Midnight At The Barclay Hotel Novels & Stories

She and the Smiths were at each other's throats like a wild dog fight. Matthew was looking at years behind bars. I had moved on from all that drama a while back. I had been busy launching the new game I helped make. It was all about love and getting even, and even though it was for a pretty specific crowd, people were loving it. Today, Edwin threw a big party to celebrate the game's success. Right there, with everyone watching, he got down on one knee. "You remember that last question I asked you in our interview? Got an answer yet?"

The bar at the hotel was half-empty by midnight. Dim lights, low music, the kind of place where people either waited for someone or hoped no one would notice them. I sat at the end of the counter with a whiskey that had gone warm in my hand. Work trip. Another city that looked the same as the last. I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just tired of the quiet room upstairs.

Heidi "We're closed." "Your sign says open until two." "The sign takes orders from me, not the other way around." I’m at a bar called Vintage at one in the morning. The only light in the place comes from six candles, making it feel like I’m in cellar, surrounded by hundreds of bottles of wine. The ambience certainly matches the name. The only person in the establishment is one man alone at the end of the bar with a ledger and an actual fountain pen, writing without looking up.

"Would you like to come with me?" "To be bored out of my mind? No, thanks." Carly didn't even look up from her phone. "Good luck, darling." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, uninterested and unmoved. Blake grabbed his keys and slid into his sleek black sports car. Thirty minutes later, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Regalia Hotel. He knew this place too well. What most guests didn't know was that the top floor housed a private bar for VIPs only, with discreet booths available for a small fortune each night. He headed straight there.

Luke Marlowe had been shot at three times in his life. Once in Libya. The second in Prague and the last while standing too close to a Saudi prince with a questionable poker habit. None of those things compared to the quiet fury of waiting in a Bentley while Anna Rossi flirted her way through a blind date with a man named Barclay. Barclay. Who the fuck was named Barclay? Was he a polo horse? Luke glanced at the restaurant door again and still no sign of her. Just some other overdressed men with veneers and inherited confidence stepping out with women who looked bored enough to start fires for fun.

Perhaps, Matthew and I reminded her of the friendship she shared with Shawn. We descended a narrow staircase hidden behind a tapestry of a hunting scene. The air shifted—damp and metallic. The scent hit me before the sight did. Blood. Old. Faded. But there. My throat tightened. Three iron-barred rooms sat at the end of the corridor. Empty now. Chains bolted to the walls. Scratches carved into stone. I stepped inside the middle cell. And there, on the floor, were claw marks. Not wolf. Too light to be wolf.

This would be a major relapse in her mental health. A Mental Asylum is where she would never go again. When she saw Angus staring at her, chills ran down her spine. He was up to no good and Avyanna could sense it. Avyanna soaked herself in her lavender body scrub, drinking directly from a bottle of champagne. She kept cucumbers in her eyes and delve into the soothing rhythm and vocals of the song Getting older by Billie Eilish. She had soaked in the bathtub for almost forty-five minutes. The time was 12: 45. Lala kept bothering her telling her that Elektra was at the window, and she asked her to bring Elektra up to the room.

“In that case, I might really die this time. Good bye, Zev.” To be continue… Authors’ Note: Happy new year everyone! Thank you for your support. Please continue reading Midnight Feast until 2021. Recap: Layla was one of the so-called ‘meat’ to be serve at the ‘demon’s table’. When midnight came and the howling of the king resounded in the woods, she knew she would die. With strong determination to fulfill at least one of her lifelong dreams, she ran her mouth and desperately asked her predator a favor in exchange of her complete submission to death. In the eyes of the powerful beast, she was nothing but a talking flesh and so her wish was granted. Little did she know, her life was about to c

The Moon Bar The Moon Bar was a low-lit jewel box perched over the city, all black stone and smoked glass, the skyline poured into it like a long drink. The jazz trio in the corner played something cool enough to condense on the windows. Staff moved efficiently—dark ties, darker aprons—while the crowd thrummed with money, gossip, and the kind of laughter that curved like a question mark.

--- The hotel had a bar on the lobby level that I had clocked on the way in — dark wood, low golden lighting, the kind of place that played jazz quietly enough to feel grown-up but loudly enough to feel like trouble. I slid onto a stool near the end of the bar. The bartender was a tall Black woman in a crisp white shirt and a silver name tag that read MARLA. She had the kind of arched eyebrow that told you she had seen every shade of human nonsense in this town and was ready, professionally, to listen to mine. "What will it be, sweetheart?" "Whiskey," I said. "Neat." The eyebrow went up another half-inch. "You sure about that, honey?"