Page 240 of The Black Trilogy

“Whenever you want to leave, just say the word.”

I reported for duty at the appointed time, and from the outfit Bradley had laid out on my bed, I guessed we were going to a nightclub. Where else would I wear a pair of tight black jeans and a top made entirely from zips?

Zips? Seriously?

Did Bradley think I needed ventilation? Because I had no desire to show any flesh otherwise. At least he’d picked out my favourite boots, black leather with studded snakes slithering up the front. I’d had them for years, and Bradley was under threat of losing a limb if he ever threw them out.

Still not feeling the vibe, I climbed into the limo parked outside with Tia following. Dan already had a glass of champagne in her hand, but I shook my head when she offered me one.

“Where are we going?” I asked her.

“Just Black’s. Things got busy at work this afternoon, and I ran out of time to organise anything else.”

“Black’s is fine.”

At least we’d get good service there. As you can probably guess from the name, the club was another of my investments.

I enjoyed a night out dancing, or at least I used to, but I hated clubs filled with stinky sweat and watered-down drinks and too much noise to have a decent conversation. To solve the problem, I’d opened a small chain of exclusive clubs so I could have a good night out, drunk or sober, all over the world. Thanks to my marketing team, they were always packed.

“Are you talking about the Black’s?” Tia asked. “As in the best club in London? The one it’s almost impossible to get into?”

“That’s the one,” Dan said. Turning to me, she added, “At least somebody’s excited.”

“Will I even get in there? I’m only seventeen. I have a fake ID, but Arabella got it for me, and it’s not very good.”

“Yeah, you’ll get in. We’re all on the guest list. I know the owner,” Dan said.

“Awesome.”

Thankfully, Tia’s experience last weekend didn’t seem to have affected her too much. What with that and the kidnapping, she’d proven to be remarkably resilient. Although she was the youngest in the car, she’d grown up a lot since I first met her, and I felt proud of the woman she was turning into.

The journey didn’t take long at that time in the evening, and we soon pulled up outside the club. The line stretched halfway along the block, as usual. My bank manager would be thrilled. Oh, oops, that was me. Following Black’s death, I owned his Swiss bank as well.

We walked straight to the velvet rope, and the bouncer let us in without bothering to glance at his clipboard. We got a few jeers from those waiting at the front of the line, but such is life.

“Thanks, Tyrone.”

He gave me a gold-plated grin and a salute. He’d worked at the club for three years now, another graduate from the Blackwood Foundation.

Black’s had two floors—the lower level housed the main dance floor, DJ, and bar, and the upper, quieter level had a dining area, another bar, and the VIP rooms. The floor was cut away in the centre so partygoers could look onto the dance floor below, and a staircase led down from each side of the balcony.

The club manager met us as we checked our coats then ushered us into a VIP room. Squashy sofas sat either side of long, low tables, already set out with a selection of snacks. This one also had a private bathroom and its own waitress.

“Things going okay tonight, Ricky?” I asked him.

“One minor disagreement between a group of punters earlier, but we clamped down on it sharpish. Apart from that, everything’s peachy.”

“Good.” I settled back into the grey leather. “Could you send in enough beer to keep this lot happy?” I motioned to the other guys. “And some water and a couple of bottles of wine?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

When the drinks arrived, I checked out the menu and ordered dinner. There was none of the usual fried rubbish. Brown food, Toby called it. He’d assisted with the recipes, which consisted of semi-healthy tapas-style dishes that wouldn’t have been out of place in a restaurant, and because it tasted great, we could charge a packet for it.

The alcohol flowed and more people turned up from Blackwood. Dan must have spread the word when she visited the office this afternoon. The room filled to overflowing, and she rose a little wonkily from the sofa, tugging down her tight skirt.

“It’s getting claustrophobic in here. Who wants to hit the dance floor?”

She looked at me, and I declined with a shake of my head, but two-thirds of the people in the room followed her downstairs. Phew. The rest of us had space to breathe again.

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