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I’m dazed, and not just from the release Roman dragged out of me.
Was Archer serious? Did I misunderstand him? That was pretty damn vague. But I don’t have time to ponder it more as Roman calls an Uber to take us to the Alpha Cat.
Which is, as it turns out, a real place indeed, and possibly a club, too. Archer was right.
The evening closes in around us as we roll slowly through the busy city streets, the sky darkening. Shop signs flash by, people walking, phones pressed to their ears.
What am I doing? What are we doing, going in search of this club, barging into Brinlee’s life uninvited? It seemed like a good idea, back at the café, given how my mind is stuck on her, how worry twists my thoughts every time she’s not around.
But now, seated in the Uber with these three men, I wonder if I’ve finally lost my marbles.
Breach of privacy, that’s what this is. And that’s if she’s even there. Chances are, it’s a club where she hangs out sometimes. Doesn’t mean she’ll be there tonight.
Or that she’ll be glad to see us. What if she’s there with her friends?
What if she’s there with her boyfriend?
Fuck.
“Relax,” Archer says, his shrewd gaze on me, seeing right through me. “Everything will be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I mutter.
Kyrian shakes his head with a snort. “I swear, you’re the most wound-up fucker I’ve ever met, always tapping and humming and cleaning stuff.”
“OCD,” I mutter.
“What?” His gaze swings back to me, brows knitting. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Are we almost there?”
“Yeah, baby,” Roman says with a snicker, “almost there. Calm down. Need a pacifier to suck on?”
Now my face is flaming again because I know exactly the sort of pacifier he has in mind. “Shut up.”
“There it is.”
Indeed, the pink neon sign flashing on the building we’re speeding toward says we’ve found the right place.
I’m too wound up, just like Kyrian said, to ponder more the name, the flashing pink sign. I shouldn’t have come. This was reckless, thoughtless.
The Uber stops, and Kyrian opens the door. We climb out of the car and stand in front of the club’s entrance.
Pink velvet carpet covers the steps leading up to a set of heavy, black doors. The club’s logo is stamped on the center of each of them. They are open.
The logo is a cat, predictably. A very female-looking cat, with a long cigarette in her mouth.
Huh.
“You look like you’ve never been to a strip club,” Archer says.
“Strip club. No, I haven’t. Wait. This is a strip club?”
All three of them laugh as if I’ve said something funny, and start up the steps.
What the fuck.
Roman turns and gestures for me to move. “Come on.”
