“It’s none of your business,” I finally settle on. “I’m an adult, I can make these choices.”
He straightens, steps in front of me, makes me look at him. “Are you planning on meeting someone there? Someone more than a friend?”
And that sounds possessive, just like he said, but I pretend he meant it for a different reason, because my sanity demands I avoid that minefield.
“No,” I laugh weakly. “So don’t worry about security or whatever. My friends have what I need.”
“Tell me.”
My cheeks heat, and I feel familiar humiliation rise inside me like a tide. I don’t want to explain this. I don’t want to talk about how broken I am. “Can we please not do this?” I whisper. “Please? I just need my friends.”
His eyes burn, burn, burn, with intelligence and determination. I can almost see him cycle through the possibilities.
“Drugs?” he guesses. My silence is answer enough, and he hums, sternly. “I’m not sure that’s a good choice for you.”
“It’s nothing hard,” I protest. “Just poppers. It’s nothing serious. And you’ll be there, won’t you? To keep me safe?”
It’s a weird thing to say, a strange kind of dare. Like I’m testing him. And when he tilts his head, studies me closely, but finally nods, I feel like he’s testing me right back.
“You want to have a little fun, Tommy?” he murmurs. “Fine. But you’re right, Iwillbe there. And I don’t trust you to know your own limits. If we go, if I let you do this, you need to do as I say, and follow the limits I set for you.”
“What? Why?”
“For your own good.”
I shiver hard, swallow down all the words I don’t know how to say, and nod. I’m desperate at this point. As long as he lets me dance with my friends, get their help, then I don’t give a shit if he has some stupid no drinking rule or curfew. “Fine, I agree. Let’s go.”
And he moves so I can get past him and go find a change of clothes, and I feel his eyes on my back, a sensation that’s quickly becoming comforting.
And isn’t that just terrifying?
Chapter 19
Tommy
Walking into the club with Young-gi is a totally different experience than it was when I came with Kira. Firstly, Young-gi is mean-mugging everyone, staring them down, and I think Duke, the doorman, actually squeaked with anxiety when he waved us in, letting us skip the line.
“I’m not used to being the guest,” Young-gi comments after Billy gives us a once-over, tells me to stay out of trouble this time, and lets us pass the ID check. “Usually, I’m the VIP taking guests past lines. This is new. A little amusing.”
I can’t help my grin, feeling stupidly good about doing something for Young-gi that no one has done before. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This is the only place I matter.”
His heavy hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks and I recall the taste of soap. With a wrinkled nose, I correct myself. “Fine, sorry. I meant this is the only place I get VIP treatment.”
“Not anymore,” he comments ominously, brushing past me and leading the way to the booths like he’s the one who belongs here, instead of me. “You’re a Sokolov now. Plenty of doors are going to open for you.”
I can’t say anything to that. Can’t acknowledge it. I just keep my lips sealed as he sits my ass down in the booth and lifts his hand in an elegant call for the passing waitress.
“Two waters,” he commands, and she scurries off with a nod, even though waters aren’t bottle-service and she should be telling him he needs to get something that actually costs money if he wants someone to wait on his table.
Hm, seems like everyone can tell he’s not to be fucked with.
Except by me, of course. I tsk my tongue. “I’d actually like a real drink, so–”
“You’re getting water.” His tone allows for no argument. But I do anyway. Because I’m built different.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not letting you mix party drugs with alcohol.”
