitlyn confirms with a nod.
Kaitlyn has longer arms, so she’s in charge of taking our selfie in front of Heatrush. The exterior is a little disappointing. The club is in an old red brick building with no discernible external features except a small sign above heavy doors painted black. The spotlight overhead picks out two heavy-set doormen who are checking people off their list. There are no neon signs or billboards to tempt clubbers inside, but it’s apparent from the long line we’re about to join that advertising isn’t necessary.
“Work it, baby,” Kaitlyn tells me as we pose for the camera.
She tilts her phone, trying to get more of our outfits into the shot, but it’s mostly our cleavage that fills the screen. I don’t have Kaitlyn’s sizable assets, but the push-up bra I’m wearing shows off my breasts to their best advantage. They might not be big, but they’re a good handful. Unfortunately, the only man who’s touched them recently has been Connor. I grimace. I need to set that right.
“Are you cold?” Kaitlyn asks, looking up from the photo she’s just posted to catch me shuddering.
“Why? Does it show?” I ask, glancing down at my peaked nipples that are highlighted by the slinky material of my barely-there gold dress.
She laughs. “It shows enough, Lily.”
My eyes sparkle in anticipation of the night ahead. “Come on. If we don’t join the queue soon, we’ll never get in.”
We assume similar poses as we wait in line, arms crossed to cover our bare arms as we shift from one foot to the other to stop our feet from going numb. We face each other to share body heat, and I keep my back to the entrance, which we don’t seem to be getting any closer to.
“This had better be worth it,” I mutter, my teeth chattering.
“Oh, it is,” a deep voice says.
I catch Kaitlyn’s wide-eyed stare as I turn to the man who spoke. Clad in a dark suit with a matching expression, he’s undeniably handsome with a physique that screams security even without the ID on his jacket.
“Ladies, it’s your lucky day,” he says, taking a step back and extending an arm in the direction of the doors. “You can go straight in.”
Kaitlyn squeaks, but the cold has sapped any warmth from my mood. “Why? What’s the catch,Simon?” I ask, dropping my gaze to his badge again. The only surprises in my life lately have been nasty ones. Except maybe my psycho friend. No, Lily, I tell myself. The clue is in the name. Psychos are not good for you.
The doorman’s stare brings me back to the present, and my body temperature drops another couple of degrees. “The catch is you stay here and freeze your asses off, or you don’t,” he snaps. “Are you coming?”
He’s already walking away as Kaitlyn grabs my hand, and we leave people muttering in the queue behind us.
“Enjoy your evening, ladies,” Simon says as Kaitlyn sweeps past him.
We’re entering a long, dark corridor with pulsing neon lights at the far end, but I pause to give the doorman a final glance. There has to be a catch, but Simon has already returned his attention to the queue. I adjust my tiny cross-body purse so it’s at my front where I can see it as we join the throng.
“Our next mission is to get free drinks,” Kaitlyn shouts above the beat of music reverberating off the walls.
We turn a corner and head for a staircase that leads up as well as down. Up will be the VIP area, but the staff direct us downwards, and eventually we enter a vast cavernous space. The dance floor is packed tight with undulating bodies, and the crowd only thins at the very edges. The black and gold color scheme is accented by the orange and red brand colors from the Heatrush logo, and is most noticeable at the booths that line two walls.
As my toes begin to thaw, I sway to the music and tip back my head. There are at least two levels above us, and onlookers lean over the balconies. I stare longingly at the cocktails they’re sipping. “I’ll buy the first round,” I tell Kaitlyn. I don’t want to accept a drink from the first creep that comes along, and I need something to loosen me up.
There are bars on either end of the dance floor. They take up most of the wall space and although they’re crowded, I spy a gap I can squeeze into.
I’m on the move when a server with a tray steps into our path. “Ladies, on behalf of Heatrush, your first drinks are on us.”
Kaitlyn’s hand shoots out to the exotic looking cocktail. “Cheers,” she says, preparing to bring the glass to her lips.
“Hold on,” I say. This is starting to feel too good to be true. I check the server’s ID. It’s similar to Simon’s and looks genuine. “Who sent them?”
The server simply shrugs, her expression giving nothing away. “They’re on the house,” she replies.
Kaitlyn grabs the remaining cocktail and pushes it into my hand. “Drink!” she orders.
The server disappears before I have a chance to hand it back. It’s on the tip of my tongue to warn Kaitlyn not to drink it, butshe’s already taking her first gulp. Her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh, wow. That’s delicious.” She coughs a little. “And lethal.”
