Page 5 of Savage Devotion
Pleading eyes turn on me.
Uh-oh. “Err…okaaay,” I manage. I trusted her,butwe also spent a night in county jail two summers ago following one of her “trust me” moments.
She checks the street signs. “Yeah, this is the spot. A friend told me about a busy local club and I want to see you work your moves on the dance floor before we have to head back to reality.”
Laila changes our trajectory, and pulls me down a dark alley before spinning us out a block over into a busy street. Localsmill around and the sound of salsa music spills into the street from a line of clubs. Seriously, you can’t tell where one ends, and the other begins. Which explains the source of the bongos and cigar smoke. Wide terraces extend out from the clubs and on the balconies are tens of partygoers out enjoying a humid New Orleans Saturday night.
Glittery dresses and nicely dressed men are all over the place. I look down at myself and wrinkle my nose. I look more prepared for a day of sightseeing than a night out.
“None of that. Here. Take my lipstick.” Using my darkened phone screen I slide on kiss-me-red before slipping them both into my handbag. Paired with the touch of bronze and a brush of mascara, it will just have to do. The deep dip of my halter top and tight cling of my silky skirt over my ass gives a hint of dirty sexy fun.
Dark brown eyes turn on me and the look of a woman on a mission pulls over the soft lines of my friend’s expression. “Beautiful! Now, thismamacitaneeds a drink and a hot guy. And so do you. Just for tonight, stop thinking and just feel. Tomorrow we both can go back to the real world, okay?”
The pleading in her eyes is hard to resist, and our fingers link and for the first time in so long I relax. I just don’t have it in me to burst her bubble. “Okay, what the hell. Why not!”
I glance up long enough to see the name on the outside. Large letters spell out a glowing pink The Voodoo Lounge. Behind the letter is a skull with glowing eyes and a top hat, wrapped in a wreath of bones and bayou flowers. Smoke curls from a cigar clenched between its teeth, forming serpent-like wisps that twist into musical notes. Behind the skull, a shadowed crescent moon bleeds red light.
I take a deep breath. Not foreboding at all.
I instantly clock this as Savage Reign territory. Something Laila knows nothing about. The local biker gang is not your typical group of rowdy party-goers looking for a bar brawl. This crew is all about the business, not that any of them hang out on the floor with the patrons. I’ve tended bar a couple of times here for some extra cash and I’ve never seen one Savage. So yeah, there probably won’t be any jail time tonight.
But anything is possible.
3
ARABELLE
Laila pushes us through a throng of people at the entrance to the club that looks bursting at the seams. A steady stream of locals and tourists alike mingles among the bright pink and acid green neon lights.
No one seems worried about anything tonight. All I see on people’s faces is smiles and smeared lipstick. What draws my attention is the smell of spicy masculine cologne and sweet-smelling tequila. Sultry perfume and swaying bodies.
The streets of this town at night carry a certain energy. A cool, calm, and zesty vibe that speaks to a part of me I buried under grief, childhood nightmares and how deeply I miss my sister.
I briefly squeeze my eyes shut. But here, Jesus Christ. It all just melts away. It feels like I can breathe again and my heart pulses with a new excitement I haven't felt in a long time. My veins fill with heat, amplified by the sheer amount of people in such a small place.
“Look at you. Those hips can’t help themselves, can they? Let’s find you a hotpapito use that red lipstick on.”
I can’t believe I’m going to say this. “Umm, yeah. That sounds good to me.”
Laila throws me a saucy wink, and I follow behind. The bar takes up nearly the entire left side of the club with its typical worn slab of polished wood, a wall of mirrors, and all the usual multi-colored bottles on display. A few moments later I have a watered-down version of Don Julio shoved into my hands.
“Thanks, Bourbon.”
I raise my glass and offer the aging bartender a smile, earning one in return from an on-and-off colleague before he moves on.
“Salud, amiga.”
I smile at my friend’s accent when speaking my native language.
“Salud y amor, amiga.” Health and love, friend. I raise my shot glass and throw back the light gold liquid. Not exactly gasoline, but not the expensive stuff either.
Tables take up the far left and back walls. Bodies bump into mine and I hardly get a glance much less an apology from the dancers taking up the vast majority of the middle.
Laila raises her voice over the sultry music. “Okay, The Gilded Key Society can happen next time. There’s nothing there we can’t find here for a night of fun if we look hard enough.”
I didn’t agree. The Society is on a whole other level.
“And believe me,” Laila continues. “We are looking for a good time.” She jerks her head toward a darkened corner of the bar where a group of three men is speaking around a table.
