CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TEQUILA SHOTS
The club is already alive when we arrive. Bass pulses through the sidewalk, vibrating up my heels and into my bones. Neon lights bleed through tinted windows, painting the night in electric blues and violent pinks. Outside, a line of people snakes around the building, all perfume, bravado, and impatience. Lydia flashes the VIP passes like a winning lottery ticket. The bouncer barely glances at us before unhooking the velvet rope.
“Oh, this is already off to a good start,” Lydia murmurs, squeezing my hand as we’re ushered inside.
Heat hits instantly. Bodies packed together, moving in rhythm, sweat and alcohol thick in the air. A DJ booth towers above the crowd, strobes slicing through fog. The bass is so loud I feel it in my chest more than I hear it.
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