Orin leans over to tip the driver with a wad of bills. “Positive.”
I get out of the car before Orin can make it around to my side, earning myself a scowl from him but making me feel victorious.
Orin places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me over to a well-worn wooden door that looks like it hasn’t been painted in years. “This way.”
“I thought this place was supposed to be cutting edge?”
“It is.” He raps on the door in a weird pattern.
I almost jump out of my skin when an indistinct wooden panel is slid out of the way, halfway up the door, revealing a small window filled by a pair of eyes peering back at us.
“Password?”
“Labryinth,” Orin says.
Seconds later, I hear what sounds like a bolt sliding, and the door opens with a creak.
Orin gives me a gentle push. “Omegas first.”
“Yeah, let me lead the way into some serial killer’s lair,” I say.
“The door’s at the end of the hallway,” the man guarding the door tells us. He’s almost as big as Drax, dressed in a snazzy suit, looking like he belongs in a mafia romance.
I narrow my eyes on him. “If there’s a three-headed dog down there, I will hold you responsible.”
Orin snorts, taking my hand as we make our way to the stairs. It’s dimly lit, my heels clicking against the wooden flooras we descend. Expensive-looking paintings illuminated by soft orange lights line the red walls.
“Brace yourself, dynamite.” Orin grins as he pushes the door open with his shoulder.
The lower we get, the louder the pumping bass and music from below is.
“Holy shit,” is all I can say when the stairs end in an underground club. The walls are predominantly red brick, adorned with ornate golden mirrors and more paintings that lend to the space’s speakeasy vibe. There are deep-violet booths with velvet seats nestled in cozy corners, everything cast in a dim, amber glow. The bar looks more like a potion-making station with odd-shaped bottles and servers wearing leather aprons.
It’s busy, but not overcrowded, giving it an air of exclusivity. Most of the women are wearing slinky black dresses and look almost identical. I stand out like a sore thumb in my bright green sequins.
“Drink?” Orin strides over to the bar, plucking up one of the thick papered menus.
I scour the menu, landing on a Blue Lagoon. Orin gives me a knowing smirk when he orders a Cherry Bite. Waiting for our order, I detect a heady mix of scents in the air, but there is a neutral undertone as well to the air, indicating that they must have an expensive scent-neutralizing system in operation. It doesn’t make my nose slightly sting like the scent-neutralizers that are pumped in cheaper bars, where the owners are more concerned about preventing rutting disasters than enhancing their patrons’ comfort.
Drinks in hand, we settle into a booth. Although it’s in a quieter corner, away from the bustle, we still have to huddle together to be heard over the loud music.
“Mmm.” I suck up my drink, the flavors bursting over my tongue in a fruity explosion. “Delicious.”
Orin takes a sip of his too, but he doesn’t comment on it, too busy scanning the area, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.
“What is it?” I look around. “Are you planning your escape already?”
“Sorry.” He runs his hand through his thick hair. “Force of habit.”
“So youwereplanning your escape?”
“I like to have an exit plan in case of emergencies.” He sets down his glass. “I was just checking out the smoke detectors, fire exits, and cameras.”
I drag my straw through the blue liquid. “You seriously need to work on your dating conversation.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date,” he tells me. “A long time since I’ve even wanted to.”
I shouldn’t be as happy as I am upon hearing that.
