Brooklynn must have known that I was having second—and even third—thoughts.
I glanced around. Something didn’t seem right. Most of the clubs were downtown, tucked away in the industrial districts, but somehow this was darker—and dirtier—than any of the places we’d ever been before.
From the streets behind us, I heard the faint crackle of the loudspeaker. The message was so muffled and tinny that if I hadn’t already memorized the words, I wouldn’t have been able to make them out: “PASSPORTS MUST BE CARRIED AT ALL TIMES.”
It felt as if even the queen had abandoned this part of town.
“Seriously, stop worrying, Charlie. We’re in the right place.”
The brick buildings were defaced with layers of fading graffiti. The windows that weren’t broken or boarded over were coated with grime. Cigarette butts littered the ground amid the rotting garbage. The stench of decomposing food was bad enough, but the mingling odor of human waste made it hard not to gag.
And yet conspicuously absent were the new homeless of the Serving class who had infiltrated the city, sleeping on the streets and sidewalks, seeking refuge in doorways and alleys, scavenging for food scraps and spare change.
But as we walked, I heard—and felt—the distant stirrings of music trying to break free from one of the warehouses ahead of us.
Brooklynn stopped, pointing at a flash of red paint near the end of the alleyway. “I told you! That’s it.”
I knew she was right, because it was the only door that was freshly painted. Probably in years. Possibly decades.
Brooklynn hurried down the alleyway and bounced up the two steps in heels that seemed recklessly high, heels that had once belonged to her mother. I glanced down at my plain sandals, the brown leather straps laced around my bare ankles.
She reached out to knock on the solid door, rapping her knuckles against the red steel. The sound was swallowed by the bass resonating from within.
She tried again, pounding with the side of her curled hand, striking the door as hard as she could.
Still, nothing.
I pushed her aside. “I think we just go in.” I gripped the iron handle and pulled as hard as I could. When the door opened, the noise beyond reached inside me, rattling my bones. It beckoned me.
Brooklynn hopped up and down, clapping her hands before rushing past me in a blur.
I hurried after her, not wanting to be left outside alone.
The large man inside the door stopped us, holding up an arm that was the girth of my entire body as he reached for Brook’s Passport. I was certain his silence was meant to be intimidating, and he wasn’t half-bad—with all of his brawn and his menacing scowl—but he was just like any other bouncer at every other club we’d been to.
It wasn’t until his gaze fell on Brook—not her Passport—that my throat tightened. I hated this part.
He knew we were underage, and we knew that he knew it, so he would be doing us a favor by letting us in. He would admit us, of course, but not before getting something out of it in return.
He inspected her, his eyes devouring her, appraising her from head to toe.
Brooklynn didn’t mind. She grinned, trying her best to look alluring, and I had to admit, she was convincing. Better than convincing. It was no wonder she’d attracted the attention of so many military men throughout the city.
My stomach turned as he dissected her through half-lidded eyes. His gaze paused over the bare spots of her skin: her neck, her shoulders, her arms.
When he was finished, the burly man gave a quick nod of his head to the almost undetectable girl who stood beside him, lost in the shadows of his bulk. Her inky-black hair was swept up into a cascading ponytail, with tiny black wisps skimming her pale face, making her look young. Too young to be in a club.
Just like Brook and me.
The girl skipped forward, reaching for Brook’s hand and marking it with a stamp, the ink indiscernible in this light.
And then it was my turn.
I pressed my Passport into his enormous hand, hoping to avoid his scrutiny, but he stared anyway.
It was impossible not to feel violated. I did my best to block out his gaze from my mind, but goose bumps broke out over my skin wherever his eyes roamed.
When I felt him studying my face, I looked up again, locking eyes with his. My shoulders stiffened, and I refused to look away.
He grinned at my show of defiance, pleased, his teeth flashing scarlet beneath the glow of the red lights overhead, his lips thinning around them. This was a man who didn’t belong to any class in particular—at least not any longer. Of that I was certain. Everything about him spoke of something else entirely. I wondered which class it was that had cast him aside, or whether he’d simply been born to Outcast parents, condemned through no fault of his own to a life in which he was never permitted to speak in public . . . not even in Englaise.
I tried not to be the first to blink, but he was better at this game than I was, and too soon I turned my head away, training my eyes toward the floor.
His laughter boomed above the music, and from the corner of my eye I saw him nod again. The slight girl with the ponytail hopped forward, grabbing my hand in hers and marking it before she disappeared behind the bouncer once more. As always, the skin beneath the hand stamp tingled, a little something they added to the ink to loosen up the patrons. Particularly the female patrons. Especially the underage ones.
We considered it the price of admission.
He ignored the fact that neither of us was legal as he scanned both of our Passports before handing them back to us. I had no idea where the scanned information went, but I knew that it wasn’t the military tracking us here, since the clubs weren’t exactly legitimate.
They weren’t necessarily illegal, either, but only because no club ever stayed open for more than a few days. A week at most.
Brooklynn took my arm and dragged me away from the entrance, pulling me toward the hypnotic music coming from within.
I could feel the steady rhythm of the bass thrumming through my veins, and my heart beat in time with the flashing lights that were mounted in the rafters overhead. And, for the moment at least, I forgot to be irritated by the flesh examination I’d just been subjected to.
It had been far too long since I’d been out, too long since I’d listened to real music, the kind that came from an electric sound system. It slithered beneath my skin, finding a warm, safe place there.
“This place is amazing, isn’t it? Are you out of your mind? Do you love it here?” Brooklynn’s manic speech patterns would have been impossible for anyone else to keep up with, but I’d known Brook since we were children. I could eat her rapid-fire sentences for breakfast.
I followed her eyes around the club. She was right. It was amazing.
It had all the right things. The mood was dark and sensual, amplified by throbbing red, blue, and purple lights that pulsed to the music. A glass-and-steel bar had been built into an entire wall of the massive interior.
Impressive, considering it probably hadn’t existed yesterday and could be gone as early as tomorrow.
The large dance floor was crowded as bodies rubbed together, sliding, grinding, and swaying to the seductive beat. Just watching made me want to join them, as they moved in and around one another.
The beat continued to thread its fingers around me.
“What did you say they were calling this club?”
“Prey,” Brook answered, and I grinned.
Of course it was Prey. It was always something dark and dangerous. Something carnal.
Brooklynn dragged me toward the bar, reaching into her purse to pull out some loose bills. “Can we get two Valkas?” The tremor in her voice was barely noticeable.
The bartender was a sinewy woman with lean, bare arms. She was strong and looked like she could be a bouncer in her own right. Her short, spiky hair was a deep shade of blue, and her tongue shot out to touch the piercing in her lower lip. She was beautiful in a strangely androgynous way, and her comfort in her own skin was evident in the way she moved as she reached for a bottle. She narrowed her black eyes at the jumpy girl in front of her bar.
Brooklynn squared her shoulders and met the direct gaze as unwaveringly as she could.
Finally the bartender set two glasses on the countertop and filled them with a shimmering blue liquid. “Twelve,” she stated in a raspy voice that was both hard and sensual at the same time. As she slid the drinks toward us, I was instantly very aware of just how underage we really were.
Brooklynn dropped a single bill on the bar, and the woman pocketed it. There was no discussion of change or tips.
I picked up one of the drinks and took a sip. The sweet taste barely masked the caustic burn of the liquor, which sizzled all the way from my throat down to my stomach. Brooklynn was in more of a hurry and guzzled hers, downing half her glass in three long swallows.
I rolled the chilled glass over the sting on the back of my hand, where the girl at the door had stamped it. I glanced down and could see the angry red outline of welted skin in the shape of a crescent moon.
I didn’t need a black light to see it now. No one would.
I felt off, out of sorts. I knew that whatever was bothering me was probably just the drug from the hand stamp finding its way into my system. Paranoia was always a potential side effect.
Brooklynn pointed across the room. “Look, they’ve got the good stuff here,” she said in a voice that was thick like honey.
Above the dance floor, on the opposite side from us, a man with a daring grin stood at the railing overlooking the tangle of bodies below.
He had captured Brook’s interest.
It was nothing new. Men of all types enthralled Brooklynn. She’d been boy crazy since we were little girls; she’d only had to wait for her body to catch up. And now that it had, there was nothing to stop her.
“Here,” she said, draining the rest of her drink. “Hold this, I’ll be right back.” And over her shoulder she added, “We need an appetizer.”
Typical Brooklynn, I thought as I searched for a place to set her empty glass. I tried not to look too abandoned as I eased myself toward the railing to watch the dancers while I prepared to wait, getting comfortable.
I rested my elbow against the steel balustrade and again tried to figure out what was wrong with me. I should be having fun; we’d made it past the bouncer at the door. And, more importantly, the bartender.
I was sure it had more to do with what had happened earlier at the restaurant than the drug-laced stamp on my hand.
Around me, I listened to conversations spoken in every tongue, and was never forced to look away, or even to pretend I couldn’t understand what was being said. None of these people would ever realize I actually knew what they were saying.
Because here there were no rules.
I was born into the Vendor class, to a family of merchants. Other than Englaise, the universal language of all people, Parshon was the only language I was permitted to know. It was the only other language I should have been capable of comprehending.
But I wasn’t like the others.
I was like no one.
For me, that was part of the appeal of these underground clubs, places where class didn’t matter, where the social boundaries were blurred. In places like these, the military sat beside the wanted, the degenerate, and the cast-aside, and they all pretended, at least for a short while, to be friends. To be equals. And a vendor’s daughter could forget her lot in life.
It was everything I’d ever dreamed of.
But I was pragmatic. I didn’t spend my days dreaming of a different life, of ways to escape the limitations of my class, mostly because there were none. I was what I was, and nothing could change that. A place like Prey was only make-believe; the reprieve was only for the night.
I moved away from the railing and drifted into the sea of bodies, noticing the colors. I always noticed the colors. Here, clothing didn’t have to be utilitarian—dull shades of browns, blacks, grays. In a place where class division didn’t exist, colors materialized. Brilliant hues of emerald and scarlet and plum blazed in the form of clothing, temporary hair dyes, tints for lips, and polishes for nails. Somehow even the indigos and blacks were deeper and more intense within these walls.
Brooklynn fit right in, wearing a shimmering gold dress that revealed a generous expanse of her toned legs and glittered beneath the flashing lights. I, on the other hand, wore my usual drab linen tunic that fell just below my knees.
I glanced at the people around me. Mostly, they were like us—the underage crowd. Youthful and energetic, with not enough outlet in their real lives. They—we, I corrected myself, even though my dress was dull and boring—created a bizarre human rainbow.
I worked my way toward the stages, positioned high above the dance floor, where scantily dressed girls danced for the crowds below. Their bodies, and the way they moved, were utterly hypnotic. They provided entertainment for the evening.
One particular girl caught my attention as her hips rocked in perfect rhythm to the song pulsating through the air. A blue spotlight shone down upon her, making her skin glow an unnatural shade of sapphire. The beads she wore were strung from a slender collar clasped around her neck and draped to a belt that was slung loosely around her hips. When she swayed, the beads clattered together, moving, shifting, parting. Just like every other girl up on the stages, the beads covered almost nothing, but I was certain that was the point.
Her long legs were willowy and graceful, as if she’d been trained to perform in this manner. And she probably had been. The outcasts lived a different lifestyle from everyone else, doing jobs that were considered objectionable to those living within the class system.
Dancing would definitely fall into that category. Especially the kind of dancing that this girl did.
I watched her for several long moments, admiring the freedom she had up there, on that stage. A vendor’s daughter would never be permitted to perform for a living.
“I’m glad you decided to come.” The deep voice rumbled from behind me, interrupting my musings.
I spun around, my eyes wide, embarrassed to be caught staring at the dancers.
“Do I know you?” I asked, but I realized immediately that I did. I’d seen him before. “From the restaurant,” I amended. “You were there tonight.”
Strong black brows drew together as he watched me, his expression unreadable. I felt like I was being inspected, but in an entirely different way from the bouncer at the front door. Something dark and unrecognizable tangled in the pit of my stomach, something uncertain.
He was larger than I’d remembered, entirely too large for the crowded space in which we stood, making me feel childlike and small. He took up far too much room, breathed far too much air.
The skin at the nape of my neck tightened, my head clearing instantly as the drug that had been bleeding through my system evaporated in a blink. In fact, all of my senses were heightened as my eyes remained fastened on his.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight.” His voice was low—almost hushed—despite the loud music pounding around us.
“Yeah, me either. I wasn’t sure I’d be anywhere tonight,” I shot back.
He raised one brow uncertainly. “Is this a bad time? If you’d rather be alone, I’ll go.”
I could feel the restless crowd around us. If I’d really wanted to be alone, Prey would be the last place I’d be. But I suddenly felt trapped by his cool, flint-colored eyes. They were disquieting in a way I didn’t understand. My breath lodged in my throat, and I had the strangest feeling that I should look away from him. Yet I was captivated.
“It’s—it’s okay,” I finally managed, and that tangle knotted deeper, taut threads of hesitant emotions. The feeling that he was to be avoided deepened.
He frowned, but his lips quirked. “Good, because it was an empty offer. I had every intention of staying. I’m Max.” His smile grew, and I could tell, too, that he was teasing me. I wished in that moment that I could be more like Brook. I wished that I was more confident around boys. He held his hand out to me.
When I didn’t take it, he drew it back and rubbed it along his jaw, a nothing of a gesture, yet I couldn’t help noting that he was almost too graceful when he moved.
There was a long silence as the music changed. I knew I should tell him my name, but instead I turned my gaze away from him, feigning interest in the dancers on the stage above us. The truth was, though, all I really noticed was him, stealing surreptitious glances whenever I could. His clothing was finer than anything I’d ever seen before—even the silk Aron had given me—and without meaning to, my fingers inched up, straining to stroke the rich fabric of his jacket. Just once.
I caught myself in time, dropping my hand back to my side and jerking my chin up a notch, thankful that I’d stopped myself before actually touching him, before making a fool of myself. It was then that I saw him smiling at me, for me, and my heart stopped.
I turned to look at him. The hard planes of his face softened, and suddenly he was dangerously boyish. And beautiful. Far too beautiful. And, like the fabric of his coat, my fingers itched to touch him . . . to rake through his short, dark hair, to feel his smooth-shaven jaw, to trace my thumb across his full lower lip.
I jolted. What was I thinking? Maybe I was too much like Brooklynn!
“I—I changed my mind. I think I should go.” I fumbled over my words as I stepped backward . . . first one awkward step, and then another.
Max frowned, reaching out to stop me. “Wait. Don’t leave.” I could feel the warmth—and the strength—of his fingertips seeping through the simple dress I wore, and I suddenly wished that I’d let Brooklynn talk me into borrowing one of hers. They weren’t any newer, but the fabrics were richer. And infinitely more revealing. I wondered what his touch would feel like against my bare skin.
I lifted my eyes to his, marveling at his thick fringe of dark lashes, and once more was unnerved by the sensation that I shouldn’t do that, that I was meant to look away. I reminded myself that here—in the club—class bore no distinction. Even if it was only an illusion.
But that thought emboldened me, and I let a half smile find my lips as I tipped my head to the side. “Why would you care if I go?”
I was rewarded by a grin even as he released my arm. It was a fair exchange. “I was hoping you might at least tell me your name. It’s the least you could do, since I came here to see you.” His eyebrow lifted, and my pulse quickened.
I shook my head, certain he was still teasing me. Surely it was Brooklynn he’d meant to meet up with. But I decided to play along. “So what’s the deal, do you have a thing for the underdog best friend? Or was it the fact that I nearly got myself sent to the gallows that attracted you?”
A troubled look crossed Max’s face, and I realized that, like Brooklynn, he wasn’t amused by the predicament I’d gotten myself into with the Counsel girl. But his next words had nothing to do with what he’d overheard at the restaurant. “Do you not realize how beautiful you are?” he asked, leaning closer.
My face grew warm, and then hot.
I heard Brooklynn then, her voice rising above all else, even the music. Her laughter was musical and throaty, and just the thing to break the spell I was under. I turned to find her, searching the crowd, and spotting her glossy black curls easily.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I explained, but only as an afterthought, and only over my shoulder. I pushed my way forward, moving through hands and arms as I eased my way through the supple, shifting crowd to get to Brook.
And away from the unfamiliar feelings that besieged me.
When I finally saw Brooklynn, standing atop one of the raised platforms that overlooked the dance floor, she was crushed between the other two men from the restaurant, the ones who’d told her about Prey in the first place. They were even taller than their friend Max, and beside Brook’s petite frame, they made her appear miniature. A lovely, fragile doll.
I hesitated for just a moment. I wasn’t easily intimidated, but there was something about these two, something that gave me pause.
Brook’s head was tilted back, her face lit up with laughter as she gazed adoringly at the dark-skinned man by her side. She was allure and promise in one seductive bundle. But it was the other man who drew my attention, the one with lighter skin, a shaved head, and sharp green eyes. He was just as tall as his friend, and equally muscular; the silver buttons of his black shirt strained across his broad chest. He leaned down, closer to Brooklynn, while her attention was diverted, lifting one of her dark curls to his face. And then he inhaled, breathing it in.
Smelling her.
“Charlie!” Brooklynn called when she saw me, waving eagerly and signaling me to join them. “You remember my friends, from the restaurant?” It was her way of introducing me to the men on either side of her.
Goose bumps prickled my arms: a visceral warning.
I reached for her hand. “We have to go,” I urged, trying to draw her away.
But Brooklynn pulled her hand from mine, clutching it to her chest as if I’d just burned her. “Stop, Charlie. I’m not ready to go yet.”
I recognized her tone, I’d heard it countless times before. She had no intention of leaving.
Frustrated, and unsure how to convince her, I struggled to come up with an excuse, but Brooklynn demanded my attention.
“Come on, Charlie. Check it out, these two have the best accents ever. Listen!” She turned to the man who had, just seconds earlier, smelled her. “Show her. Say something,” she commanded sweetly.
Before I could tell him that I wasn’t interested, the man accommodated Brooklynn’s request. But he didn’t speak in Englaise. His language was thick and gravelly.
In all my life, I’d never heard anything like it.
The world shivered around me in protest.
His language was strange, and the inflection of his voice was heavy and rough-edged, but the meaning of his words was crystal clear.
I heard what Brooklynn never would:
“This childish beauty smells delicious.”
The two men smiled knowingly at each other and my apprehension deepened, but not because of what he’d said.
This time, when I grabbed Brooklynn’s wrist, I didn’t let go. I felt better just having my hands on her.
I shot a nervous glance in the direction of the man who had made my skin itch, but it wasn’t what he’d said, it was how he’d said it. I spoke quietly to Brook, tugging on her arm. “We have to go. I’m not feeling well.” It wasn’t entirely a lie; my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“Nooo!” Her voice was loud and petulant. “Let’s stay. I want to dance with . . .” She stopped, perplexed. “What was your name again?”
“Claude.” His deep voice distorted the word, so that even though he pronounced it in Englaise, it came out sounding like he’d said Cloud.
Brooklynn giggled. “Cloud. I want to dance with Cloud.”
Claude watched her with sharp eyes that didn’t miss a thing.
“Brook,” I insisted, looking only at her. “You promised.”
Brooklynn chewed on her red lip, her black brows pulled together in a delicate frown. “But we just got here. What if I don’t see him again?” She pouted for Claude’s benefit when she said this.
His lips parted, a patient smile, his green eyes practically glowing. His smile would have been fine, maybe even nice, at any other time, on any other person. But when he spoke again, the air around me trembled in sweltering waves.
Again, his words were like nothing I’d ever heard, yet I understood them perfectly:
“I’ll be watching for you, my lovely.”
The second man’s dark brown eyes crinkled at Claude’s statement, and he added, “She’d be hard to miss.”
I blinked, afraid my face would betray me after hearing those strange words. Words I knew I was never meant to understand.
I jerked Brooklynn’s arm. “No!” I shouted, no longer caring that I was drawing the attention of others in the club. And then I grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “We have to leave, Brook. You promised,” I begged through gritted teeth.
Brooklynn frowned at me, but her shoulders slumped, accepting her fate.
“I’m sorry,” she sulked as she turned to Claude. “Will you save me a dance? For next time?”
A meaningful smile played across his lips. He leaned down and whispered something in Brooklynn’s ear.
While Claude held her attention, I realized that Max had followed me onto the platform. I had no idea how long he’d been listening.
He stood just a few feet away, too close, watching me intently and wearing a new expression now: curiosity.
It wasn’t a look I cared to attract.
I told myself that I’d only imagined it. That there was no way he could know, or even suspect, that I’d recognized the meaning behind his friend’s strange words.
I glanced back to Brooklynn as she tucked a silken black tendril of her hair behind her ear. She nodded at Claude and grinned wickedly. No doubt she’d understood “Cloud” perfectly that time.
But already I was pulling her, dragging her away from the enormous men and their mysterious language. And away from the suffocating dread that bore down on me.