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I have no clue what he means by that until the SUV parks outside a large black building with a red and pink sign reading:Heaven.There’s a halo on the “H” and devil horns and tail surrounding the “N”. I can already hear the bass as we approach the club. My stomach twists as I see there are only men waiting in line to get in, with a bouncer holding a long red rope. A woman sits near a black podium wearing a very short business jacket that displays her ample breasts that are obviously fake. The business jacket doesn’t quite match her black leather thigh-high boots and part of me wonders if she’s even wearing anything underneath.
I’m going to say no. She’s definitely not.
I follow Brody toward the podium, passing by the long line of men in white button-down shirts and clean black pants. Some are wearing suits, others are wearing all black. None of them are wearing anything torn or denim.
“What is this place?” I whisper to Mark as we continue to the podium, toward the woman now scowling at us.
Mark wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “You’ll like it,” he says lowly.
Why can’t I get a clear answer? What exactly am I in for? I can’t stop the worry tensing my shoulders and churning inside me. I glance over my shoulder, wondering if it’s too late to leave now. The SUV is already gone, but I have my phone. I can call a cab if need be.
Unfortunately, curiosity makes me stay.
“Hey,” Brody says with a sly grin, leaning against the podium.
The woman straightens, her dark eyes darting at us before settling back on Brody. She doesn’t seem amused, nor impressed. The bouncer holding the rope steps closer, as if ready to punch Brody’s face in if he makes things difficult.
“You can’t cut the line,” the woman says while flicking her straight brown hair over her shoulder.
“I should be on the list,” says Brody while tapping at her clipboard.
The woman’s scowl deepens and she doesn’t bother checking the list as she says darkly, “I don’t care. Back of the line.”
Brody straightens and rolls up his sleeves, his smile gone and his gaze dark as he stares at the hostess. “Should I call Martin? I’m sure he’ll have something to say about this immaculate customer service I’m getting.”
The woman smirks and crosses her arms. “I wasn’t hired to be nice.”
“You heard the lady,” says the bouncer while closing the distance between him and Brody. He’s not much bigger than us. In fact, I would have to say that he’s a bit smaller given his height and his lean body. Still, he definitely tries to look imposing. “Back of the line.”
“Let’s just go,” I say to Brody and tug on his shoulder when he decides to ignore me.
Brody doesn’t budge. Instead, he sighs and takes out his phone, pressing a number on speed dial. “Hey, Martin,” he says after the first ring. “Yeah, I’m at the front entrance. Your hostess won’t let me in. Won’t even check the list.” Brody pauses, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “That’s what I told her, man, but she doesn’t care.”
I glance at the hostess, finding her face flushing a bright red through all her makeup. Her shoulders bunch up, her hands fisting, and I can see that she’s already thinking about what to do if this Martin guy deems us worthy enough to show his face.
“That would be great, Martin. Thanks! See you soon,” Brody adds before hanging up. He nods to the hostess. “You can carry on,” he says flippantly as if he owns the place. “Martin will be out soon.”
The hostess inhales deeply and turns to the first man in line, who’s been waiting very patiently to be admitted in. Brody shakes his head at me while Mark rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry,” says Brody. “I know the owner.”
“Bitch must be new,” says Jeremy while passing the bottle of tequila to me.
I take a long swig so I don’t have to say anything.
We wait another minute or two before the door opens and a guy dressed in the most expensive suit I have ever seen comes out. He gives the hostess a dark scowl before side-stepping the bouncer and clapping Brody on the back.
“Brody!” he shouts in an obviously fake British accent. “Long time no see. How have you been? I watched the game. You guys sucked.”
Brody scoffs. “I didn’t suck. This asshole here,” he says while pushing me forward, “fucked everything up.”
Martin shrugs. “Nothing some good pussy can’t fix.”
“That’s what I thought!” Brody shouts while following Martin inside.
The twisting in my stomach grows and I don’t know if it’s the vodka or my anxiety making me want to vomit all over the pavement. My steps are slow as I follow them inside, passing by the hostess, whose eyes are watering. She’s probably going to lose her job for this. Maybe there’s something I can say to Martin. It’s not like she knows who Martin likes and who he doesn’t. She’s only doing her job.
My steps quicken down the long dark hallway, hoping to catch up to Martin and speak my mind on the matter, but all thoughts on the hostess go out the door when I enter the main room. Two girls stand at another podium with two staircases going up to different parts of the club. One hostess has long blond, curled hair, obviously a wig that goes with her sexy angel costume. The other one has bright red hair, clipped close, and dressed in skin-tight leather. She holds a whip and eyes me up and down.
“You boys have fun,” says Martin darkly. “I know I will.”
