Page 24 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

After blinking several times at this order, I kept my mouth shut the entire way while she continued to give me pointers.

If someone makes a move on you, you can say no.

If you see something weird there or shocking, just ignore it. It’s a normal occurrence and not against the rules.

If at any time you become uncomfortable, let me know. Never wander away alone.

The more she spoke, the less calm I became about this whole thing, and my anxiety rose to epic proportions. The only reason I’ve kept my ass in the car and not screaming at Owen to drive me back to the hotel is Amalia.

What the hell is going on inside that freaking place anyway? Hopefully we aren’t going to some sex club because I don’t mind people having fun where they wish, but I really don’t want to see some random men and women having sex.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want, miss.” Owen’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I muster up a smile for my concerned driver as he glares at Isla waiting for me on the sidewalk.

“It’s okay. You can go home. We’ll catch a cab back.”

“As you wish, miss.” A beat passes. “Should I come tomorrow morning?”

Butterflies erupt in my stomach while happiness travels through my system, serving as a healing balm over my nerves, because “tomorrow” has such a nice ring to it.

Tomorrow, when I will finally find my sister or maybe even manage to talk to and see her.

Grinning at him and exhaling a little bit easier about the upcoming evening, I reply, “I’ll call you.” He nods, and I get out, my heels clicking on the asphalt.

Let’s hope I don’t break my neck in them!

Isla grabs my elbow, hooks her arm through it, and then drags us to the bouncers who lift their brows, scanning our appearances from head to toe.

On most days, I don’t care what I wear, but even I know about such luxurious places having some kind of dress code. So I chose a simple black, oversized dress, ending just above my knees, and four-inches heels, because everyone always towers over me. “You lost, ladies?” one of them asks.

I shift uncomfortably, a gust of wind whooshing over me and billowing my locks backward. Tightening the hold around my velvet jacket, I extend my invitation to them, and they share a look before stepping to the side and letting the lady greet us with a plastered-on fake smile stretching her thin lips. “Good evening, ladies.” She takes the envelope from me, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before she even opens it, and then she motions with her head toward one of the bouncers. “I hope you’ll have an excellent time.” The bouncer removes the golden rope, allowing us to go inside.

“Thank you,” I barely manage to reply, while Isla moves forward rapidly as if we’re on a tight timeline or something. My mind still swirls with their reaction though.

Shouldn’t she have at least checked the names or something?

Or was the color alone enough to determine our importance in this world?

Once in, we walk down the narrow, dark corridor leading to the reception desk lit only by the lights on the floor, giving the place a mysterious vibe and sending shivers of fear through me.

Another woman meets us here behind the desk, same fake smile, and I read a name tag on her chest.

Samantha.

She must be the hostess.

“Welcome to the club, ladies. Could you please give me your invitations?” I extend my hand to her, and she grips them, opening them up and typing something furiously on her keyboard.

She blinks at the desktop screen several times, and then more warmth slips into her gaze, and she picks up two menus. “Ms. Walsh, it’s a pleasure to have you here. Your table is in the VIP lounge. Please follow me.” Her green pencil dress showcases her lean figure, and her golden locks emphasize her subtle beauty, fitting organically into the luxury and prestige surrounding us.

She saunters to the heavy double doors while Isla and I trail behind, and I whisper from the corner of my mouth, “VIP lounge?” And then everyone’s reaction as if the king himself granted me permission to enter his kingdom clicks.

Isla must read my mind, as she says, “Rebecca Cortez’s son is one of the owners.”

Well, that explains her confidence about us getting in.

I open my mouth to ask more questions, when Samantha pushes open the doors vibrating from the music, and instantly the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and sex envelops me.

The loud music echoes through the space accompanied by the click of shoes on the parquet as people lose themselves on the dance floor, rubbing against each other. Some even engage in heavy make-out sessions. In the corner, two men have a woman pressed against the wall as they take turns kissing her as she moans under their touch and wraps her legs around one of them. Any minute now and she’ll jump them.

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