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“You weren’t about to get inlinefor the club, were you?” he asked, sounding horrified at the very idea.
“We heard good things about it,” Levee said, shrugging.
“Things worth not waiting for,” Zayn said, waving at the rest of us to approach as he walked to the bouncer, shook his hand, and was let right in, with all of us in tow.
“Eddie, you coming?” I asked, seeing him still eye-fucking the car.
“Think he’d give me a ride, man?” he asked instead, looking at Daniyal.
“Probably.”
“Gonna shoot my shot,” he declared, walking in that direction, ducking into a squat to be seen under the fancy-ass doors.
Then Daniyal was shrugging, Eddie was slipping inside, and they were gone.
The bouncer was giving me a look, so I made my way into the club, trying to ignore the urge to just… call up Teddy, ask him if I could crash at his place early instead of doing this.
But that urge was exactly why I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was swallowed up by the club.
Now, clubs were clubs. Generally speaking, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.
Long bar. Dark lighting with the occasional neon accent or strobe. Music so loud it pulsed into your feet and through your whole body.
But I had to admit there was just… something different about this one as Zayn led us up to the VIP section like they saved a table just for him, on the off-chance he wanted to drop in on any random night of the week.
The crazy shit was… they seemed to.
The hostess gave him a big smile, and immediately reached for the special menus for the section. “You know where your table is, Zayn,” she said.
And, apparently, he did.
The biggest one right in the center of the section. It even had a “Reserved” sign on it.
“Do you just… keep this reserved all the time?” Riff asked as we all got seated.
“For the past few months. I never know when I may want to drop in. And life is too short not to have bottle service from our very own server.”
“What does she do when you don’t show up, then?” Riff asked.
“Enjoys getting paid to do nothing?” Zayn suggested.
“Do I even want to know what this sets you back?” Levee asked, never afraid to ask the inappropriate questions.
“It is not… insignificant,” Zayn admitted.
But this man paid over a million for a car. And I suspected it was only one of several he owned. So our ideas of significant and insignificant amounts probably didn’t exactly match up.
It wasn’t long after we were seated that our server—a pretty blonde who asked Zayn how his sanctuary was coming along—was bringing us champagne, and taking orders for more.
“Sanctuary?” I asked.
We weren’t exactly close with Zayn.
He was elusive. Always breezing in and out of town. When he was around, he was down for a good time, but it was always light and superficial. Drinks, food, girls. Then he was gone.
We rarely got a chance to actually get to know the man. Aside from hearing his stories about traipsing around the world. And the occasional account of some near-death high-speed chase or near-miss hostage situation.
It never ceased to amaze me that a man as notorious as he, one who had the kind of money he clearly had, didn’t have an entire crew of personal security around him.
