Page 18 of Nikola

Much like my mom and her tight circle of friends who always had each other’s back, so did my friends and I. When they sought out trouble, I was right there along for the ride or to be their voice of reason.

So when, after the theatrical performance in the forest, Penelope suggested we went out and let off some steam, I was all for it.

Penelope, Amara, and I got all dolled up for the newest secret club called Revelation that had opened in the suburbs of Connecticut. I’d never heard of it, but Penelope had secured an invitation from a secret admirer. She insisted that the night was young, we were beautiful, and she was visiting the club no matter what.

Amara and I, the great supporters—after all, what’re friends for—agreed, and voilà. The three of us, frequenting a scandalous secret event, dressed to the nines and looking for trouble.

We got past the bouncer outside the club, a man in a Venetian costume greeted us with a snobbish expression, which was undermined by his comical appearance, and demanded to see our invitation. The costume was two sizes too small, his round belly protruding beneath the hem of the fabric with his thick arms bursting through the two too-tight cuffs.

Penelope handed him her invitation and we watched him scan it with bated breath. Something flashed on his screen and his smug expression turned into something else. Was it fear? Or maybe reverence? I couldn’t quite determine.

I managed to read his lips when he said, “You have full privileges—everything is on the house.” Amara squeezed my hand and I felt my stomach swoop. We were in.

He stepped aside, pulling back the thick red curtain and giving us a full view of the grand hallway stretching behind him.

“Who gave you that invitation?” I asked Penelope.

“For real, because that guy was about to shit his pants when he scanned it,” Amara chimed in.

Penelope flashed us a sheepish smile. “I don’t know. I got it in the mail without a return address.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not from a psychotic stalker who wants to kill us or some shit,” Amara signed and stated at the same time.

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Stop being a baby. Besides, we can take care of ourselves.”

“I didn’t bring any weapons,” I signed.

Amara lost her balance and I reached out, catching her before she could faceplant.

“We’ll use our five-inch heels if need be.” She glared down at her shoes like they were her sworn enemy. “They’re definitely not good for walking.”

I chuckled. “Want to switch our shoes? Mine are only three inches.”

I wore a pink Valentino dress with matching pumps—a gift from my aunt Reina who loved to spoil me with the latest couture—but to make Amara comfortable, I’d give them up.

She waved her hand, dismissing the offer. “Nah. I might need to stab someone.”

We continued down the elegant hallway with red-painted walls until we reached a large open space that glittered with chandeliers. Hundreds of candles lit up every surface and red rose petals adorned the shiny marble floors.

There were men and women dressed in silks and satins, smiling as they drank from dainty glassware. Champagne coupes had been set beneath a tower of flowing bubbles, and at the head of the room, a ten-piece orchestra performed.

The far wall of the ballroom was painted in the colors of the British flag and a photo of the current king hung there.

“Is this place owned by a Brit?” I signed.

Penelope shrugged. “No freaking clue.”

“I read that this club was first opened in London, so maybe it’s in honor of their beginnings,” Amara chirped.

“I don’t give a crap about their beginnings,” Penelope quipped. “I want to get laid and be done with this bullshit.”

I winced. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Penelope had tried to experiment with men before, but both times ended in a tragic accident for the men. They ended up dead before she could get their pants off.

Her blue eyes met mine. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re kind of engaged, and you know those mafia husbands. They’re…” I cleared my throat uncomfortably.“They’re hypocrites and notorious for double standards. They sleep around but will kill anyone who dares to sleep with us. Do you really want to have someone else’s blood on your hands?”