Page 43 of Privilege

Placing his hand at the small of her back, he pressed and pushed her forward. Walking in step with her, he chuckled as the music ramped up a bit louder, and he swore he felt the floor of the old building start vibrating as people shouted in response to the fast beat of the next song.

Knowing she wouldn’t hear him otherwise, Renzo moved closer to Lucia to murmur in her ear, “Fair warning, there’s going to be a lot of people.”

And when he said a lot, he meant a fucking lot. That was always a guarantee with these things. Given the fact these pop-up parties—some people still liked to call them raves—were illegal, that was one of the major factors that drew people in. It also helped that no one was there to police anybody’s behavior or business. It was a free for all, in a way. As long as everybody was safe, stayed hydrated, and minded their own business, nobody had a problem.

“Some of them will be high as fuck,” Renzo continued on, and hand curving tightly around Lucia’s waist as they came closer to the large main section of the warehouse. “Some of them are going to be getting high. Some of them won’t be high at all. Some might be hooking up in a corner, or on the floor, or … wherever they can find a spot.”

She made a noise under her breath, but Renzo still heard it over the loud music nonetheless. It sounded like a mixture of curiosity and disbelief all rolled into one. Maybe a bit of embarrassment sprinkled on, too.

Funny, he thought.

He liked that sound, too.

What other kinds of noises might she make if he—

No, Renzo was not going there. Not yet, anyway.

“Really?” she asked.

Those hazel eyes of hers glittered under the neon green and electric purple lights that flashed, blinked, and moved in every which direction. The softness of her features and the gentle curve of her lips froze under the movement of the strobes. For a moment, she looked like an unmoving angel—perfect, and beautiful.

“What?”

Lucia shrugged, and a hint of pink tinged her cheeks. “People … fucking. Really?”

Innocence?

God.

That—probably more than anything else—made him want her. Because how amazing would she be, if he turned her into a sinner like him; if he made her dirty like him.

“Really,” he told her. “Happens more often than it doesn’t at these. Thing is, they like being watched, so don’t feel like you’re intruding if you do find yourself staring. That’s the whole reason why they do it—they want to be seen. Or, just avert your stare, and pretend like you didn’t see anything in the first place.”

Lucia blinked. “Huh.”

“Not a single one of them will care who you are, or why you’re here tonight as long as you don’t mess up their evening,” he finished.

Lucia grinned. “So … have fun, then?”

“That’s the point of it, babe.”

The word—that endearment—slipped from his lips easily. Like he’d said it a dozen times before to her, but he could guarantee he hadn’t said it to anyone ever. And yet, it felt easy to say it to her, and maybe he liked the way her tongue peeked out to wet her lips right after he dared to let the word come out of his mouth. Or maybe it was the way her throat jumped as she swallowed the longer he kept staring at her.

Maybe he liked a lot of things about her.

Even if that wasn’t really the plan.

“Can we go in?” she asked.

Yeah, that was a better plan than what was going on in his crazy head.

“Lead the way. Don’t take a drink from anyone but me.”

They stepped into the main section of the warehouse, and Lucia’s voice agreeing to Renzo’s demand about the drinks was nothing more than a buzz in his ears. There really was something to be said about the loudness in these parties. Add in the strobe lights, the DJ with a mask over his face, and the people crowded together like sardines in a can as they danced … it was a sight to see.

Intoxicating, maybe.

People chased these parties. Invite-only by way of a text message, a person never really knew when one was going to come up, or where the next location would be. Everything was portable, so it could be easily packed and unpacked when shit needed to be moved. No one really knew the names—only the aliases—or the faces of the people running the damn things.