Page 38 of The Devils Melody
The bass hitsbefore we’re even through the door. The music is loud and pulsing, even from outside. I can very clearly hearSouthbound by Artemisplaying through the doors. The bouncer barely looks at our group as he pulls the velvet rope aside, and suddenly we're inside.
The air shifts the second we step through the entrance.The Devil's Den.The club that looks as if you’re stepping into some twisted, high end version of hell.
Everything inside is soaked in deep reds and blacks. Heavy velvet curtains drape the walls akin to some kind of demonic royalty. Gothic arches tower overhead, making it look similar to an old cathedral with black marble floors. The lighting is low and moody casting a warm, wicked glow over everything it touches. So yeah, it was like hell, if hell had a dress code and bottle service.
A massive chandelier hangs above the main floor, all black iron and glinting red crystals, swaying slightly with the rhythm of the bass. It gives the effect of blood dripping from the ceiling, making the room look more sinister and sexy. Fog machines blow smoke low on the floor, causing it to look as if everyone is floating and the entire building is one big cemetery in the night.
Along the back wall is a golden staircase leading to the balcony level where the VIP booths sit, looking down over everything. It’s how I imagine royalty peered down at their subjects. One booth in the center is larger and slightly higher than the rest. Big enough for a large group and built to resemble a black and red velvet altar. It’s the only booth that’s empty, probably reserved for someone important. Most of the other booths are occupied by couples, which doesn't seem surprising with the atmosphere here. What I wouldn't give to be them. To let loose and not worry about the consequences.
I trail after Harper. She’s the only one that has been here before so I’ll follow her lead. She brings us to the bar which is conveniently located between the dance floor and a section with smaller booths. She orders us all shots without asking, slapping her hand on the bar like she owns the place.
Olive giggles beside me, her eyes are wide, already feeding off the addictive energy of the clubaddictive energyof the club. I try to match her grin, but mine feels brittle and fake. I don’t know why I can’t just relax and forget about all the bullshit.
And then there’sTaylor.She’s draped across the bar, her tits practically spilling out of her top as she giggles at something the bartender says.Thirsty bitch. I’ve only hung out with her a couple of times. She’s one of Harper’s friends from…somewhere. She always just shows up uninvited when the girls go out. She's just a damn stray that figured out where we drink.
We’re friendly, sure, but something about her rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s the way she touches people when she talks. Her fingers clearly can’t stand to be alone. Or maybe it’s the time I caught her doing coke inPour Decisions’bathroom and she just shrugged about it, as if it was just a casual Tuesday.
She’s loud, flirty, and always trying too hard, especially when there’s guys around. Which is exactly why I didn’t want to go out tonight. I knew there’d be a Taylor. There’salwaysa Taylor.
“Okay, we are not thinking about random hot assholes, or exes, or that one time you almost set Rich’s house on fire after you found tinder downloaded on his phone,” Olive says, giving me a look while handing me the shot of tequila Harper ordered.
“That was one time in the heat of the moment.” I mutter.
She winks. “Stand by it, bitch. It was iconic.”
The tequila is rough to swallow down, but I welcome the burn. The music pulsates through my bones and the soles of the slutty boots I was forced to wear out. I close my eyes and try to forget about all the bad shit and just live in the moment. Olive and I take a total of four shots before sheand the girls drag me to the dance floor, their bodies already in sync with the beat. It’s like they were born for this.
At first, I just move to keep up. I throw my hands in the air, let my hips sway to the rhythm of the music, and pretend to be someone else. It feels like a different version of me is finally breaking out of its shell, and then, I feel the shift. It’s almost as if the air got ridiculously thicker and warmer. Like someone just turned a spotlight on my back.
I’ve been feeling this same sensation for weeks now, I already recognize what it is.
It’s them. They’re here, and they’re watching me.
I turn, slowly and deliberately, trying to be seductive in my movements and make it seem like I know what I’m doing and I do this all the time. My eyes don’t need even a second to find them. They’re magnets and I’m made of metal.
Lennox and Kage sit perched above the chaos of the Den in the center of the VIP section. They’re drenched in low red light, parallel to devils at their bloodstained altar. Kage’s eyes find me instantaneously, and suddenly I’m struck by lightning. He’s sprawled in the booth like he owns the whole fucking building, dressed in an all black suit, one hand wrapped around a drink, the other resting on his thigh. Is that an invitation? Or maybe a threat.
Lennox is beside him, impossibly still, wearing a matching black suit. His eyes are cold and his jaw locks when our eyes meet. He doesn’t look away, and neither do I.
Gasoline in the form of tequila floods my veins, and the heat it ignites has nothing to do with the music. I want them. Both of them. With a desperation that feels dangerous, and I couldn’t care less.
My pulse pounds between my legs. My body startsmoving before I can stop it. My hips roll, my spine curves, and I dance. Not to keep up. Not to pretend. But forthem.
For the way Kage’s mouth curves into something sinful and smug. For the way Lennox’s fingers flex against the glass in his hand. I know exactly how I look right now. A little wild, maybe even a little desperate. Eyes glazed from the liquor and the heat of too many bodies. I can feel someone else's hands on me, but I don’t care. My skin is flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every beat of the bass. I dance as if I’m offering something. I’m practically begging for them to take it.
And maybe I am.
12
Kage
THE EXECUTIONER
“Tell me you’ve got something useful, Jimmy.” I lean back in the office chair, boots propped on the edge of Lennox’s desk, cleaning my pistol. Lennox stands by the window, arms crossed, eyes on the dance floor below us, trying to set it on fire with sheer force of will.
The line crackles before Jimmy answers. “Depends. You gonna call me something stupid again, or is this an actual business call?”
“Relax, Sugar Tits,” I say dryly. “I wouldn’t waste my breath if it wasn’t important.”
