Page 5

“You’re sure I look fine?”

Kat shut the door with a groan, rounded the car’s bumper, and came toward me. The car beeped as the headlights flashed and dimmed. She grabbed my hands, blew out an exasperated huff, and did a classic over-the-shoulder hair whip before smacking her lips together.

“For the hundredth time, Lena, you don’t look just fine; you’re smoking hot. But honestly, that blazer keeps the marketing executive touch.”

It was a beige blazer I’d insisted on wearing over my lace corset top and mini leather skirt when I thought the whole world would see my essentials if I didn’t cover up. I’d opted to keep my makeup simple, with a glossy shimmer, and finished up the look with a black pair of strappy heels.

I chewed on my lower lip, and Kat was visibly stressed out with the smudge I was sure I’d made on the glossy dark liner.

“So, it’s not so good?”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

Her blue eyes flashed with mild annoyance, and I mimicked Jasper’s cute pout. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not trying to wear you out. It’s just….” I did a quick scan on her outfit and swallowed down on the familiar twinge forming like a lump in my chest.

Ten out of ten times, Kat always nailed her looks.

Tonight was no exception. She wore a vibrant pair of high-waist bell-bottom denim pants with a halter crop top that had only ropes barely holding the fabric together from behind.

Her hair fell below her shoulders like a waterfall of shiny black ink, and she topped her look with smoky makeup, which, in my opinion, was fire.

“You look delectable, Kat. You always do,” I breathed, partially pissed at myself for letting my insecurities mess with my thoughts.

A second passed before she lit up with a smile and gave a dramatic eye roll.

“The second you walk into that building, heads are going to turn. Take my word for it. Come on, let’s go. And before you start fretting, don’t worry, we won’t have to pay to get in.” She visibly hesitated. “My father owns the place.”

Knowing Kat, I’d learned that her father owned numerous properties and assets, and likely had an entire workforce across the country. But that was all she was going to offer, fragments, and I didn’t dare prod further.

Whenever she brought him up, she gave details about him in parts while I was left to piece the puzzle together with my imagination, and in my head, the old, graying man was a powerful and angry politician who favored his wealth over his daughter.

I didn’t know him, never met him, but I already detested him for the hurt he’d caused Kat.

The club, however, left a different impression of the kind of man he could be. He had good taste in architectural structures; that much was clear.

The air smelled of rain on hot pavement, cigarette smoke, and the sharp, almost metallic scent of anticipation.

Under the velvet sky, Gipsy pulsed like a living thing up ahead. Thin veins of neon light slithered and shifted across the nightclub’s facade—electric blues, deep purples, and violent pinks bleeding into one another like oil on water.

Above the door, the club’s name glowed in elegant, serif letters, fading in and out of visibility as if breathing.

Outside, a long queue of people stretched down the block, their silhouettes flickering under the rhythmic strobe of embedded floor lights.

A heavy bass thud resonated from within, syncing with the excited chatter of the restless crowd. Bouncers in tailored black suits guarded the entrance, their earpieces flashing faintly as they nodded to the selected few.

Our heels clicked against the asphalt as Kat led us past them to another section of the building with more glass walls and muffled sounds.

In the reflection of the glass entryway, the city looked distorted—darker, sharper—as if the club opened into another, stranger world.

“Pavel!” She beckoned to one of the tall men.

He came over, smiled at her, and they exchanged a brief, light-hearted conversation in Russian. He muttered something indistinct, she nodded, and he moved closer to a door I hadn’t noticed before, with a key card in hand.

One swipe, and the heavy door cracked open, unleashing rays of blinding lights and the music, which spilled out in a sudden, overwhelming rush: fractured beats, shimmering synths, and a bassline so dense it felt like it was rearranging my bones.

I was forced to squint to adjust to the lights, and I felt every thump like a physical force pressed against my chest, sliding along my skin.

Beside me, Kat squealed, raising her arms above her head, not at all flustered by the impact.

“Lena?”

“Yeah? I’m right beside you,” I shouted above the noise, and she turned to me, reaching for my hand in glee.

I followed her through the swarm of gyrating bodies as we navigated our steps toward the swamped bar. We gently shoved a few people aside and grabbed two stools.

“Isn’t this amazing?”

“We just got inside.” I laughed at her excitement and watched her lean forward to whisper into the bartender’s ears.

She pulled back and gestured with her hands between us. “Lena, Ace. Ace, Lena. Ace’s going to treat us well tonight, won’t you?”

With the way he beamed and rolled his eyes at something else she added in Russian, their familiarity stood out like a sore thumb.

He nodded toward me and set off to work, leaving me to silently brood over how sweetly cute he was. Not over the top, but attractive enough to get my attention, like Peter Pan did when I was little.

Kat faced me. “And I know we just got here, but don’t be a killjoy. You know it feels good to be here. In fact, it feels more than good; it’s liberating.”

The blond bartender, with colorful ink artfully sleeved up one arm, gently slid two shot glasses toward us, each with a lemon slice on the side.

Kat snatched up one and threw her head back to take a swig. I lifted mine, hissing with clenched teeth when it burned my throat.

“Shit. What is this?”

“Tequila.” Kat snickered, signaling for refills and double extra shots. “Where have you been?”

“Living under a rock.” I sucked on a lemon slice and cringed. “Obviously.”

“No, no. No sour mood is allowed. I brought us here to loosen up, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do: forget about the burdens of our realities and just live in the moment,” she said with a distant gaze.

“And one way I’m going to do that is get lost in the music.

Listen, I have a quick personal analysis. ”

“An analysis of the music? What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s so good, I can feel it thrumming in my soul.

” She leaned closer, eyes twinkling with an inexplicable happiness.

“If you listen closely, you’ll hear it; there’s an irregularity to the rhythm, an almost predatory sense of push and pull, designed to keep these bodies moving without ever finding perfect balance.

And beneath it all is a rumbling undertone.

It’s primal and hypnotic, as if the very heart of the club is beating—hungry and alive. It’s…beautiful. Can you feel it?”

Maybe not?

What I felt was the harsh bass reverberating within my ribcage like it threatened the very existence of my internal organs, but Katya was immersed in the sound, and, though she tried to perfectly describe what she heard and felt, I knew my personal experience wouldn’t measure up.

Regardless, I was intrigued by her analysis .

“I think I — ”

“ I can feel it,” someone interrupted. “The blend of music here is out of this world, and it’s one of the reasons I love the Gipsy.”

We looked over our shoulders, hoping to find the intruder, and were surprised to see her standing right behind us: a petite brunette with short dark hair, the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen, and a huge smile on her face.

She looked like a life-sized doll.

Katya was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, do we know you?”

“What?” The intruder put a hand to her chest, as if she were offended. Her eyes flitted between Katya and me. “You don’t remember? High school? Fighting off those jerks after swimming lessons? I mean, no offence, Kat, you were great at everything else but taekwondo.”

The memory clicked before she got the chance to finish off.

I gasped. “ Zoe ? Oh my goodness, Zoella Carter?”

“Zoe, Zoe ?” Katya asked me, brows wrinkled in disbelief, and I nodded. “Kick Butt Zoe? No way!”

I squealed when the recognition sank in and somehow managed to hug her while holding my shot glass without spilling the tequila.

In high school, during my lowest times—dealing with insecurities, self-esteem, and teenage drama—when I needed a friend, I had Katya, and in turn, when Katya needed someone to help her ward off those imposing neanderthal soccer jerks who insistently made advances, when I wasn’t there, Zoella Carter stepped in.

Zoe pulled back, adjusting the thin sleeve of her slip dress with a cheeky grin.

“I never would have imagined running into you two, and that you,” she pointed at Katya, “would forget your savior.”

“Savior? Isn’t that a bit too…exalting? I mean, I was holding my ground before you came in shouting battle war cries.”

“I see your pride is still intact. You’re never going to admit that I saved you from those assholes, are you?”

Katya shrugged, a smug grin in place as she raised her glass to her lips.

“I do have a reputation to maintain: strong, smart, and fierce. If I admit that you swooped in and beat up three big guys until they blacked out in front of me, that will only make me appear weak. So, only the three of us know what really happened. Plus, you swore to take that secret to your grave.”

Zoella looked exasperated while I laughed between shots.

They had been at loggerheads since high school, with either of them claiming to be something the other was not, while I, on the other hand, stood as the mediator in the circle. Sometimes, they bantered, but we had more peaceful days as friends.

“I’m not so sure about the grave part or swearing to anything but—”