Becoming Ava | Dominik Szoboszlai

Chapter Seven

My confidence was at an all-time high as I strutted towards the entrance to the nightclub, my heels clicking satisfyingly against the concrete with each step. I knew I looked good, my black silk midi dress hugged my hourglass figure perfectly, highlighting my long legs and soft curves. Plus, it made my bum look incredible.

The security guards on the door looked me over in such an obvious way that I couldn't be sure if they were looking for something in particular, or assessing whether I should even be attempting to gain entry, before one slowly raised his tablet and asked for my name.

'Ava Thomas,' I confidently replied, pulling my fake ID from my clutch bag and handing it over. 'It might be under Averly.'

I know it is, I put it there myself.

'Averly,' the man repeated, scrolling down his list. 'Ah, there you are.'

His colleague handed my ID back, stepping aside to open the door as the sound of dance music spilled out into the cool air. 'Thank you, miss Thomas.'

I smiled and stepped past them, the heat coming from inside drawing me in. Descending the steps into the club, the ever-increasing volume of the music beckoned me through the dark corridors.

Even in the darkness, everything about the place felt expensive. The flooring underfoot didn't feel sticky and worn like it would in a public nightclub, and there was a sweet smell in the air that must have been pumping through a ventilation system; a far cry from the usual smells of sweat and booze.

At the end of the corridor, another security guard stood with a staff member at what appeared to be a coat check area, no doubt the hired enforcer as the staff member confiscated people's phones. I handed mine over willingly, knowing that it was coming after my extensive research online – the nightclub website boasts about its privacy for their patrons, making it a hive for illicit affairs and debauchery.

I passed my clutch bag to the security guard so that he could check I didn't have any concealed recording devices or a second phone, before turning in a circle for the club staff member so they could see my dress didn't have any pockets or other places to hide anything.

Once they were both satisfied, the security guard pulled open the door he was covering, and I was in.

The first thing I noticed was the suffocating heat as you crossed the threshold, no doubt from the sheer number of bodies packed into the room. Everywhere I looked there were people grinding on each other on the dancefloor or wrapped around each other; in a booth, at the bar, tucked in a corner.

Plush black booths lined the outer edge of the dancefloor in a range of sizes, all teeming with people enjoying their Saturday night, while bigger groups of people hovered around the edge of the floor.

Adjusting to the feeling of the bass pounding in my chest, my eyes scanned the crowd as I moved deeper into the nightclub. I tried to make out if any of the Liverpool players that were rumoured to frequent the club were here, but with so many people packed into the space I inevitably came up empty.

In any other venue you would wager that they would be in a cordoned off VIP area, but the exclusivity and security that this place offers meant that even the most famous clientele mixed with the mere mortals partying alongside them; mortals who could afford to get their name on the guest list, obviously.

I pushed through the sea of gyrating bodies to get to the bar at the back of the room, hoping that strong liquor would help me settle into the night ahead. It was only midnight – early by nightclub standards – and I was willing to give it a few hours to see if my theory was right; if the boys would show.