Sugarbaby

by Crystal Green

  How sad was that? It was as if I’d heard that a shooting star would be in the sky tonight, and I was ready to sit on the ground with my hands open like I had an opportunity to catch it. I’d dreamed about him last night, imagining . . .

  Well, imagining what I knew I’d never get.

  I didn’t want to go to the Hellfire Club for Simmons, and I hoped I wasn’t leading him on by showing up, either; I hadn’t been attracted to him. There’d been no cottony feeling of lightness in my chest, no pounding heart. But if he was willing to have a conversation about why he and Noah were here, I wanted to hear it. Even if it was at the Hellfire Club.

  And, that was another confession—I desperately wanted to see the Club, too. Who in Aidan Falls that knew about it didn’t?

  “Please come with me,” I said to Carley, reaching across the table to grasp her hand. “Didn’t you feel the same way when your secret admirer invited you?”

  “Yes, but I was being way too daring. I lucked out that he wasn’t a bad guy.”

  “Maybe I’m feeling lucky, too.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d said something so optimistic, but I couldn’t deny it. Something had turned in my life, and I didn’t want it to get away.

  Carley chuffed. “Bret’s been a regular at the Club for years, so maybe he should tell you all about it—” She broke off as she looked at the DQ’s doors, her face brightening as she smiled in such an all-consuming way I thought she’d lift off from her seat.

  Bret.

  Even through the hank of black hair that fell over one of his eyes, I could see the glow on his face. It transformed features that most people wouldn’t call handsome—too world-weary, like he’d been traveling around forever, looking out of train windows and despairing at what he saw. He was saved by three things—dark, soulful eyes; high cheekbones to die for; and a smile that told me Carley brought him to his emotional knees.

  The rest of him was all chunky boots, faded jeans, and flannel as he set down a carton filled with sodas, then one with our burgers and fries. He slid next to Carley and, without any inhibitions, scooped her into a heartfelt kiss. Her hand lifted from the table, halfway to his face, only to stop as if he’d made her toes curl. The sight was so intimate and sweet that I had to concentrate on my burger, my skin burning.

  I’d definitely been kissed before, but I wasn’t sure if it was ever like that. Rex had always been quick, taking what he wanted, but I’d let him do it because he was Rex Alvarez and I was only me. Micah Wyatt had known what he was doing—really well, as a matter of fact—but my night with him had been hollow. Needless to say, a lot of guilt had followed those kisses, because I hadn’t been raised to give them out that easily.

  I don’t know what came over me, but at that moment, as Carley and Bret kept kissing, I thought of Noah Reeves, those lips, that slight out-of-place dimple that I hungered to touch, just to see if it could possibly be real on such a serious face. I thought of how he’d said my name with such delicacy, as if it was something precious. Did he treat all his women that way?

  Or was he like Simmons, screwing with their minds?

  “Jade?”

  It was Carley, and when I glanced up, both she and Bret were watching me. I realized that I’d been grinning like a fool, so I chased it away.

  Bret cleared his throat, smiling to himself as he opened his burger wrapping.

  “So, Hellfire Club,” I said, undeterred. “Do I have to beg you two to go with me tonight?”

  Carley turned to him. “Tell her. It’s really not her thing.”

  Then what was my thing?

  Bret cocked his eyebrow at me—or at least the one I could see. “Every Club meeting is different. Depends where it’s at . . . It’s hard to say what you’d get at the next meeting. Were you invited?”

  “Yeah. This one’s at . . .” I looked around us. “Am I allowed to say it in public?”

  Bret laughed softly, probably because there was only one other couple nearby—a grandma and grandpa consuming their Blizzards. “If you whisper you can say it.”

  I didn’t know if he was serious, but Carley was watching him as if she’d expected him to outright discourage me, not encourage.

  I whispered. “It’s at the old Elrond mansion.”

  He didn’t seem surprised to hear that. He’d probably already gotten his regular invitation. But he did keep his voice low. “You grew up here, so you know that place is gutted. Doesn’t that give you pause or freak you out a little?”

  “As long as it’s not haunted, I’m fine.”

  “People say it is.”

  “I think the cops started those rumors to keep anyone from squatting in there.” Rumors had worked, too, because only legend-tripping kids went out there. I wasn’t afraid of ghosts, either, even if I’d stayed away.

  Bret shrugged, eating his burger. That gave Carley the opportunity to add her piece.

  “Do you know why they call it the Hellfire Club?”

  The old couple nearby didn’t seem to hear, even with her tone of voice.

  “Because it sounds dangerous?” I said.

  Now Carley adjusted her volume. “It’s named after some clubs that met over in Britain during the seventeen hundreds. They were secret, and bad things were supposed to happen in them. Depraved, nasty things.”

  How was that not supposed to intrigue me even more? Unfortunately, it was the same sort of intrigue that’d gotten me in trouble with Micah Wyatt. At least I’d been able to say I was drunk that night. “Let me get this straight—you, the straight-laced darling from SoCal, were cut out for the Club. I, however, am not.”

  “You’re . . .” Carley waved her hands around.

  Bret set down his burger and opened hers for her. She looked at it as if she’d forgotten it was there for the eating. Then she glanced at him with an expression I couldn’t guess at, almost as if she wasn’t sure she liked being shushed, even in a subtle way. I wasn’t positive that was what Bret had done, exactly, but I didn’t know him.

  He finished her sentence for her. “You probably are too sweet for what goes on. Then again, Carley survived.”

  She bristled. “So you want Jadyn to go there tonight?”

  “Hell, Carley, if she wants trouble, she’ll find it anywhere. It’s easy to stumble over it at the Club, but it’s avoidable, too. Everyone does what they want to, good or bad. There’s no judging.”

  Silence descended, and we all ate. Well, this was awkward. It was as if they’d had these tiffs before, though, because Carley sighed, touching his arm, then laying her head against it. Bret gazed down at her with such burning affection that I thought she might flame right up. And when he pressed his lips to her head, I had to find something to concentrate on again.

  I watched the old couple clear their trash from the table.

  Carley nuzzled Bret’s arm, then sat back up, sighing again. “If you’re determined to go, I’m not going to let you do it by yourself.” She brushed Bret’s jaw with her fingers, as if asking if he’d come with us.

  His gaze met hers, locking. That was a “yes.” That was a “you know I’d do anything for you.”

  I started to thank them, but they seemed lost in each other, so I finished my food and said good-bye before they could kiss again, making me feel like a molecule of mist floating by.

  When I got to my car, I felt my purse buzzing, and I quickly got out the phone, anticipating what I would find. My crazed pulse hoped and hoped for it.

  555-8465:

  See you tonight?

  But it wasn’t Simmons I was thinking of as I texted back. It was someone with a devil’s gleam in his angel eyes.

  Jadyn:

  If you’re lucky.

  5

  The old Elrond mansion was a moody limestone building past the lake, its arches and barred windows giving it a stern hardness, the overgrown gra
ss around it indicating that no one came around here much. Not even vagrants, mostly because a lot of the roof had crumbled, leaving the top to resemble something with missing teeth.

  But not tonight, as lights flashed out of it and music thundered. Tonight it was alive.

  And that was nothing compared to what was inside.

  Techno music laced with acid country rock belted me as I stood in front of the huge makeshift dance floor surrounded by the remains of walls that’d been knocked down. Lights pulsed with orange, blue, red, then green over the packed bodies, and the pungent smell of weed hovered, mixed with what I thought was dry ice floating from the corners. Black webs hung from the exposed half-roof and the decrepit second-story railings, swaying along with the dancers.

  There was even a temporary platform, a runway, really, set up against the massive fireplace. Kids in costumes—slutty superheroes, hot policewomen, sexy witches—were parading on it, greeting one another, sharing smokes and Lord knew whatever else.

  Carley held my hand so hard that the straps from her leather bracelet dug into my skin. Halloween was a week away, but neither of us had dressed up. She’d worn tight black pants and a matching top, and in spite of her outfit’s simplicity, Bret hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. He had his arm possessively looped around her even now.

  I’d pulled an old standby out of the closet—an all-purpose black long-sleeved dress. It was tight enough to make me feel what little curves I had but nothing that would tell Simmons I was into him.

  I tried not to think too hard about what kind of dress would draw Noah Reeves’s attention. Probably something in red.

  Carley nearly yelled in my ear. “This isn’t how it was last time!”

  She repeated it to Bret, and he nodded, leaning over so both of us could hear him.

  “It’s a little upscale!”

  I didn’t know about that. Besides the costumed dancers on the floor, there were patches of boho-looking people around the edges. They had Mohawks, piercings, leather, chains, knit caps, and torn shirts, and I could tell that these weren’t costumes at all. They were Bret’s kind.

  One look told me that Carley wasn’t one of them.

  Was that why she was having doubts about her and Bret? She wasn’t his type, even if they had insane chemistry?

  Bret was shaking his head and talking above the music again. “Definitely a different crowd tonight!”

  As he said it, a stream of bohos cruised away from the fringe of the dance floor, streaming toward the exit.

  I looked around more, finding a belly dancer three feet away from us having powder licked off her skin from a guy who looked like a New York clubber. Coke?

  Carley had been right—this wasn’t my scene.

  But then I saw him.

  He was sitting at the bottom of a stairway that went nowhere, dressed in a thin black sweater that emphasized his wide shoulders, plus dark jeans, his blond hair ruffled, giving him a slightly misplaced, lost look. He was leaning his arms on his thighs, watching everything going on around him with the same nearly angry expression he’d had on in the Angel’s Seat.

  Why angry, though? And it looked like he was tightly coiled, too.

  I couldn’t say why, but a flutter blazed from my belly to my chest, and I held my breath. Noah Reeves, billionaire, the world revolving around him in a carousel of party lights.

  But that flutter died when I saw a busty girl dressed as a nurse sidle up to him and run her fingers through his thick hair, whispering into his ear. He looked at her—with disinterest?—and . . .

  A cluster of dancers migrated so that they blocked him, leaving me without a view.

  I blinked, snapping myself out of it, then took my phone out of my small black purse so I could text Simmons. The last thing I needed was to be focusing on Noah.

  Jadyn:

  I’m here, near the entrance.

  A few thuds of music passed. A guy with huge ear gauges stretching his lobes came up to Bret, and they gripped hands in hello as Carley looked more out of place than ever. And she’d been worried about me not fitting in.

  When I felt a large hand on my arm, I just about jumped out of my skin, but it was only Simmons, and he held up his palms as he backed away.

  555-8465, I thought. Here he is—“Aidan” in the flesh.

  My heart dipped, and I realized something for the first time—I’d half been hoping that I’d been wrong about “Aidan” being Simmons. I’d wanted it to be Noah instead.

  “Thanks for being here,” he said loudly.

  Carley held onto my arm as she stepped to my side and gave Simmons a very obvious scan up and down, taking in the tight blue jeans over his wiry body, the tailored sports jacket rolled to his elbows. His hair was just as coiffed as it was yesterday in the café.

  He tapped his ear, gesturing toward the left, where it appeared there was a door that led to another room. It was probably the only door that ended up anyplace here in this mansion.

  “I don’t think so!” Carley said.

  I pointed to her. “She comes with me, along with her boyfriend!”

  Simmons nodded, then cut through the pack on his way to the door. I had just enough time to look behind me, trying to see Noah again, but I couldn’t.

  Just as well, anyway.

  When we caught up with Simmons, he was at the door, speaking to a muscled man in a tight black shirt. The guy opened up, letting us into a small room with intact walls. It spilled dim light and turned out to be a quiet hovel where new leather furniture had been set up. Tables were filled with ice buckets of champagne and vodka, plus trays of food you’d see at cocktail parties, not that I’d ever been to one. I’d watched enough Chopped to know food, though.

  A threesome stopped pawing at one another on a divan as Simmons jerked his chin toward the door. They left without question.

  Carley, Bret, and I merely looked at Simmons as music bammed against the walls.

  “We don’t have to shout here,” he said in a level tone. “I thought this would be a much better place to talk.”

  Was this the VIP room? Did that mean Simmons was special in the eyes of the Hellfire Club, since he’d gotten access?

  He extended his arm, gesturing for us to sit. Carley pulled me to a fine leather sofa, and we sank into its buttery depths. Bret sat on the arm, near his girlfriend.

  “I see you brought your bodyguards,” Simmons said to me.

  “I didn’t know what to expect. Why not just meet in town for this little talk?”

  “Because we thought you might want to be invited here. You seemed very interested when Noah mentioned the Hellfire Club. Not everyone is allowed in, as you said.”

  At Noah’s name, I got hot again, like a lightning bolt had struck me through, flashing over and over until I was singed inside.

  Simmons narrowed his gaze as he assessed me, and I got the feeling he knew just how much I was drawn to Noah. But he didn’t remark on it.

  Bret spoke in his drawl. “A VIP room. Nothing’s ever this fancy in the Club.”

  “Noah decided he wanted his own version of Hellfire.” Simmons gestured vaguely to the music. “He was trawling the Internet one day and came upon mention of the Club, so he put some effort into tracking down who organizes it. You can say he took over the Hellfire tonight. I thought it was a rash idea, but . . .” He trailed off.

  I almost asked why. Was Noah still supposed to be staying under the radar, out of the public?

  Bret crossed his arms over his chest. “Those are secret forum boards.”

  “But not absolutely hidden,” Simmons said. “Not from someone who knows computers.”

  We all took that in. I remembered that The Reeves Group dealt in tech, among other things. Noah was obviously hands-on—or had been before he’d gotten forced out.

  “Why would he want to take over t
he Hellfire?” I asked. “Doesn’t he have clubs back in New York, San Francisco, Paris, or wherever he feels like going?”

  Or was this how he got his kicks these days, by conjuring up his own amusements?

  Simmons was leaning against the buffet table, his hands in his jacket pockets. “He needs to stay busy, keep himself occupied.”

  “And how busy have you been?” I asked, clearly referring to the shenanigans Simmons had been playing on the phone with me.

  His smile was barely there. “I understand your frustration, Jadyn. You’ve had a lot of questions that haven’t gotten answered.”

  “You said your texts amounted to a long story. Am I about to get it?”

  “It’s . . . very long.” His face was unreadable again.

  I had to ask, even if I sounded full of myself. “Is there any chance that you came down here to meet me?”

  “There was curiosity involved, yes.” No trace of amusement on him now. “There’re days that are dark, and your text came during one of those times. You’re not the same as most girls we meet. You’re not as . . . coy.”

  “You’ve said ‘we’ a couple times now. What’s going on with that?” And how was that for not being coy?

  Carley squeezed my arm in appreciation.

  Simmons seemed just as respectful of the straightforwardness. “After you mistakenly contacted the phone”—he picked up an hors d’oeuvre from the table and idly inspected it—“it was a forgone conclusion that we’d be paying a visit to Aidan Falls.”

  So Simmons had wanted to see the girl with the klutzy text-thumbs?

  He added, “As you might know, Noah’s been . . . in need of some fresh air, anyway, so getting him some seemed like just the thing.”

  He sounded protective of Noah. Too protective, and suddenly I wondered if I’d misinterpreted everything that was going on.

  “Are you his . . . ?” I started to ask.

  “Valet?” Simmons said, biting back the hint of a smile. “That’s an old-fashioned, crusty word for it. It’s more accurate to say ‘assistant.’”

  Oh, phew. I’d almost expected the word “boyfriend” to make an appearance. You never knew.