The Club

**KAELIA**

Red and neon pink laser lights sliced through the thick, hazy atmosphere of the nightclub, pulsing in perfect synchronization with a bass-heavy rock remix that rattled against my ribcage. I sat alone at a sticky, forgotten table shoved deep into the darkest corner of the back section. A chaotic sea of sweating, grinding bodies thrashed across the massive dance floor right in front of me, but I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.

My mind spun in a toxic, relentless loop. My reality had shattered into jagged pieces only hours ago, taking a brutal detour straight out of hell and crashing into oblivion. Now I sat here nursing a watered-down beverage, desperately waiting for my older cousin Scarlett to swoop in and throw a sliver of sunlight into the black pit of my current existence.

I dragged the plastic straw between my lips and sucked down a massive gulp of my Long Island Iced Tea. The raw burn of cheap, poorly mixed liquor scorched my throat, forcing a harsh cough from my lungs. The bartender at this joint clearly understood the value of a drunken dollar. He did not skip on the sauce. My panting breath fogged the heavy condensation on the chilled glass.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I lifted my gaze and scanned the throngs of half-naked clubbers. Scarlett promised to meet me at eight o'clock. The cracked screen of my phone glared back at me with the harsh truth: it was already past nine.

Where the hell was she?

Panic fluttered in my chest, tight and suffocating. I unlocked my phone, opened our message thread, and began typing with frantic, clumsy thumbs.

*Me: Scarlett??? Where the hell are you? You said you had my back, but you’re nowhere to be found. If you’re not here in five minutes, I’m going to leave.*

I stared at the glowing text bubble, despair washing over me in cold waves. I gathered the thin strap of my cheap purse, ready to accept the sad resignation that yet another person in my life had abandoned me, when a grey bubble popped up with three flashing dots.

*Scarlett Vance: Chill out Kae. I’m upstairs in VIP talking to the boss about you. Just give me a sec.*

I gripped the phone tighter, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my breastbone.

*Me: Talking to your boss about me????? Whyyyyy?!?!?! I already told you I DON’T WANT TO WORK HERE!*

*Scarlett Vance: Listen bitch, I’m working my magic. Just keep your panties on - or take them off - I don’t care, but just chill for a few minutes longer.*

"Damn her," I hissed through my teeth. I slammed the phone face-down on the sticky table, yanked the straw out of my drink, and tossed the rest of the burning alcohol down my throat.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared into the flashing strobe lights, but all I saw was Garrett Hayes. My ex-boyfriend. My ex-roommate. My ex-English professor.

Just thinking his name made my stomach twist with a sickening blend of rage and profound betrayal. That selfish son of a bitch should be the one sitting in this grimy corner trying to drown his sins in ten-dollar drinks. Not me. He was the one who pursued me. He cornered me after class, fed me poetic lines about undeniable connections, and initiated an affair that shattered the university's strict code of conduct. He manipulated me into moving into his apartment, demanding we live together for God's sake. He swore up and down that he loved me. He promised he would protect me and take the fall if our secret ever leaked.

Instead, when the administration caught wind of us, he flipped the script. He walked into the Dean's office and played the helpless victim. He looked me right in the eye and claimed I seduced him, then blackmailed him into continuing the relationship.

He got me expelled.

And the most pathetic, soul-crushing part? I went along with it. I sat in that rigid leather chair and nodded along to his lies because he begged me to do it in private beforehand. He swore he needed his teaching job to support us. He promised we would get married once the dust settled. Dumb bitch that I am, I believed him. I sacrificed my education, my reputation, and my future for a man who weaponized my trust. I signed my fucking life away on that dotted line.

The betrayal cut deeper than the expulsion. He maintained his loving facade just long enough to get me back to the apartment. He fucked me on our bed one last time, whispering fake reassurances against my skin. Only after he finished, only after pulling out of me, did he drop the act. He laid the ugly, selfish truth bare. He had no intention of marrying me. He had no intention of keeping me around.

The motherfucker even packed my bags beforehand. He hid my suitcases in the closet so he could stick his puny dick in me one last time before tossing me out on my ass like a twelve-dollar hooker. He discarded me without a second thought.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, fighting back hot tears of humiliation. I would be raging right now if I didn't feel so incredibly stupid. I wished I could warn his next target. I wished I could find the next girl he preyed upon and tell her that Professor Hayes possessed a fragile ego and a cock three inches shy of a grown man. I would tell her his tongue game was the better bet anyway, seeing as it was longer than his dick.

Now, my face plastered the front page of the campus newspaper, labeling me a manipulative predator. I was out on the streets like a beggar. I had zero dollars, no degree, and nowhere to sleep tonight. Which brought me back to my cousin, who promised to help me out.

My phone buzzed against the table.

*Scarlett Vance: Take the back stairs up to VIP. Tell the giant bear man on the balcony that you’re with me and he’ll walk you to the back office. But hurry up because Navarro wants to leave already.*

*Me: Navarro? Are you serious???*

*Scarlett Vance: Just come on! Hurry!*

My breath hitched in my throat. Bastian Navarro. The infamous owner of this nightclub and Scarlett's boss. The whispers surrounding him painted a terrifying picture of shady business dealings and deep-rooted mafia ties. Scarlett never confirmed the mafia rumors, but I knew my cousin well enough to know they held truth. She possessed a ruthless edge, surviving on his payroll since she ran away from home at fifteen. Ten years in the underworld. I had no idea what her actual job title was, or what great skill kept her employed by a mob boss for a decade, but I assumed she wasn't a contract killer.

Well, at least, I prayed she wasn't.

Scarlett was only two years older than me, but she navigated the world with the hardened instincts of someone centuries older. I still remembered the day she told our abusive uncle to fuck off, skipped town, and built an independent life from scratch. She stood strong and intimidating against adversity. I, on the other hand, bent like a fragile baby tree under the slightest breeze. When things got tough, Scarlett got tougher. Me? I absorbed the sins and pain of others. I crumbled and gave in.

Taking a hefty, unsteady sigh, I pushed my chair back and stood up. The heavy dose of alcohol hit my bloodstream fast, turning my legs to jelly. The blinding flash of the dance floor strobes burned my retinas, warping my depth perception and hijacking my balance. I navigated the sticky floorboards, weaving past a group of grinding ravers, heading for the six-foot-wide staircase marked by a glowing red neon sign that read *VIPs Only*.

The pounding music hammered against my eardrums, sparking a dull ache at the base of my skull. I aimed for the stairs, but my boot caught the edge of the platform. I pitched sideways, stumbling hard toward the thick velvet rope.

A massive, meaty hand shot out from the shadows, grabbing my arm with an iron grip to keep me from face-planting onto the steps.

"Too much to drink, baby girl?" a deep, rumbling voice asked, followed by a dark chuckle.

I blinked up at the beefy bouncer guarding the entrance. He matched Scarlett's description perfectly. A giant mountain of a man with a wide, heavy forehead and sharp, mean facial features. Yet, a surprisingly friendly smile stretched across his dark chocolate lips, giving him the distinct appearance of exactly what Scarlett called him: a massive bear.

"You want me to call you a cab?" he asked, his fat hand steadying my weight.

I offered a small, nervous smile and gave my head a minute shake. "No," I answered, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm Scarlett's cousin. She said you'd walk me through."

The Bear's eyes widened in recognition. His thick eyebrows shot up toward his scalp, and his smile shifted into an amused smirk. "Aha. Miss Kaelia," he crooned.

His sharp black eyes swept over me, studying my messy hair, my flushed cheeks, and my small stature. He took his time assessing my physical appearance, his gaze lingering on my nervous posture.

"You don't look like you're related to Striker," he noted, referring to Scarlett by her club alias. She dyed her hair a fierce, bright red the day she left our hometown.

I crossed my arms over my generous boobs, suppressing an annoyed sigh. It wasn't the first time I heard that comparison. We shared zero physical similarities. I stood at a mere five-foot-two, packed with thick curves and a soft, fleshy build. Scarlett, on the other hand, was long and willowy. She possessed elegantly crafted limbs and a firm, supple core. I wasn't fat, but I carried my weight in my chest and hips. I would sacrifice a lot to trade my soft stomach for her toned abs, or to borrow five inches of her intimidating height.

Bear noticed my defensive scowl. His amused smirk broke into a full-toothed grin. "Ah, there's the resemblance. You both have the same mean glare and those weird teal eyes."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Uh-huh."

He released my arm and nodded his boulder-like head in time with the thumping bass. Reaching out with one thick finger, he unhooked the brass clasp of the red velvet rope and gestured toward the dark staircase.

"Go on through, sweetheart. You don't need me to walk you." His tone shifted, dropping an octave into something far more serious and ominous. "Take a left at the landing. Head toward the only set of doors at the end of the hall. Make sure you go *left*, Sugar. If you wander right, you'll end up in an entirely different world, and you might not make it out."

A shiver danced down my spine. The warning hung heavy in the humid air between us.

"Right, okay. Whatever. Thanks, Bear," I muttered, trying to sound braver than I felt.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his massive chest. "No problem, Sugar."

I gritted my teeth. First of all, I hated the nickname Sugar. If Scarlett thought she could rope me into becoming a dancer in this shady joint, forcing me to adopt some degrading stage name, she was out of her goddamn mind.

Walking past the meathead, I took the remaining steps as carefully as my alcohol-soaked brain allowed. The red carpet absorbed the sound of my heavy boots. With every step I took up the dimly lit VIP staircase, the suffocating heat of the main floor faded into a chilling, air-conditioned draft.

I reached the second-floor landing and paused, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The layout split into two distinct paths, separated by a rigid spatial boundary.

To my right, a dark hallway pulsed with stuttering blue lights. A strange, lucid, hypnotic melody warbled out from the shadows, clashing with the aggressive rock beat from downstairs. I caught a fleeting, jarring glimpse of the world Bear warned me about. A sprawling field of naked flesh. Dancers moved with fluid, serpentine grace under the neon glow, their bare skin catching the flashing blue lights.

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze away from the illicit sight. I deliberately turned my back on the right side and faced the left corridor.

At the far end of the hallway stood a massive set of heavy marble double doors. No signs. No handles. Just imposing, macabre stone designed to keep unwanted guests out.

My palms grew slick with nervous sweat. I forced my heavy boots to move forward, closing the distance to Navarro's private office.

*Deep breaths, Kaelia. You can do this,* I coached myself, wiping my sweaty hands on my denim jeans. *You need a job. Any job. Even a stripping job. The tips are probably great. You've got a great set up top and bottom, just think of the cash flow. Think of the money. You need a roof over your head.*

Fuck. The thought made my stomach churn with fresh nausea. I had never been an exhibitionist. The idea of bearing my body for strangers under flashing blue lights terrified me.

I stopped dead in front of the cold marble doors. The air up here felt thin, charged with a dangerous, unspoken power. Bastian Navarro waited behind this stone barrier. A mafia boss. A man who dealt in shadows and secrets.

After taking a couple of steadying breaths, I raised my arm and knocked firmly on the heavy marble surface. The sound echoed down the quiet hallway, dull and hollow.

I took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest again, and waited.

The silence stretched.

I waited some more. And waited. The hypnotic music from the right corridor seemed to mock my rising anxiety. The oppressive despair of Garrett's betrayal morphed into a suffocating, terrifying anticipation.

Still, nothing happened. No voice called out. No lock clicked. No bodyguard opened the door to drag me inside.

Just absolute, terrifying silence.