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“In…the…safe.”
In the corner, his safe sits, almost expectant. I glance from it to him as I start to back up.
“Kordin, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need an ambulance. I have to call the—”
“No! Not until…you help…put it…in safe.”
It wasn’t my safety he was concerned with, it was his.
Tremors rock my frame, these ones different from the others.
Reece
As soon as one bouncer finishes patting me down, his fucking lookalike opens the steel door and nods me in. The only person allowed to carry here is the man who owns the club—Cyrus.
“Welcome back, Reece,” Adie addresses me from the greeter’s stand. “Will you be venturing upstairs tonight?”
While The Playground, the strip club and main draw, makes up the entire underground level of the building, The Head Office is just a room in the top floor. In that room is where all the gambling happens, so I don’t go up there unless I absolutely fucking have to.
“Is Cyrus up there?”
“No, Boss is currently making his rounds downstairs.”
“Then that’s where I’ll be.”
“Enjoy your evening.”
I try not to snort as I turn for the stairs. Nothing about my visit tonight will be enjoyable.
The black stairwell swallows me whole as I descend, the song “Playground” by Bea Miller, Arcane, and League of Legends pulsing through the hidden speakers needling its way in my ears, around my neck, and down my spine like a living, breathing thing. When I hit the last step, neon lighting replaces the dark, turning my white button-up under my black suit the same color as a Mallow Flower, the one mauve was named after. Following along the hallway that leads to the main space, I walk under flashing signs featuring sayings everyone’s used at least once in their lives.
Tag, you’re it.
Ready or not, here I come.
Catch me if you can.
Can you keep a secret?
What are the rules?
I dare you.
By the time the club comes into view, you’re fucking ready—patrons, for the good time awaiting them; me, to face the consequences awaiting me.
It’s been two days since I walked out of that hollow’s house, leaving his fate up to his wife, and I still don’t have a good explanation for why I did what I did. Not for myself, and especially not for Cyrus.
Hooking a left, I bypass the wall of dancers swinging back and forth on swings hanging from the ceiling and go straight to the bar. Different bottles of liquor fill the shelves behind the bartenders, most of them empty with LED lights inside. Everything down here has a purple glow, giving the whole club even more of an underground feel.
“What’ll it be, handsome?” my favorite bartender, Oksana, asks when she makes it over to me.
“Let me get a snakebite.”
She pours a finger of Canadian whiskey into a shot glass, then adds a dash of lime juice before sliding it across the granite countertop into my waiting hand. I toss it back.
“Another. Double this time.”
Oksana’s eyebrows lift but she doesn’t say anything, just pours.
