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Fear sits in my bones as it always has. But this time, I don’t turn back.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I ask, leaning forward.
Calista laughs against Wayne’s cheek. “Too late now.”
The town drifts by. Trimmed lawns and quiet houses where people sleep. Then downtown gathers around us, brighter and taller, until the tower rises ahead at the edge of the Mississippi.
The Cirrus Hotel.
It stabs into the sky with a wickedness to its beauty. A glittering needle injecting sex into the sleeping body of Shadow Bluff.
This is the kind of place stories warn girls not to enter, right before they do anyway.
Inside, it’s full of art deco lines and gleaming glass catching shimmering lights. Elegant in the way old movies are. But no one entering the building is in formal wear. They’re dressed to invite trouble.
By the time we get to the club level near the top, my hands are trembling.
‘Ophidia’ glows green above a pair of double doors. Music rumbles from the other side, deep enough to shake the floor beneath my heels. The line crawls forward. I stay close behind Calista and Wayne, trying to make myself smaller against the wall, but nothing stops the men around us from staring. Their eyes keep dropping to my chest.
When we reach the front, the bouncer holds out his hand. Calista gives him her ID. Wayne does the same. Then his attention settles on me expectantly.
Cold panic prickles under my skin.
I don’t have one. It’s still somewhere in my parents’ house with everything else I wasn’t trusted to keep.
Calista steps in before I can explain. “Come on. Look at her.”
She drags her fingers over the bouncer’s shoulder with lazy confidence. My face burns as his attention lingers too long at the neckline of my dress before lifting again.
“Zaiya,” Calista says. “Tell him how old you are.”
“I’m twenty-one, sir. I swear.” My voice shakes, but I list my birthday and my graduation year. Stupid facts that are all true and still sound foolish coming out of my mouth. If he had to guess, I’m sure he’d think I’m a child pretending to be older than I am.
The bouncer’s face shows nothing. Not suspicion. Not sympathy. Just blank.
Then he touches his earpiece. Pauses. Nods once.
And steps aside to allow me in.
Relief rushes through me in a heavy wave.
Calista smirks and marches us in. “See? Sometimes all it takes is a little flirting. Remember that, virgin.”
I take three steps before I forget to keep walking. There’s too much to take in, every flash of light revealing something else I probably shouldn’t stare at.
The club is packed. Music pounds through the floor and up my legs while lights slash through the dark in green and purple. Bodies are tangled together on the dance floor and even on the couches tucked along the edges of the room. Above the crowd, women spin gracefully from hanging hoops, glittering and chained, their silhouettes bending in ways I can’t stop watching.
This place was built for temptation. And for the first time, no one is telling me not to look.
Everything moves too fast around me, leaving me strangely still in the middle of it. Some deeply ingrained part of me insists I’ve crossed a line by walking through the door. I hover closer to Calista as she leads me farther inside.
On the main stage, a woman moves around a pole with confidence that makes me ache with envy, but I’m drawn to the massive carved chairs off to the side. They sit empty and waiting, like thrones for rulers who haven’t arrived yet.
I stand frozen while people brush past me, their hands grazing my skin. Every man looks twice. Their scrutiny makes my nerves tighten. I should feel nothing but embarrassment, but a small thrill sparks in my chest. A danger I’m ashamed to enjoy.
Wayne leans closer to me. “You’re from the big city, right? Never been to a club?”
“Yeah, at least you had options in Des Moines,” Calista adds.
