Page 35 of Devotion

“All good,” he says. “Just… be careful. And have fun. I’ll wait up until I see you’ve gotten in safely.”

I have plenty more to say, but my phone dings when my ride pulls up. He was literally just saved by the bell.

I spin on my heels, dangling my clutch purse from my fingers. “Okay, but it’ll probably be late.”

“And as I’m sure you know by now, I’m a man of my word. I’ll be wide awake when you get here.”

Yep, he’s definitely being weird. As I’ve suspected, something’s up with him, and I now know it has something to do with his book. If I had to guess, someone out there, someone other than me, doesn’t want it written. But likely for very different reasons.

On my part, I simply don’t want to see this case consume my father again, creeping into every fiber of his being until hebecomesit, and it becomeshim. With all the secrets he’s kept, who even knows how out of hand this shit already is? He’s been on edge, in a constant state of worry—mostly about me, it seems—so who’s to say it isn’t already too late to shift the momentum of this impending disaster?

Whoever’s out there, whoever’s so desperate to keep my father’s words from going to publication, they might not have much to lose.

Or worse—they’ve gotnothingto lose. What then?

My mind wanders as I step out onto the porch, and then distractedly greet my driver when I climb into the backseat. I’ve already lost one parent to chaos and, so help me, God… I’m not sure what would be left of me if I lost Dad, too.

14

Layla

Gazing up at the glowing bulbs that surround the marquee, I regret saying yes to this.

To meeting Martinez and further blurring the lines.

To meeting his friends and potentially giving themandhim the wrong impression.

“God, what am I doing here?”

The whispered words leave my mouth as I step into the line wrapped around what used to be the grandest theater in this city about sixty years ago. Today, The Amethyst Opera House has been converted into a bar and pickup spot known asThe Jungle.

The few times the girls and I dared to venture inside, it definitely lived up to its name.

I’m near the entrance when a text comes through.

Det. D. Martinez: Sorry, running late. Be there in a few.

Perfect. Again, I’m regretting my decision to come here, but as I pay the cover charge and follow the pulsing lights and base inside, I suppose this means I’m waiting it out.

The bar calls out to me, so I start that way, admiring what the club’s owner has done with the place. The building’s interior still echoes with traces of the old theater, but what remains somehow feels fitting. It’s what I imagine this place would look like if the world ended and nature reclaimed what’s rightfully its own.

Thick, green vines hang ornately from dark fabric that covers the ceiling, giving the impression of being beneath a dense canopy of trees out in the wild. Brightly colored murals of exotic birds cover much of the wall space, and a large waterfall sends a powerful torrent rushing from the third-story balcony down to an enclosed pool on the lower level, backlit with turquoise light that feeds the illusion of truly being far from civilization.

The rows of seating have been removed, and the stage where countless performers once graced theater-goers with their talent is now being used as the VIP section. Dark green booths arranged in cozy half-circles around circular, bamboo tables are arranged across the space. A thick, brass rail laced with vines has been bolted to the floor to protect tipsy patrons from faceplanting onto the lower level, and footage of a violent rainstorm with flashes of lightning is being projected onto the back wall. At either side of the stage are staircases roped off and manned by suit-clad security guards. They’re stone-faced and in their zone, ready to block—and maybe even tackle—anyone who might try to get through without the proper wristband. While I imagine it’s considerably less chaotic up there, I’m good as long as I can get a drink.

I approach the bar and wait my turn behind the couple who walked up before me. The bartender is a tall, thin blonde wearing the same leopard-print pattern as the other workers, but she’s exceptionally skilled, making the complicated cocktail she’s mixing look like nothing. My gaze flits up toward the two-story balcony, and the place is packed to capacity, bodies tightly packed in as they vibe out to the throbbing bassline.

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?”

I turn to the sound of the bartender’s wispy voice.

“Cosmo, please.”

“Coming right up.” She smiles, then turns to reach for a bottle of vodka. I watch the crowd again while I wait, scanning as I wonder where the hell Martinez is.

Light shimmers off my sequin dress, making it pretty damn hard for me to miss, but I check my phone anyway.

Nothing.

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