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“You didn’t put the location up, did you?”
He deadpans me and gets in, dropping his phone in the central compartment. “Ye of little faith, of course not, plus no one knows you were doing a shoot for Donnie and Isaac. I never share your location,” he tells me over the throaty roar of his car starting up.
“I know, sorry, just usually you don't post until the following day.” I’m glad we are leaving.
“Won’t happen again.” He winks, and we zip out of the car park at a breakneck speed.
Oscar shows no respect for the Highway Code or the safety of other road users. Twice I tell him to slow down, but he laughs loudly, speeds up and takes us down some side streets before we come to a sudden stop on double yellow lines.
“Fuck me, I need a drink,” he exhales as we exit the car and head into one of our favourite spots. I head straight for the bathroom, shouting my order to Oscar over my shoulder. I freshen up and take a few lonely minutes to enjoy the quiet before I head back to my friend, who is waiting for me with our drinks at the ready.
The bar is fairly quiet, and we’re able to relax for the next hour. I’ve got a pretty gruelling week ahead of me, so I can’t afford to be burning the candle at both ends. In fact, just thinking about it has me yawning again.
“Oscar, I’m ready to faceplant. Can we go?”
He gives me a sympathetic smile and pecks my shoulder.
“Sure, you need to slow down. ”
“No, I just need sleep,” I remind him. As soon as we are in his car and powering through London, I can feel myself start to drift. I don’t fight it. One minute I’m staring at the flash of streetlights, and the next, I’m slipping into a short but deep sleep.
I wake with a start, some subconscious notion telling me I’m not safe. I’m nestled into the seat of Oscar’s empty car, but he is nowhere to be seen. I blink groggily through the window into the darkening sky. The car park before me is unknown. Where the hell am I? Towering iron gates secure the perimeter, and car upon sleek car is lined up along a wall. Victorian lamps send a dusky glow on the pristine stone—the pebble so immaculate it looks like someone hoovered, then spit-shined the floor, taking extra care to make each stone glow.
I dial Oscar and wait, but no sooner has the call begun it disconnects. I stare back over my shoulder to the looming building and push free from the car. I try Oscar again, but it cuts off. Maybe he has no signal? Worry begins to creep in. I walk up and down the car park, trying to see if anyone else is about. Perhaps there is another person in a car I can speak to? I get to the last low-slung car and bite my lip, wondering what’s going on. Where is Oscar?
I stand for a moment in the private car park, my gaze sharp and critical. Now would be a good time for my friend to reemerge from wherever it is he has slipped off to. One thing I’m certain about is that he is in there, in that ostentatious building. I stare at it for a moment, trying to gauge what may be behind the light white brick and heavy black door. I will my eyes to see past the brick and mortar and scan the inside, desperate for some dormant sixth sense to appear and give me an answer, to supply me with x-ray vision or at the very least the blueprints, so I know what the hell I’m about to walk into.
My mind made up, I walk up the steps and give the door a confident knock. It echoes like a gong, sounding my arrival to the streets of London, and it makes me flinch. Well, they certainly know I’m here now. I wait, expecting for the door to click open, but after a few minutes, nothing happens. Leaning in, I press my ear to the door, listening out for footsteps but hearing nothing. Giving the heavy door a push to get a feel for its weight, I’m surprised that without noise, it opens ever so slightly; the gap opening up to give me a glimpse of black inside.
“If I die, Oscar…” I mutter. I check over my shoulder before my hand comes up, and I push my way in, peering around the door. Marble upon marble and pillars as thick as tree trunks splay out before me. They span the entire length of the entrance hall. Oh wow, it’s a luxury hotel, is my initial thought, but the further I move inside, the less I am convinced of that. Where is everyone? Surely there would be a porter or a receptionist. On closer inspection, there is no reception, just an extravagant foyer, making me feel less welcome by the second. I falter in my steps and become indecisive. Maybe I should leave? I turn back to the door but chew my lip, tormented by what I should do. Why would Oscar leave me outside? What if something is wrong? I step away from the door, careful to keep the sound of my heels muted. I venture inside and crane my neck, hoping to see around the double staircase. It’s opulent and easily the most beautiful place I have been inside. The stairs are complete with a sweeping balustrade that glides upwards to an open landing.
“Hello, Oscar?” I call out. How come he has never brought me here before?
Neck-high stone pots don huge leafy plants throughout the space. It’s dark and exotic. I pick up gold trimmings here and there astheygleam off from the preposterous chandeliers that spew light everywhere. The black marble floor is like oil, smear-free, decadent, and I hate to admit, I love it.
“Oscar?” I daren't go much further into the entrance; tension fills my body because some part of me deep inside knows I’m not supposed to be in here. Choosing to come in here is a mistake.I can sense it like an insect crawling along my skin. The fear skitters and covers my body, needling at my nerves and into my mind, a warning beacon screaming at me to turn around. But I'm too curious to walk away now. I veer off to the left through the nearest door. It leads to a wide, dimly-lit hall, and beyond that, I hear the low heavy pulse of music. Its sensual purring, a steady rhythmic beat.
“Hello?” I whisper-shout. It's beyond peculiar that no one is about. Surely someone would have heard me knock. I follow the music, entranced by its melody. It begins to mirror my own heartbeat, pulsing faster as though we are in sync, and it can feel my trepidation. I trail after the music until I reach another set of double doors, and as I step up to them, they glide open, catching me by surprise.
Gasping, I jump back, expecting to be caught by someone, but I’m alone. I’d feel more at ease if there had been a host of people on entry, but this is surreal in its silence. I glance back down the corridor behind me, giving one final look for someone or something, a sign at least as to what I’m getting myself into. The music is louder here, enticing, more hypnotic. The room beyond is dark, but the moment I step forward, tiny dots in the ceiling purr on like a tidal wave. They roll on along the ceiling, showcasing a wide, elegant stairwell. I move forwardagain, and more lights blink on beneath my feet. Each wide step illuminates as I move down them, lighting the way. The lower I go, the louder the music becomes. It’s still indistinct, but the bass is an addictive thump in my chest.
As soon as I reach the bottom step, I move through a low arch to an open seated area. The walls are three vases deep in foliage, and the stone floor reminds me to be quiet. The moment I step up to the frosted glass doors, I can feel the vibrations in my heeled feet. My palm rests on the door, and that too pulses from the heavy bass. I take a breath because I just know whatever is beyond this door is not for my eyes. I battle with a moment of hesitation before I hold my breath and push my way through.
Definitely not for my eyes. My eyes or any other woman’s, it would seem. I step back as my eyes whip with gaping shock around the plush club: a plush, private, and luxurious strip club. The music is pouring through hidden speakers, the lighting low, but my eyes still seem to be able to take in each inch of bare skin of every half-naked and groin-grinding woman. I do a quick scan for Oscar, but I can't see him. The lights pulse and flash, illuminating bodies, then hiding them in the next second. Gulping, I move along the wall and freeze when a man requests his usual suite for a private dance.
“Girl number eighteen,” he demands with a waft of his hand.
I hold my breath and walk quickly to the frosted doors. I push through and practically run up the stairs. The lights dance on with me, and I groan at their need to lighten my way. I don’t want light; I don’t want to be seen. This could wreck everything.
My heart racing, I push into the corridor panting and find I'm still alone. I do a quick check before I step into the entrance, sighing with relief that no one is here. No, they’re all downstairs drooling over naked women. I shudder at the thought and pull the main door, but it doesn't budge.
“Shit.”
“Can I help you?” I freeze, my body going stiff as a board at the deep timbre voice behind me. I know I look guilty. There is too much tension in my shoulders. I try to relax, taking a slow, calming breath, and it works for the most part. I mentally panic over what to say. Do I straight up apologise for trespassing, or do I angle for the truth? Maybe I can say I was lost or my tyre burst. Shit, double shit. I bite my lip, telling myself I’ve got this, and turn with a fixed smile. It couldn't fall off my face faster if it was slapped off.
I’m staring wide-eyed at a huge man, with wide thick shoulders and long, lean legs, dense thighs, and a strong neck. I don't know what makes me capture all those things about him, but he is just a shock to my senses. He is leaning against one of the black pillars, his shirt rolled up, revealing plenty of tattoos, tattoos that no longer allow for bare skin. The marring of images all swirled and sculpted along his body look as intricate as the black marble pillars all around. His collar is undone, and there too, I find more black ink swirling up the thick column of his neck to a darkened jaw and stifling black eyes. It’s not a friendly gaze. Cold, dark, and unflinching. His narrowed and cool stare has the hairs on my skin springing to attention. My eyes do another quick sweep out of worry, and I see he is loosely holding a tumbler of clear liquid in his fingertips. Even his hands are decorated in black ink. I stare, he stares, and every inch of my body crackles with a feeling I can't decipher; don’twant to decipher. Swallowing, I look back to the hall, willing Oscar to stroll through.
“I’ve always wondered, should anyone rudely let themselves into my property, what I would do. You, Zara Reid, were never factored into that equation.” He breaks the silence, and my eyes search his. What does that mean? I hum, not sure how to take him. He's big, tall, commanding and dark. Eyes blacker than the marble, hair to match, and like my own, it's sleek. “You’re not welcome here.”
