4 Clock Club Novels & Stories

Cassia stared at the clock on the wall as it struck midnight, her palms slick with nervous sweat. The card in her pocket was a constant reminder of what was coming. Room 7. Midnight. Live demonstration. The words had burned into her skin since the moment he handed it to her.

Garett was dressed in one of his better suits as he waited by the door for Sara to come downstairs. It had been a year almost since she had moved in and then stayed and made the house a home for the both of them. Garett looked down by his feet to the car seat that held their son Franklin who was now barely a month old. Though he really didn’t want to take his new infant son to the courthouse, it was something they both needed to be there for when they read the verdict on Joyce Holt.

I stretched, glancing up at the clock on the other side of my office. 8.45pm. I was starving, but the club would be opening soon. I’d had to skip lunch because I got caught up on a call, which meant my usual Thursday donor had to go back to work. Fortunately, Thursday was the night of discounted shots. Within half an hour of opening, the club would be heaving. I could just head downstairs, make myself comfy in my usual spot at the bar, and soak it all up. I’d be back to feeling like me in no time.

"I'm just going to let you keep your secrets, Mrs. Stanford. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night." We arrived at Night Crawlers Club early—just a few minutes past six. The club wouldn’t get busy until eight, but the intel I had received said that a certain someone partied there every night. I needed to see her enter before making my own move. It wasn't a place I’d ever voluntarily set foot in, so I had to be sure. "This place looks too cheap for my liking," Troy said, echoing my thoughts. "I don’t scare easily, but the idea of all these sketchy people staring at my wife’s legs is giving me the creeps."

9PM The Void Club Khaid’s routine on a non-mission night was clockwork. At 9:00 PM, he would arrive at The Void Club, a venue he partially owned, using it as a discrete command center and social surveillance hub. This time, he didn't enter as the bubbly life of the party. He entered through a private service entrance, bypassing the main crowd, and went directly to his secluded booth overlooking the main floor. The club was a dizzying blend of flashing lights, expensive clientele, and heavy, pulsating electronic music.

“2:47 PM isn’t about time. It’s about being there. So 8 minutes is 8 minutes. Deal?” _Silence. Hallway. 2:48 PM._ Chloe smiled. Tired smile. “Deal,” Chloe said. 60 seconds. No countdown. No big thing. Just 8 people. On this side. 7 people. Plus Chloe. On that side. Eyes closed. For 11 seconds. For March 14th, 2022. For December 31st, 2023. For January 7th, 2024. _Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

Minus Forcing myself to compartmentalize my emotions surrounding Cricket and my chance to be with her alone tomorrow night, I followed Clutch to our destination. We pulled up to the Nine Ball just after ten o’ clock and the place was already looking pretty lively. Bikes, low riders, and vintage custom trucks filled the parking lot. The Saints, The Apex Predators, and the older clubs in town still held sway, but according to Clutch, Los Psychos, the area’s newest club, had recently gained in numbers significantly, and all but taken over this, and several other spots.

“Yes, very difficult.” At those words, the man paused and turned to look at her. “Let me help you. I might have to warn you that when the clock strikes 3 in the morning, hoodlums assemble here. It’s already…” He lifted his hand to glance at his wristwatch, “2:30 am” Grace’s eyes widened at those words. Earlier, she heard from some of her colleagues about the hoodlums who normally assemble by 3 in the morning. That was why she would always leave the club earlier than that.