Page 2 of Chains of Recompense
And I’m sotiredof being sheltered.
I love my family.
I would do anything for them.
And I know that they’re overprotective because they don’t want anything bad to happen to me.
But that’s just the thing.
Nothingeverhappens to me.
My life is the pinnacle of boring.
Or at least, it has been for the first eighteen years of my existence.
Tonight, I intend to change that.
Determination renewed, I take one deep, fortifying breath and march up the five steps to the club’s doors.
They swing open for me, as if of their own accord—then I see the two towering figures standing just inside the entrance.
Bouncers, by the look of them, with arms the size of tree trunks and dangerous-looking tattoos that lace up their corded forearms, disappearing beneath the rolled sleeves of their black button-downs.
They wear leather shoulder holsters, their handguns on display, but somehow, that makes their black dress pants and patent leather dress shoes look even sleeker.
They might be stylishly dressed, but danger surrounds them like an ominous black cloud, their dark hair and even darker expressions making my stomach quiver.
“Welcome to Portentia’s.”
The silky, feminine voice draws my attention from the men, who close the doors behind me without a word.
“Th-Thanks,” I stutter, my cheeks warming as I turn to meet the seductive, catlike eyes of a leather-clad woman who studies me from behind a black-glass reception stand.
The wall at her back is framed by blue cove lights that must be responsible for the foyer’s soft neon glow.
And the dim illumination creates a mysterious atmosphere, casting shadows in a way that accentuates each of the woman’s impressive curves.
“Don’t mind Bruno and Enzo,” she says with a coy grin, tipping her chin toward the bouncers and tossing the long, straight black strands of her high ponytail over her shoulder with clawlike red nails. “They’re here for our protection, I assure you.”
I get the feeling that the “our” she’s referring to is meant to encompass any women who step inside Portentia’s, but seeing as I’m the daughter of this particular club owner’s “friendly rival”, I’m not so sure that this protection would extend to me if they discovered who I am.
Which is why, tonight, I have nothing on me that can tie me back to the name Murray.
“How can I help you, love?” the woman purrs, making me start as I realize I’ve been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I never answered her.
Choking back a nervous laugh, I straighten my spine. I’m going to get myself kicked out if I can’t pull myself together and start acting the part. Clubs like these don’t allow women under eighteen, and while I’m legally old enough, I can’t prove that by pulling out my ID. “I came to try out a new scene,” I explain, hoping it sounds like I’ve been to other clubs—even if I haven’t.
The woman gives me a slow once-over, then her sultry red lips curve into a smile, and she gestures down the hall to her left. “Enjoy.”
Trying to maintain my composure, I force myself not to run as I pass her.
And when I step into the room beyond, my heart skips a beat, my steps faltering.
I’ve been in plenty of my family’s pubs before—never unaccompanied, of course—but this is unlike any establishment I’ve ever seen.
I’ve watched plenty of drunk, rowdy Irishmen getting frisky, pulling women onto their laps or swinging them around a crowded dance floor.
But here, the energy is almost subdued, and yet… electrifying.
