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“She’s not twenty-one,” Elena said. “She’s nineteen, as we have on record from when she applied to be a model for my company.”

Mira shifted in irritation next to Delia. “You told me she was twenty-one,” she growled. “I would not have had her on my stream if I had known she was only nineteen.”

Delia held up her hand to silence everyone as she looked over the copy of Helena’s driver’s license. It was the same picture and the same details, all the way down to the license number, but the birth date was different. Instead of saying she was born in 2002, it announced that Helena Pierce was begat into the world in 2004.

“When Tara told me about her,” Astrid said, “she mentioned that she had applied to work at Elena’s company. Suffice to say, Elena was surprised to find out that a nineteen-year-old wannabe porn star was traveling between adult clubs posing as someone in her twenties.”

“It’s a good fake ID, though.” Petra’s offer of levity was not welcomed, but it didn’t stop her. “Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of fake IDs in my life. Have had a few myself. But your girl went to a real pro if she’s getting into places like this. Usually, these clubs are so careful that they’ll turn you away if you’ve got any baby fat left in your cheeks.”

Mira scoffed. “Did you know? Please tell me that you didn’t know, so I don’t have to hate you for lying to me.”

Finally, Delia was given a moment to speak. “You’re saying that she’s nineteen?”

“She doesn’t turn twenty until this November,” Elena confirmed. “And she still won’t be old enough to be a member here.”

Delia’s mouth dropped open.

“I see you didn’t know,” Petra said. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we thought you should… know.”

The only sound to penetrate Delia’s brain was the throbbing bass music that started with the next track pumped by an ostentatious DJ in the main room, where people well over the age of twenty-one danced in various stages of undress. Delia often swayed to the beats of music, but tonight, every thump-thump-thump cracked her skull and punched her in the brain.

“Fuck,” she whispered, sitting back from the table, hand clasped over her face. “Fuck!”

Petra attempted to diffuse the negative feelings welling across the table. “Hey, well, look at the bright side… at least she’s over eighteen.”

Doesn’t help much! Nineteen. Twenty-one. They might as well be ten years apart when it came to saving Delia’s pride. “No wonder she seemed so immature about some things,” she muttered, hoping nobody heard her. “No fucking wonder. Who else knows? Does the club?” Great! If the Monroes, who owned The Dark Hour and had their hands in other Northeastern clubs knew about this, that was it for Delia’s memberships. There went her personal life!

“We’re not going to tell anyone else,” Elena said. “We know how it looks. But you can’t let her come here again. Not until she’s really twenty-one. Nobody wants the owners and organizers of our social circles to get into legal trouble or, worse, lose their licenses. That’s a lot of angry members.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. I’d be hated more than that bitch who got arrested in California.” She referred to Candace Lister. Wait, wasn’t Helena wrapped up with her too?

Delia leaped up from her seat. Nobody stopped her.

“I appreciate you telling me,” she said through her teeth. “Excuse me. I have to deal with this.”

She expected to exit the VIP area alone. Instead, Mira followed her.

“What?” Delia snapped. “Care to rub it in?”

“No. I wanted to hear you say to my face that you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know. There, happy?”

Mira shook her head, pity seeping from her pores. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well… not as sorry as she’s about to be.”

Delia didn’t know what she meant by that, but what was the point in dwelling on it? I have to find Helena. Now. Oh, and she wasn’t difficult to find. She was near the front row near the main stage, completely enthralled by the couple performing as if she were their private audience. The audacity. Delia yanked Helena by the arm and made it clear that they needed to find someplace to talk.

“What’s going on?” Helena asked as Delia looked around for someone who had a key to one of the private rooms. “You could have joined me to watch the show, you know. It’s two women. You’d probably like it.”

“Guess I can’t wait, sweetheart. Come on. Now.”

Helena scoffed as she marched after her girlfriend. “Why don’t you ask me to heel? Am I your pet now?”

Delia wrangled them a room. As it so happened, it was the same room they first hooked up in. Delia winced to think about it. She lied to me… no… I assumed… Because why would someone under the age of twenty-one be in The Dark Hour? Underage people were not allowed for good reason!

Drinking, yes… but also… the types of people who salivated over eighteen-year-olds in these kinds of clubs were not the people places like The Dark Hour wanted to cater to. It opened up way more liability than mere alcohol licensing laws.