At least two dozen other cars fill the warm lit place, and my head snaps right when the echo of a door closing reaches us.

A girl, maybe nineteen-ish stands there, straightening her short blue wig before she slings a small purse over her shoulder, the box-style clutch meeting the skin of her thigh, her leopard print dress is so short. She looks to the car she climbed out of and pops her hip out. Finally, the passenger side door of the yellow Volkswagen opens, and a guy climbs out.

He doesn’t spare her a glance, but she hooks her arm into his and together, they walk in a direction I can’t see.

“Where are we?” I ask, slowly looking to Beretta since he’s the one in the seat beside me.

His grin is deep, and he unbuckles his seat belt, so I do the same, climbing from the car as he does, the others right behind us.

They begin forward, the top to the convertible folding behind us, but I lean my ass on the door, crossing my arms.

It takes them three whole steps to realize I’m not at their side, and they pause, three glares swinging my way.

“Where are we?” I ask again.

“A... club.” Ransom’s frown deepens. “Sort of.”

“Does this club happen to have black lights, too, because I’m basically an X-rated picture book.”

Arsen laughs and starts walking again. Ransom is quick to follow after him and Beretta grins, his arm stretching out, so he can grip me by the wrist.

He pulls and with a heavy sigh, I follow. “No, Trouble. No black lights, though I’d love to see our work.”

“I bet.”

Beretta laughs, his fingers gliding down to lace with mine. For some reason, I let him.

A large ‘out of service’ sign is drilled into the elevator door, wires sticking out all over the place where the bottom should be located, yet somehow the thing opens and the boys begin to walk inside.

I attempt to yank free, but Beretta’s grip tightens, and he yanks me forward, wrapping his arm around my body before I can scurry back.

“Cool, so you guys want to die.”

“It’s a deflector, to get people who wander this way to wander right back to where they came from.”

The elevator is nothing but a black cube, and I’m unable to decipher if it travels up or down, but whichever way it’s headed, it’s toward a crowd.

Their laughter begins to invade my ears, the rich, creamy sandalwood-like aroma from fresh smoked, inexpensive cigars lighting a small fire in my throat as it seeps into the elevator the moment the doors ding open.

While the chatter is loud and the music low, nothing is before us but a tiny hall lit up by streaks of light, a metal door at the end of it.