Page 3 of Dark Truths

After that?

No idea.

But that’s a problem I don’t need to solve tonight.

“Alright, ladies,” Lucy declares with a wide smile before glancing at our only male companion for the night. “And Greg.” He acknowledges her with a raised hand. “You know the deal. Pick a straw. Shortest one has to stay sober for the night.”

Lucy holds out a handful of neon bright straws in her fist. One by one, we all draw a straw and then hold them up. A single sweep of the eye and my stomach sinks.

“Oh, what a bummer. Looks like Gabriella is staying sober tonight,” Lucy announces with an obvious fake pout. I don’t know how, but the bitch probably planned the outcome on purpose. I don’t think she’s ever been the one to stay sober. And here I was, looking forward to unwinding with copious amounts of alcohol and dancing the night away. But it’s fine. I probably shouldn’t be getting wasted tonight in this place, anyway. The last thing I need is for word to reach my family that I got a little too drunk and made a spectacle of myself, attracting unwanted attention. Besides, there’s a bottle of wine, a pair of soft pajamas, and a good smutty book calling my name at home. That’s more than enough to satisfy my desires tonight.

The girls pat my back and arms sympathetically as they pass me on the way to the bar. Greg gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiles genuinely at me when I look up at him through my eyelashes. “I’ll bring you a cherry coke?”

I return his smile. “A man after my heart. What would I do without you?”

Greg winks playfully. There’s nothing more than friendship between us. I’m not his type, anyway. I’m missing a body part…or three to meet his requirements. “Probably continue to have terrible taste in men.”

I shove him away with a dramatic roll of my eyes. “Go get my drink and then get fucking wasted and make out with some hot ass man so I can live vicariously through your bad decisions.”

“You know, just because you can’t drink tonight doesn’t mean you have to remain a virgin,” he reminds me. “You’re free to go out there on the dance floor and find your own hot ass man to rub up on and exchange bodily fluids with.”

A virgin is the last thing I am, but the visual he paints may just force me to be born again.

“Please go away now,” I urge him.

“I’ll be right back.”

I watch him saunter away toward the bar before shifting my focus towards the main dance floor.?

ThePlaygroundis an interesting place. And interesting is defining it lightly. It’s more than your basic night club. It’s an experience. The interior is a blend of rich, deep dark colors with sleek, metallic accents, creating an intimate yet opulent feel. Soft, dim lighting casts shadows that dance across the walls, adding to the mysterious allure of the place. Plush velvet couches and low tables are strategically arranged, inviting guests to lounge and mingle in comfort as the heavy mix of exotic incense and expensive perfumes and colognes fill the air. At the club’s heart is the dance floor, where lights pulse in sync with the music’s deep and rhythmic bass and illuminate a mass of bodies moving in unison to the beat. Workers in elaborate costumes weave through the crowd, flirting and playing with the patrons, adding an element of theatrics and sensuality that enhances the club’s immersive, fantasy-like atmosphere.

Heaven and hell. How fitting for a place like this.

I raise my eyes to the individuals performing sensual dance routines inside the steel cages hanging from the ceiling. Beside them, acrobats execute aerial wonders, leaving me breathless at the dangerous stunts they perform. Further beyond is a floor to ceiling glass wall and it’s what’s behind the glass that sets thePlaygroundapart from other clubs. Rooms no bigger than a small office space are softly illuminated just enough to show off the people inside performing acts that make the dancers in the cages appear saintlike.

ThePlaygroundis everything I’ve heard of and more. It’s a place where guests can let go of their inhibitions, indulgetheir senses, and immerse themselves in a world where the boundaries between fantasy and reality blur. I completely understand the appeal. The temptation in the air is intoxicating.

Greg returns with my drink, and the sweet, crispy fragrance of cherries fills my nostrils. Giving the glass a quick study, I point out a fun detail. “They put actual cherries in my glass.”

“Same,” Greg says before he clinks his Shirley Temple drink to my soda.

Together, we watch our classmates drink themselves silly on the dance floor and for a moment I feel a spike of jealousy before I remember what Greg said. There really is nothing stopping me from joining them. You don’t have to be drunk to have fun. But it certainly does help things.

I finish my drink and snag a cherry from the glass before setting it down on a nearby table. “Come on, Greggy-boy,” I sing-song as I slip my arm through his and pull him close. Snagging the cherry between my teeth, I pull back hard on the stem, popping the fruit off in my mouth. “Let’s go find some hot ass men.”

While we walk toward the dance floor, I fiddle with the cherry stem in my mouth, tying it into a knot using only my tongue and teeth. A skill I developed during school to calm my nerves that transformed into something useful over the years with past boyfriends. But don’t let my father hear that one. He still likes to think of me as his innocent princess, and it’s a good thing he doesn’t know where his little princess is tonight.

It doesn’t take Greg long to find a guy to cozy up to. The man is such an extrovert; he exudes charisma and personality in waves that it’s almost sickening sometimes to witness. So, while he enjoys himself, I move towards the center of the dance floor and throw my hands up into the air, savoring the way the pounding bass syncs with my heartbeat.

Time drifts by in a haze of lights and music until I’m left sweaty and hot and in need of a break. In the bathroom, I sip on a bottle of water while I do what I can to cool down. Patting my neck and chest with a wet cloth, I study my reflection in the mirror. Olive skin, kissed by the Florida sun, accents my high cheekbones and striking yet soft Italian features. Expressive dark eyebrows and long eyelashes frame my large light hazel eyes, a DiAngelo family trait. My dark brown hair is pulled up high on my head in a ponytail tonight, but when down, the long locks fall far below my shoulders.

I’ve been told frequently how much I resemble my mother when she was my age. If that’s true, then time is certainly on my side because even in her older age, my mother remains a stunning woman. It’s no wonder Dad fell so hard for her when she came into his damaged life shortly after my brothers were born. Michael and Raphael are handsome men with enough women dropping their panties for them, so if Dad resembled them in the slightest, it’s no surprise Mom fell just as hard for him. Still though, looks aside, Mom has a resilient and strong spirit that rivals even my dad’s. She refuses to let him get away with shit, which there is much of, and is his equal in every way that matters.?

“Did you hear Dimitri Volkov is here tonight?”

The familiar name snags my attention and my gaze shifts to two blonde girls washing their hands on the other side of the counter. They’re young. The kind of young that requires a fake ID to get into the club.

“Are you serious?” the other girl says back. “God, he’s so fucking hot. Do you think he’s going to be a part of the show tonight?”

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