Page 182 of Arrow

His nostrils flared as he stepped toward me, voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my skin prickle. “Don’t push me on this, Harlowe. Not tonight.”

“Why? Afraid I might like what I see?” I let his jacket slip further down my shoulders. “Or afraid someone else might like what they see?”

He closed the distance between us in two strides, backing me against the wall. His hand found my throat, not squeezing, just resting there with enough pressure to remind me he could. “You want to play games? Fine. But understand something—Erebus isn’t like La Lune Noir. Erebus is filled with crime bosses. The rules are different there.”

“Sounds perfect,” I whispered against his mouth. “I’ve never been good with rules anyway.”

His thumb traced my pulse point, feeling it jump beneath his touch. “You go, you stay with me. You don’t wander, you don’t talk to anyone I don’t introduce you to, and you sure as fuck don’t participate in anything without my permission.”

I laughed, low and throaty. “There’s that word again. Permission.”

His eyes darkened as his grip tightened infinitesimally. “This isn’t negotiable.”

“Nothing ever is with you,” I countered, but I was already calculating my victories. He’d given in too easily. “Fine. I’ll get dressed,” I said, moving away from the wall.

His eyes narrowed as he watched me cross the room. “Wear something that won’t draw attention.”

I laughed at that, tossing his jacket onto the bed. “Everything I own draws attention. That’s the point.”

He raked his hand through his hair, a gesture so rare it almost seemed human. “Fifteen minutes. Then we leave, with or without you.”

I blew him a kiss and disappeared into the massive walk-in closet that had somehow accumulated more of my clothes than his over the past weeks. I selected a glittery black lingerie set with straps that crisscrossed my torso in a way that screamed “fuck me” with blood-red heels that matched the red A on the necklace around my neck—showcasing a deliberate display of ownership that would make him simultaneously proud and furious if someone looked too long. I applied a fresh coat of red lipstick, smudged my eyeliner to look like I’d already been thoroughly fucked—which I most definitely had— and stepped back into my heels.

When I emerged, Arrow was waiting by the door, his expression darkening as he took in my appearance. “That’s your idea of not drawing attention?”

“No,” I smiled, applying a final coat of blood-red lipstick. “For a sex club, this is practically conservative.”

His jaw clenched, and I could see him weighing his options. Kill me now, or let me come along and kill me later.

* My little viper

38

THIRTY-EIGHT

HARLOWE

Erebus was located beneath the building, on a floor accessible only by invitation and requiring a special keycard. The elevator doors slid open to reveal a dimly lit corridor with black walls that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect.

Its entrance was guarded by a pair of men who looked like they could benchpress a car. They nodded at Arrow and Orion, then gave me a thorough once-over before stepping aside.

Neon lights illuminated the club in shades of pink and purple, casting everything in a surreal glow. Unlike La Lune Noir, which had an air of performative decadence, Erebus felt dangerous—a playground for people with too much power and too few inhibitions.

“Remember what I said,” Arrow murmured against my ear, his hand possessive at the small of my back. “You stay with me.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue as we descended a curved staircase. The music grew louder with each step, a pulsing, hypnotic beat that I could feel in my chest. At the bottom, the space opened into a cavernous room bathed in red light. Bodies moved together on elevated platforms, some clothed, some not. The air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and expensive perfume.

“Welcome to Erebus,” Orion said with a theatrical sweep of his arm. “Where the damned come to play.”

The club was divided into sections, each with its own theme. To the left, a bar stretched along the wall, staffed by bartenders in leather harnesses. To the right, private rooms with gauzy curtains that revealed just enough to tantalize without giving everything away. In the center, a dance floor that doubled as a stage for performances that would make a porn star blush.

“The meeting room is upstairs,” Arrow said, guiding me through the crowd. His grip on my waist tightened every time someone’s eyes lingered on me a second too long. Bodies writhed in the shadows, pleasure and pain intermingling in a symphony of moans that nearly drowned out the music. I felt at home here.

We weaved through the crowd, Arrow using his body as a shield between the wandering hands of strangers and me. A woman in nothing but a leather harness and stilettos brushed against my arm, her pupils blown wide with whatever drug was circulating tonight.

“Fresh meat?” she purred, her fingers trailing along my shoulder.

Before I could respond, Arrow’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him with enough force to make my breath catch. “Not available,” he growled, the warning in his voice unmistakable.