Chapter 214

Book 2

Guilty Pleasure #2

Chapter One

The bass of the music pulsed through the floor of Club Noire, the most exclusive, and notorious club in the city. Neon lights flashed like heartbeats in the dark, slow and sultry, coating every surface in red and violet, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and something darker, something sinful. This was not the kind of club where girls like her were meant to be.

“Elena, come on!” Avonlea shrieked over the music, tugging her arm with the force of a hurricane. “This is the real deal! Look at this place!”

Elena Carter clutched her fake ID tighter in her palm as her best friend, Avonlea, yanked her through the pulsing crowd. She stumbled in, still gripping her fake ID with guilt-laced fingers. The bouncer hadn’t even blinked at it as he’d scanned the card, glanced at her legs in that dangerously short black dress, and waved her in. She felt sick to her stomach.

"I can't believe we actually got in!" Killian shrieked over the music, his dark eyes glittering with mischief.

“This place is for twenty-five and up, guys,” she muttered, eyeing the crowd, but her voice was swallowed by the roar of the crowd. “This is a bad idea.”

Avonlea rolled her eyes, already heading to the bar with James, Sofia, Killian, and David trailing behind her.

She stood frozen for a beat, staring at the place. Bodies were tangled together like threads, strippers glided across golden poles under spotlighted stages, and people kissed as if it were the last night of the world. The stench of weed, alcohol, and too much cologne wrapped around her like a net. Her friends were lost in the chaos as well, shots in hand, lips locked with strangers. Elena’s skin prickled with discomfort.

She hated it.

Well, most of it.

"Relax, princess," Sofia teased, shoving a cocktail into her hand. "Live a little. You’re always saying you want more excitement."

“This isn’t what I meant.” Elena glanced around. “What if we get caught?”

David, always the reckless one, rolled his eyes. “We won’t. These things are pro-level fakes. You’re not bailing now.”

Elena took a hesitant sip, the sweetness doing little to mask the burn. She wasn’t a saint, but this was way beyond what she expected. Everything here screamed excess wealth, lust, recklessness.

The bartender barely looked at her as he slid her another drink that Sofia had apparently ordered on her behalf.

"Thanks," she muttered, grabbing the glass and glancing toward her group. They were already grinding on the dance floor, Avonlea wrapped around some guy in a shirt unbuttoned too far, Sofia laughing with a drink in one hand and a joint in the other, James was making out with a redhead and David was gone.

A guy brushed up beside her, probably in his early thirties, breath laced with tequila, and tried to start a conversation she wasn’t interested in. She barely managed to get out a “No, thank you” before he smirked and slithered away.

Behind her, someone shouted her name. She turned to see Avonlea grinding against a guy twice her size on the dance floor, waving a shot glass in the air like it was a trophy.

Then another man, maybe in his forties sidled up next to her, his cologne too strong. "Hey, gorgeous. Wanna dance?"

"No thanks," Elena said, turning away.

Two more men tried. She rejected them both. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t made for this kind of night. Irritation creeped inside her.

She leaned on the bar, keeping a careful eye on her friends as she nursed the drink. Her short black dress rode high on her thighs, the hem just barely brushing her upper legs. She crossed one leg over the other and tried not to feel every eye in the place dragging across her bare skin.

That’s when she noticed him.

He was leaning against the far edge of the bar, swirling a glass of amber liquid. Black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, a silver watch glinting under the moody red lights. His hair was mussed, as if someone had just dragged fingers through it, and his jawline — sharp, dusted with a trimmed stubble, clenched slightly as he sipped.