I glanced down at the skin between my denim skirt and cropped sweater. Yeah, I really could’ve gone crazier.
Even stranger, there wasn’t a table or set of chairs anywhere I could see. There were couches peeking out of the shadowed sidelines, but there was no way in hell I’d sit on those things.
Daemon’s hand was firmly on my back as he bent over, speaking into my ear. “A little out of your element, Kitten?”
Funny thing was, Daemon still stood out in this crowd. He was a good head taller than most, and none of them moved like him or looked like him. “I think you should’ve gone with the eyeliner.”
His lips quirked up. “Not ever going to happen.”
Blake moved in front of us as we followed him around the dance floor, the fast techno beat easing off and another picking up, heavy on the drums.
Everyone stopped.
Fists suddenly shot into the air, followed by shouts, and my eyes widened. Was there going to be a mosh pit? A part of me kind of wanted to try that out. The angry beat may have had something to do with it. The cage girls slammed their hands against the bars. The pretty girl on the stage with all that blond hair had disappeared.
Daemon’s hand slid to mine and squeezed. My ears strained to pick up the lyrics over the screams. Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils… The yells picked up, drowning out everything except the drums.
The hair rose on the back of my neck.
There was definitely something up with this club. Not right… Not right at all.
We rounded the bar and entered a narrow hallway. People were against the walls, so close to one another I couldn’t tell where one body began and another ended. A guy peered up from the neck he was busy with, and his heavily kohl-outlined eyes met mine.
He winked.
I quickly looked away. Note to self: do not make eye contact.
Before I knew it, we’d stopped at a door that read Personnel Only, but the Personnel part had been scratched out and someone had written Freaks in permanent marker.
Nice.
Blake went to rap his knuckles on the door, but it cracked open first. I couldn’t see who was behind it. I glanced over my shoulder. Kohl Eyes was still watching. Skeevy.
“We’re here to see Luc,” Blake said.
Whatever the mystery person behind the door said didn’t look good, because Blake’s spine went rigid. “Tell him it’s Blake, and he owes me.” There was a pause and the back of his neck flushed red. “I don’t care what he’s doing; I need to see him.”
“Great,” Daemon muttered, his body tensing and relaxing in intervals. “He’s friendless as usual.”
Another garbled response and the door opened a little more. Then Blake growled, “Dammit, he owes me. These people are cool. Trust me. No bugs here.”
Bugs? Oh, another word for implants.
Finally Blake turned to us, his brows drawn tightly. “He wants to talk to me first. Alone.”
Daemon drew up to his full height. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”
Blake didn’t back down. “Then nothing’s going to happen. Either you do as he wants and someone will come for you, or we made this trip for nothing.”
I could tell Daemon wasn’t cool with this, and I hadn’t sat through the car ride from hell and brought out my inner stripper for nothing. Rising onto my toes, I pressed against his back. “Let’s dance.” Daemon turned halfway, eyes flashing. I tugged on his hand. “Come on.”
He relented and as he turned completely, over his shoulder I saw the door open and Blake slid through. A bad feeling settled in my stomach, but there wasn’t anything we could do now that we were here.
The drums had faded off, and a somewhat familiar song had started. Taking a deep breath, I pulled Daemon out to the floor, slipping around bodies as I searched out a spot. Finding one, I pivoted around.
He watched me curiously, almost like he was saying, Are we really doing this? We were. Dancing seemed crazy when so much rested on the information we’d come for, but I pushed away our reasons for coming here. Closing my eyes and drawing on courage, I stepped up to him, draped an arm around his neck, and placed my other hand on his waist.
I started to move against him, like the other dancers were, because in reality, when guys danced, they sort of just stood there and let the girls do all the work. If I remembered correctly from the few times I’d snuck off to clubs with friends in Gainesville, the girls made the guys look good.
It took a few seconds of stiffness to find the beat to the song and loosen up muscles that hadn’t really seen any action recently, but when I did, the rhythm of the music resonated in my head and then through my body, my limbs. Swaying to the music, I whirled around and my shoulders moved with my hips. Daemon’s arm crept around my waist, and I felt his chin graze my neck.
“Okay. I might have to thank Blake for being friendless,” he said into my ear.
I smiled.
His arm tightened as the beat picked up and so did my movements. “I think I like this.”
All around us, bodies were slick and shiny with sweat, as if they’d been dancing for years. That was the thing about places like this—you get caught up and hours go by but it only feels like long minutes.
Daemon spun me back to him, and I was on the tips of my boots, facing him. His head lowered, forehead pressing against mine, our lips brushing. A rush of power went through Daemon, transferring to my skin, and in the flashing lights, we were lost in this world. Our bodies surged with the beat, fitting together fluidly while others seemed to thrash beside us, never able to find the right sync.