Page 40 of Manic

“Let me come with you,” she said just as one of the gentlemen handed her a fresh glass of whatever she was drinking before. Something fruity. Amelia’s lips parted, a war playing on her face as I knew she’d been having an in depth discussion about her law classes with these strangers.

“No, it’s okay.” I shook my head. “I’ll be right back.”

Before she could reply, I darted in the opposite direction.

It was busier now, and the crowd thickened the closer I reached the edge of the room. My hope for a bathroom dwindled as I glanced around, searching for anything that pointed to its direction. Leather seating was arranged near the elevated platforms. Then a hallway came into view, a bright neon sign for the ladies’ room hanging above it.

“Thank God,” I mumbled, and descended the hallway.

After a few minutes and a deep breath in the mirror, I stepped out and almost collided with Amelia. She was accompanied by the two men from the bar. I lifted my brows.

“Oh, perfect!” Amelia practically shouted, but her words were slurred. “They said the bathroom was on the way.”

“On the way?...”

“To poker,” she explained. “They wanted us to join them.”

“Just one game,” Val said.

She glanced at the two men, and wariness twisted my stomach. It was then that I saw an arched doorway at the end of the hall, two security guards beside it. I wondered if they guarded a lower level.

Was that where poker was? Despite my rising curiosity, I knew it was a bad idea. Especially with strangers.

“I don’t think we should do that,” I said quietly, and gave the men a tight smile. The sudden need to leave pricked my skin.

“Oh, it’ll be fun! You know how to play don’t you?”

Even if I were to say no, Amelia would follow them down and text her driver to take me home. I refused to leave Amelia alone with them, drunk and stumbling. Despite hating this situation, I flattened my lips and gave them a reluctant nod. The men gestured toward the door with grins that looked too sleazy to be normal, and I fell into step beside Amelia.

When we approached, security gave us a subtle once-over before nodding us through. We reached the bottom floor, and the hair on my arms stood at attention. The air hung tainted with the lingering scent of sex and cigars and something else I couldn’t quite name.

Sconces lined the hall, casting a faint red glow over the dark floor. Multiple private rooms came into view, noises and moans drifting from beneath closed doors. My eyes flared.

This clearly wasn’t just about poker.

Dancers walked around topless and oiled, but a lot of them were perched on the laps of men surrounding the long poker tables. They didn’t wear masks. Shit. Those must be reserved for the dancers on the upper level. Did that mean they thought we worked here?

Surely thinking the same, Amelia’s wide eyes clashed with mine. Her body trembled, but the gentlemen ushered us down the hall anyway. Then my throat closed, and fear snaked down my spine the further we walked.

“Sutton,” Amelia frantically whispered. “I—I think we need to leave. I don’t have a good⁠—”

Her words cut the moment we stumbled into a large, private poker room at the end of the hall. My stomach immediately sank.

Men wearing tailored suits circled the table, cards in hand, and accompanied by four other women wearing tight dresses. One was even on her knees, her head bobbing between two enormous thighs. The man’s head was tilted back, lips parting with a grunt as he gripped her hair.

Yet they all continued to puff on cigars like that wasn’t even happening beside them. The one at the head of the table lifted his eyes as he tossed poker chips to the center with a sharp clink.

His dark hair was short, his ears pierced, and tattoos crawled up to his jawline. He wore a long-sleeve black dress shirt that was rolled to his elbows, opened at the chest. He was the only one not wearing a suit, but he looked young—twenty-five, maybe.

A coldness blanketed my skin when our gazes met, and I inwardly shuddered. If I hadn’t known that this was Manic and Grave’s club, I would have thought the stranger owned the place just by his demeanor. He dripped with arrogance. Whoever these men were, I wanted nothing to do with them.

“What do we have here?” he asked in a thick accent and rose from his seat.

Huge. He was fucking huge.

Though my brows pinched the closer he got, as I attempted to place where he was from. Was that a Russian accent?

“Good to see you, Dmitri. We brought some entertainment,” Val said, and I whirled around.