CASSIUS

As soon as the sun goes down, the creatures of the night come out to play, filling the dark club from wall to wall. I've already had to turn down thirteen underage kids and two assholes who were wasted out of their minds when they showed up at the door, thanks to a little pre-gaming.

Billy comes to tap me out on my spot at the door. I always cover the front entrance until he shows up, but my main purpose is to keep an eye on the inside. Billy isn't suited for the physical aspects of working security here. He looks intimidating, but I'm pretty sure the only thing he'd be able to take on in a fight is a jar of pickles.

Scratch that. He had me open a two liter of pop for him last week because he couldn't manage to twist the cap off. The lid actually tore up the skin on his palm. The pickles would probably win. Hence, his permanent position at the front entrance.

This suits me just fine. Our swap means I won't be forced to have a face-to-face interaction with the girl who ripped my heart out and shoved it in the garbage disposal.

Well, I guess I shoved my own fucking heart down there, but still. Either way, being posted up at the door, checking IDs all night, would drive me batshit crazy.

Tonight, the club is hosting a Pink Floyd cover band so I don't expect the crowd to be as rowdy as they are on nights where more...unsavory events are held. These are the easy shifts. The ones I used to hate with a burning passion. I came to enjoy the slow pace later on because it helped keep me out of trouble with the girlfriend. But now that she's gone, I wouldn't mind some action.

Standing in the corner of the room with my arms crossed, I have a decent view of everything going on around the club. I see a couple arguing, but they're always arguing. Girl says something underhanded to guy. Guy blows it out of proportion. Girl raises voice. Guy wants to be louder. They'll both start screaming until the next round of drinks is put in front of them. Then it's laughing and joking like nothing happened. It's the same damn thing every time they're here. So, I move on with my search.

A small dude in preppy clothes tries to start a fight over someone taller standing in front of him, blocking his view. Not hard to do, it seems. His friends quickly diffuse the situation, and they all go back to peacefully listening to music. Bummer.

A girl at the bar spins around in her stool like a little kid. She's not doing anything wrong. Yet. I've kicked her out multiple times in the past for being underage. I mean, shit, if I got five bucks for every time I've removed her from the building, I'd retire.

She's good at manipulating Billy, convincing him her fake IDs are real. I don't know what she tells him, but there's no way he falls for it, right? He's physically weak, but sharp as a tack. She must be saying something else to get him to let her in.

She's apparently been legitimately of age since the summer, so I can't do much about her being here. But she'll end up in some kind of trouble by the end of the night. She's always getting into something.

And every time I kick her out, I end up confused as fuck. When that girl speaks, you have no idea what dimension you're even in anymore. It would be funny if it weren't so damn frustrating.

All in all, tonight is as boring as boring can fucking get. I'm a little disappointed. The best part of ending the relationship I was in is that I gained the ability to be myself again. Retrieve the parts of my personality that I buried deep beneath the surface for her. Working security at Shadow on a Thursday night doesn't exactly scream action, though.

Saturday. That's where the fun is at.

I circle around the room a few more times like a shark who caught the whiff of blood, keeping my eyes peeled. I decide to stop at the side of the main bar up front, positioning myself for a change of scenery. From here, I can see the smaller bar at the back of the club where Rita serves drinks. The stage is to the right, and the conference room is tucked away in the corner to the left.

They call it a conference room, but it's where all the sketchy folk end up throughout the night. Placing bets on fights, exchanging money, clammy handshakes on shady business deals, illegal drugs. That's what goes on in that room.

Silas guards it on fight nights but, other than that, it stays open to the public so the clubbers can go in there for a bump or talk in private. I guess open to the public isn't the right phrase. It's exclusive in its own way.

The same people are always there. If an outsider wanders in, they quickly think better of it and turn on their heels. You have to know somebody or know somebody who knows somebody to be welcomed without issue.

The fake ID girl is two stools over from where I stand, mumbling to herself as she sips some kind of orange alcoholic drink that she doesn't seem very happy with. The guy at the other end of the bar hasn't taken his eyes off her, but he's far enough away to not pose an immediate threat. So, I keep scanning.

A chill runs through my spine and the hair on my arms raise when Satan herself sits down next to fake ID girl and orders a drink from our backup bartender. Giovanni knows everybody's drink orders, but he called out sick. If he were here right now, he'd pour a beer on her head for me. Ricky struggles to keep up and, even more disappointingly, he doesn't throw a drink at her.

Okay, so maybe she isn't Satan, but I'm not fully convinced that he isn't a distant relative to the girl I fell in love with. The girl who changed every damn thing about me just to dip out in the end. Skylar Lewis, fifth great-grandchild of Lucifer, doesn't even notice me standing a few feet away.

She looks at fake ID girl and smiles, sticking her hand out for an introduction. She's notorious for greeting every single person she crosses paths with. It's one of the things I enjoyed about her back then. I was more cautious, reserved, skeptical of everyone's motives. I liked that she was the opposite, never knowing a stranger.

"Hi! I'm Skylar!" She blurts out in her usual friendly manner.

Fake ID girl hesitates, and her eye twitches the slightest bit, but she shakes Skylar's hand.

"I know. You're the girl that tongue-fucked my boyfriend last week." The girl responds with a tone way too nonchalant for the words that just came out of her mouth.

What did she just say?!

I'm glad I stopped drinking earlier because I probably would have spit that shit out all over the place. Guess I'm not the only one Skylar has been busy screwing over.

QUINN

Skylar's eyes look like they're about to pop out of her head as she gawks at me. Poor girl, she should really get that looked at. Can't be good for her vision. Despite her googly eyes, it's kind of unfair how beautiful she is.

Her platinum blonde hair is as natural as that scary fruitcake some weirdo always brings during the holidays, but it suits her complexion too dang well. Her shirt was obviously constructed specifically for accentuating the big ol' boobies she was graced with. She's taller than me. Friendlier than me, too. Probably even showers and shaves her legs before she fucks. I can see why Ethan picked her.

I'm not even mad at her for being a co-captain in their game of tonsil hockey. I expected it to happen, really. Men can't keep their shlongs in their pants if their mama's lives depended on it. But I can't not bring it up while she's pushed up against me in a crowded bar. When an opportunity presents itself, you take it.

I smile at her. It's forced, but only partially fake. If that's even a thing.

"I – uh – what?" She stammers.

"You okay?" I ask with mock sympathy, placing my hand on her arm. "Cat got your tongue? Oh...no...it's probably Ethan that's got your tongue."

Her mouth is agape, but words aren't coming out. I stunned her into silence and I'm a little disappointed. Maybe I shouldn't have come in so hot. I'd much rather keep a witty banter going, but I guess I should just take the small victory.

I leap out of my seat and leave my disgusting dreamsicle flavored drink behind. It tasted more like watered down Fanta with a splash of vodka. Stupid Ricky and his stupid drinks.

It's time to head to where the real party favors are located - the conference room. I maneuver around the partition that separates a few round tables from the rest of the dark hole they call a club, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

Ah, there they are. Joey, the supplier of nose candy, and Owen, his trusty dusty sidekick.

Joey is admittedly too old for me to be hanging around with – fifteen years my senior – but he has a soft spot for me and always lets me sample his stash for free. Not sure how Owen got involved with him seeing as how he's my age, but he keeps Joey from being too creepy, so I appreciate his existence.

Joey's head bobs up from the table and he wipes the underside of his nose, sniffling before he sees me. His face lights up with a smile as he beckons me over to them. I put a little extra pep in my step, sashaying my hips, because I really need something strong tonight. I don't miss the way his eyes narrow on my legs as I prowl in their direction.

I know better, I really do. I know I shouldn't be involved in this crap, not after Hunter. I know I shouldn't use my body to entice men. But I'm invincible here. As long as I'm in this building, the only thing that can touch me is that beast at the bar that lurks around corners and tries to catch me doing anything he can throw me out for.

When I sit down, Joey immediately cuts a line for me. I push one of my nostrils shut and lean down to inhale the powder, only using a third of the line he set up. My level of tolerance isn't even half of what theirs is. It's such a head rush and all I can do is beam up at the two guys across from me. Owen takes his turn, then Joey again. We all slump back in our seats, grinning ear to ear.

Owen asks me questions about school and my wonderful dating life. I supply him vague answers because I don't want them knowing anything too personal about me. I know the scene they're involved with, and I'd prefer to keep to the outskirts.

I may enjoy an occasional ride on the white pony, but I don't want the stable hands knowing where my barn is located.

"You got ten seconds to clean that shit up and get the fuck out." A husky voice booms from behind me.

I turn sluggishly to see Cassius Moretti towering over our table like a dark shadow. Is that why he works here? Because he moves in the shadows and the club is called Shadow? Oh, how cool would that be for a villain origin story? Either way, he's the asshole security guard that used to ruin my fun before I turned twenty-one.

We all know Shadow is a place to let loose, so I don't know what his deal is right now. I've never seen him kick anyone out of this room for drugs before. Plus, the drugs here are one of the reasons people choose it over any of the other clubs on campus. Once they discover its existence, that is. This place is nearly impossible to just stumble upon.

Except for me. I stumbled upon it. But that was a freak accident.

Despite the confusion, Joey and Owen hustle. They move at lightning speed, gathering their collection of recreational drugs and getting the hell out of there. I notice all the other back-room patrons doing the same even though Cassius wasn't directly addressing them.

I don't really give a damn if Mr. Tightass decided he has an issue with the regular festivities tonight. I'm here to enjoy myself and nobody is going to stop me.

I mean, he could probably snap me like a twig with his fingertips, but I'm not scared of him. Okay, I actually kind of am. I'm scared of Cassius. How can you not be? But even when he's throwing me out of the club, he's always been fairly gentle, so I stand my ground.