Page 64 of Beautiful Secrets
Twelve hours.
Better make every second count.
* * *
Ialmost drive past Asylum—hardly recognizing the place.
Gone is the neon sign that’s been up since we bought it over. A classy CNC cut logo with fancy backlighting took its place.
There’s a queue halfway around the block.
Red carpet, velvet ropes—the fucking works.
Thankfully the bouncer knows who I am—that, or he mistook me for Cillian—because when I saunter up to the entrance with Mika on my arm, I’m sure as fuck not looking for a fight.
But he waves me through after checking out Mika’s tits, and—lucky for him and his teeth—decides not to check out her ass when I guide her in through the door ahead of me.
The music slams into us when the interior doors swing open, and Mika hesitates on the threshold, turning to give me a wide-eyed stare.
Fuck, why is it so easy to lose myself in those eyes?
Her mouth tightens before it spreads into a wide smile.
It’s already too loud to speak so I slide my hands down her hips and urge her into the club’s purple-tinged depths.
I was almost dreading coming back here because I can’t remember the last time I was in this place and sober.
Would it still be the same? Judging from the exterior, I doubt it.
And it’s not.
Asylum has changed, inside and out.
But for the better.
I guess when Kill and I were running the place, we were more interested in feet through the door than the actual flow of traffic inside. It’s so airy, for a moment I’m wondering if there’s some kind of private party happening because it’s definitely not as crowded as it used to be—despite the queue outside.
But it’s not emptier—if anything, there are even more people inside than I remember seeing even on our busiest night.
The cocktail tables that used to circle the dance floor are gone. Instead, they’re scattered around the edges of the massive room, leaving more than enough space for people walking from the dance area to the bar.
Better lighting.
Better sound system.
And unless half the population suddenly decided to stop smoking, better air conditioning.
Mika hesitates again, purple lights dancing in her pale hair as she turns to try and look everywhere at once.
Hands on her hips, I turn her toward the dance floor.
She goes more than willingly.
And when we’re finally enveloped by the heaving crowd, she spins around and beams up at me. Her mouth moves, but there’s no fucking way I can hear her over the music.
So I cup her face and kiss her, because I don’t think I could have gone another second without tasting her again.
I’m starting to wonder if there might have been booze in that fucking champagne after all. Linda wouldn’t dare pull a fast one on me, of course…but something had to explain my lack of inhibition back there.
