Page 47 of Deliverance

A female figure clad in a short black dress and heavy-looking platform boots splits from the crowd.Drew.Her long, slightly ruffled hair cascades over her shoulders in large waves and she looks like a siren. Too small for the type of footwear she’s chosen to wear and too bright for this somber city she’s adopted as her playground.

I park my Spyder and step out. “I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.” A chuckle leaves my mouth.

Chestnut brown eyes fall on me. “But you made it,” she says as if my being here is a miracle.

“Too tempting of an offer to pass up.” Sliding on my leather jacket, I swing my gaze to the city lights behind her, then to the group of people waiting for us. They’re staring at me as if I’ve just grown a pair of horns and a tail.

Drew gestures at the assembly of bodies flanking the red Hummer with tinted windows. “Let me introduce you to my friends.”

She starts walking.

I follow a few paces behind, my eyes running over her back and toned legs that tell me that she takes her work-out sessions seriously.

“This is Zander.” Drew makes the introduction once we approach the gawking crowd. “Zander”—she throws me a quick sideways glance—“this is everyone.”

Well, hello, everyone. Let’s see what you're all made of.

As if on cue, names are named and hands are offered.

“Bebe, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Saoirse-Ann. But since you’re so handsome, you can call me Ann.”

“Don’t get on her bad side,” a new voice warns. “Or she’ll make you call her Saoirse.”

“Lion.” One of the dude’s introduced himself.

“Disney called, buddy. They want you back home by ten,” someone jokes.

A muffled laughter comes from the back of the group .

“What’s up? Pete,” another dude says.

There are more, but I begin to lose track.

The last one’s an inked Latino guy with a buzz cut who appears to be Drew’s age. Lean, tall, with a swagger. “What’s going on?” He tips his chin up in greeting, his sharp green eyes evaluating me. “I’m Santiago.”

“Hey, man.” I shake his hand, noting the strong grip, and something within me stirs at the sight of him and Drew exchanging a covert stare. Jealousy maybe? Asshole is too fucking pretty. But I decide not to get ahead of myself.

“We should head out,” a small brunette in tight pink pants says after checking her phone.

The crowd begins to split up.

“We’ll go with Bebe.” Drew advances toward the Hummer and climbs inside the back seat. Santiago follows after, but stops and motions for me to go first.

Okay, maybe he just gained a couple of points for being a cool bro.

I give him a nod to let him know I appreciate the gesture and settle in next to Drew.

The second group loads into a silver Acura parked nearby. Doors slam, engines roar to life, and we start moving.

Laughter and music fill the car as we cruise down the ramp. There’s barely any light in the back, where the three of us—Drew, Santiago, and I—are huddled together. The brunette is behind the wheel. Next to her is the guy who goes by Lion. I can’t place his accent just yet, but he’s sporting a pink shirt that matches the girl’s pants and the way his hand clings to hers tells me they’re possibly an item.

“So you play drums for that kink band?” Bebe asks, her gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a flash of a second. “The one that looks like a sex cult on tour?”

“You’re friends with Kink King?” Her partner twirls in his seat and pokes his head around to us.

“Is that what they call him?” I cackle, more to myself because I stopped reading the band’s press after the release of our first album. Our management was very vocal about it.

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