Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 15: The Viewing Tower

EMERY

I'm used to feeling numb. That's my constant. My baseline. I don't remember the last time that I cried, that I shed a tear. Everything that I've been feeling since laying my eyes on Damon has been alien, foreign. These emotions dwelled in the innermost parts of my psyche, but they were never strong enough to break the surface, to ascend into the real world. Whether I kept them hidden, or they were too weak to emerge themselves, is still unknown. But what I do know is that the heart in my chest has never beaten with such urgency before. It's never rushed blood this fast through my system. It's never felt as if it were my own. Until now.

For twenty-eight years, I've led with my head. I've made decisions based on fact and logic. It wasn't a choice. I didn't decide to ignore the wishes of my heart. I simply had none. A dim LED sign illuminates the dark alley ahead as Damon pulls up to the curb. I'm here because I decided to be here. With my heart. And perhaps another, more boisterous organ.

"The Charlatan?" I read the sign as Damon hands the valet attendant his keys. "I thought you said we were going to—" I pause, recalling the name. "Club Hades?"

Damon gives me a knowing grin. "Club Hades doesn't exist, Miss Jones. Not on paper, at least." I frown as we approach the entrance, and Damon pulls out a matte black hard with gold foiling. He hands it to the guard. "It might be expired."

The bouncer remains stoic as he says, "You'll have to renew at the desk." He unclips the velvet rope. "Enjoy yourself, Mr. Cavanaugh." He pauses. "And welcome back."

Damon finds my hand as we walk into the club. My eyes widen when we enter the establishment. Rich, decadent shades of red and purple decorate the room. I was expecting a club, like Lux, with rave music and the scent of booze and cigarettes. Instead, to the left of the membership desk, is a 1920s-inspired lounge, with private alcoves tucked along the sides, a stage at the far side of the room, and a four-piece jazz band playing classics I've heard before on the radio. Pristine leather couches and chaises sit around glass tables, and a dozen men and women, radiating wealth and prestige sip on cocktails. Every detail is opulent, regal even. I tighten my coat around myself, feeling like a fish out of water. Expensive, luxurious water.

"I need to renew my membership," Damon says, stopping us at the desk. The two attendants, both dressed like runway models, snap their painted eyes at Damon. "Quickly, please."

"Mr. Cavanaugh." The blonde gives Damon a wide smile. "We've been wondering if we'd see you again." She glances at me, and I stiffen. "A guest?"

"For now," he says, checking his watch. "Has the schedule changed since I've last been here?"

The blonde chuckles. "Madame Vee doesn't like change." She takes Damon's metal card off the counter and replaces it with a hard shock card. "The Pit opens in five. Dominic will let you in." Damon picks up the temporary pass. "Just stop by on your way out." She calls over another girl. "Can we take your jackets?"

"Miss Jones?" Damon shrugs off his heather grey overcoat, handing it to the woman.

"No, thank you," I whisper, needing a layer of protection. Plus, I am not dressed nearly nice enough to remove my jacket. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Damon asks. "It can get...hot in there."

"I'm fine," I murmur, flashing the gorgeous women behind the desk a small smile. To Damon, I quietly add, "I feel underdressed."

He chuckles to himself, whispering back, "Once we're inside, you're going to feel overdressed." Because, supposedly, everyone will be naked. I don't strip off my jacket, blushing at the thought. "Suit yourself."