Doll Face(56)
I start towards the van, but Ronnie reaches out a hand and grabs me. When I look at him, he has that gravely serious expression on his face. Before he can say anything and ruin the moment, I spin in his grip and raise myself up on my toes for a kiss. Lightning crackles between us, electrocuting me from my head down to my toes. Hope my hair's not sticking up every which way as I pull back and smile.
“Don't mention it again. Condoms break. Shit happens. Relax. Let's just enjoy ourselves tonight, okay?” Ronnie looks at me for a long, long moment before nodding and climbing in the van behind me.
Slick's looks like your usual dump of a bar from the outside, unremarkable inside. It's only after we abandon our security detail at the chain in the back, pass the first bodyguard and enter into a dark den of iniquities that I see anything special. Holy fuck. There's a long bar, entirely occupied by people in suits and long dresses, leather jackets and jeans, even surf shorts and tanks. Every type of person imaginable is in here, but they've all got one thing in common: they're engaged in some pretty fucked up shit. People are snorting lines, slamming dope, even fucking in some of the high backed booths nearby.
Turner breezes right past of all of this and straight to the men's restroom, pausing to look over his shoulder at one of the booths. The skin around his mouth gets tight and his eyes flash with pain before he schools his expression and turns back, opening the bathroom door and ushering us all inside. It's a tight fit, but we manage, waiting patiently as he opens one of the stall doors. Somehow, I expected it'd be a hell of a lot more difficult to find this secret door but Turner makes it look like a piece of piss, grabbing a silver ring and pulling up a door to reveal a set of stairs.
“Well, fuck me runnin',” I say as Sydney cracks a tinnie she snatched off one of the tables on her way by. The people making out in the booth didn't even notice. She chugs the beer and then shakes her head, pointing at me.
“Took the words right out of my mouth. This is fucking weird, Turner.”
“Are you sure this is legit?” the blonde guy from Amatory Riot asks. Kash, I think it is. He has his arm around this pretty little ranga, her bright crimson hair curled up on the top of her head in a knot. She snuggles into him with a sigh, and I can see that there's love between them. It burns like a fiery aura, like I can see colors swirling in the air around them. Or maybe that's just the sex talking. Having a naughty before I came out was a good move, put me in a chipper mood. I slip my little vodka bottle out and unscrew the top, offering it to Ronnie first before pouring the rest down my throat. I toss the plastic bottle in the rubbish bin as warmth explodes from my belly and climbs up my throat, setting my entire body on fire. Ah, and now I remember exactly why this was my drug of choice.
“Trust me,” Turner growls, stepping back and gesturing with his hand, “this is fucking legit. Now get your asses down there and thank me later. Chop, chop, we ain't got all day.” Jesse moves forward first, descending into the darkness a split second before Ronnie grabs my hand and pulls me along with him, down the steps and into a tunnel with white lights lining either side of the floor.
A giggle breaks from my throat, part nervousness, part vodka, part that bottle of champagne I downed on our way over here. Ronnie squeezes my fingers in his and pulls me close, around a corner and towards a pulsing blue glow and the strong, heavy beat of music. Some electronica crap is playing right now, but it doesn't really matter. At this point, just the idea of a night out, a chance to taste reckless abandon and pretend that I'm not a murderer, that I didn't lose my sister in some crazy fucked up custody battle, sounds like heaven.
I close my eyes and listen to Ronnie's pulse, thrumming through his hand and into my body, up my arm and straight to my heart, like I've just slammed some pure, clean dope and it went straight to my chest. I suck in a deep breath, taste the distant hint of sweat and alcohol that lingers in the air.
“I'm sorry about the condom,” Ronnie whispers, and I open my mouth to chastise him. He cuts me off with a growl. “Sorry that I didn't fuck you bareback when I had the chance.” I shiver and lick my lips.
“Well, now that we're engaged and all, I suppose you'll be getting the chance to do that more and more often.” Ronnie snorts as we come around another bend in the hallway and pause at a second set of stairs, this one leading into a massive warehouse, complete with pearlescent wallpaper and chandeliers, exposed ductwork and a throng of throbbing people.
“I'm sorry I said that.” He pauses as we take our first step, right behind Jesse. The music swells and surges, like a tsunami, drowning me in the dying embers of the last song and filling my gently parted lips with the wicked fast beat of the next. “Well,” he shouts, leaning close to my ear, helping me down the stairs in my heels, “not sorry that I suggested it, but sorry that it came out that way. You deserve better.”