Harley Quinn Nightclub Novels & Stories

“Right under a nightclub.” Of course it was. “Damian’s using the place to scout new test subjects,” he added. “Drugs. Drinks. People disappear.” Ethan stepped in from the balcony, stretching. “What’s it called?” Lucas turned the tablet. The club’s logo glowed on the screen. **NOX.** Of course it was called something dramatic. Chloe finished her coffee and tossed the mug into the sink. “Let’s burn it down.” **Ethan’s POV**

This outfit was my armour for the night, striking that perfect blend of sophistication and strength—an unmistakable reflection of me. Once the others entered our suite, we made our way to Howlers, a fitting name for a nightclub full of pack wolves. The place was pulsating with energy. Coloured lights danced across the walls in a chaotic pattern that suited the wild, untamed vibe of a place frequented by wolves. The air was thick with shifter pheromones and the thumping bass of the music that made my pulse quicken, even as I focused on the night ahead. A staff member led us to a private room I'd booked for her. Danielle lit up when she saw us, her smile as radiant as ever, though I could see

“Tonight’s going to be fucking epic!” I can’t seem to stop myself from inquiring. “What’s tonight?” “Mikayla’s hens’ night at Club Monaco. Harley knows the owner; she got us a VIP section. I found straws that look like pricks.” She says proudly. More Australian slang I don’t understand. “Hen’s night?” “Bachelorette party.” Harley mutters. “Right.” Sounds like trouble. “I’m going to start getting ready.” Vanessa stands up and goes inside.

Angel Brewery. Luna parked her car upon arriving at the high-end nightclub in the heart of the city. Handing her car keys to the attendant, she walked in. Before entering, she presented her club membership card. This wasn't an ordinary nightclub; it was a place for the elite to enjoy their nights. Such places were exactly where Luna felt comfortable. She surveyed the area, searching for someone she had made an arrangement with. "Luna here!" someone shouted, waving their hand to catch her attention. Luna walked over.

I holler a confirmation on her order and she replies with a muffled thanks before I head down to the front door. The garage lights come on the minute the door opens and my legs move on autopilot to the Harley. I sit on the Motorcycle, ready for a joy ride and memories of that night come rushing back to me like a freight train. The engine flares to life with a dark rumble and the tires screech as I race down against the asphalt. I reach the nightclub, Clementrout by 8:47 pm and I order a bottle of Vodka to take away the itch that had turned to a need the moment I got on the Harley.

The drinks are green, red, and black. I wear the DC character supervillain Harley Quinn costume with wigs because Bash did not agree to dye my hair while Bash wears a Daredevil costume with a masked horn head. “Shouldn’t you two wear at least a match costume?” Ryker asks. I think he’s Edward Cullen tonight with a thick foundation to look pale and red contact lens. “Ryker!” I launch myself to hug him. He laughs. “Easy there, Harley. Our last encounter wasn’t pleasant. You don’t wanna make this party a real Halloween, do you?”

I can stomach that and conclude that she didn't want to open old wounds but what about being a stripper and my brother knowing about it! Club Image comes into view, its neon sign flickering like a bad dream. I park my bike, the gravel crunching under my boots, and storm inside. The place stinks of cheap beer and sweat, the music pounding in my chest. I scan the room, looking for Hera. The stage is full of dancers showing off their dance moves and curves. My eyes scan the room, searching for that familiar face. I don't spot her though. However,I spot Nyx at the bar, her black mask not fooling me. She’s pouring drinks, her hands quick but tense, like she’s on edge. I push through the crowd,gra

He looks at me and nods once. Permission granted. Tonight the pack answers to the storm queen. 4:30 p.m. – Ohio Club basement Al Capone and thirty of the hardest ghosts in the afterlife are cleaning spectral tommy guns and pouring ghost-gin into flasks. Frankie Yale hands me a sawed-off made of pure moonlight. Frankie: “Point and think loud, doll. It’ll sing for you.” Al himself just tips his hat. Al: “Tonight we finish what we started in ’33.

Jackson chuckled. I let out a raspy laugh. Jackson knew that was silly but silly questions were his favorites. I could get my girls the way I want. I just wasn’t in the mood tonight, he was leaving and this was our last outing together until we see each other again. I can’t waste this night laying a girl. The Hillbillies by Kendrick Lamar blasted suddenly through the speakers and the nightclub came alive. The girls yelled from their table and jumped wildly dancing off to the fast rhythm of the music. The red-hair girl seemed like the leader of the girl troupe or rather the key reason they were there.

I muttered as I stalked off to find the first underworld around. The underworld was strings of exclusive nightclubs for werewolves; there were places where humans wouldn't stumble into, lest they find themselves as unwilling prey. They were the most dangerous part of the city and the only place where no one would recognize me due to the body paint smudged all over our bodies. A place where I was free, where no one knows who's who, a place where I could go wild. The nightclub pulsed with the energy of the French Quarter as I stalked in, smudging crimson paint across my face, neon lights dancing across the crowded room. With a quick stride, I swung upwards into the top box, landing lightly on