Page 16 of The Sinner: James

“Hmm... Then, it’s exactly what we think,” he comments, still very much entertained.

“Seriously. No. She’d asked me to pick her up and was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Are you sure this is the place? Maybe she went somewhere else,” Lex says.

“Yes, this is the place, but I’m not sure if she’s still here. I want to double-check before I go home.”

“All right then,” James says, looping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him before Lex swings the door open, and we all walk in.

3

RAIN

We enterthe place under the stern eyes of a few bouncers who open their mouths to murmur a greeting yet don’t dare to say anything else.

They nod at us––or rather at them––before we turn right and stroll across the club.

We walk past several booths lit from above and dressed in crimson velvet, where suit-clad men and women sporting beautiful dresses sit around the tables, an army of servers bringing them food and drinks.

Large mirrors line the walls, reflecting back a decadent world.

Exotic entertainers perform on a raised platform in the center, while the surrounding space is a mix of old-style opulence and modernism, designed for comfort and pleasure.

The scarlet upholstery, matching rugs, espresso finish, glass tabletops, and sophisticated lighting create an atmosphere of lustful mystery, the hallmark of a high-end gentleman’s club.

Shaped like a crescent, the booth in the back is the biggest and the most private of all VIP areas.

Out of the regulars’ sight, the round table and wide bench can easily accommodate several guests.

James motions me to the sofa. Hesitantly, I look at him.

His hand goes to the back of my neck, palming the heated skin beneath my hair as he leans closer.

“We’ll have someone look for her,” he says in response to my muted concern.

Lex scoots in first.

Reluctantly, I slide in next, and then James, who flanks me with his friend, blocking my exit.

The hostess, a dark-haired woman wearing a red hourglass dress paired with golden jewelry, stops at our table.

Her piercing eyes go over me, her lips pursed in a scowl. She looks somewhat familiar.

Out of reflex, I hide behind James.

She takes the order without uttering a word, and just when I’m about to sigh and wipe away a bead of sweat from my brow, I catch her eye again, prompting her to point at me with her tablet.

“She’s not supposed to be––”

She halts abruptly as James tilts his head up, raising an eyebrow at her and shooting her a questioning look.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be right back,” she says, her cheeks red like the bench, panic steamrolling her face.

The incident is quickly forgotten, and their drinks come within minutes.

Three glasses.

Scotch on the rocks.

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