Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #3) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,26
rich woman like a bodyguard. “I’d appreciate that.”
Of course, if no one had shown up—or showed up later—the headlines tonight and tomorrow would ruin the club. I’d made the Indebted feel vulnerable, and now it was my turn.
Glancing down to make sure my bits were inside the white leather leotard, I waited for Fred to open the door. When he did, I extended one long leg out of the limousine and paused.
Because great shot.
White leotard, silver feather shoulder pads, dark eyes, and messy curls that tickled my lower back? Nude stilettos gave my legs the endless illusion. I looked untouchable. Forbidden.
I straightened and waited for Fred to close the door before moving down the red carpet behind him. Indebted had to be all around me—there was no way they wouldn’t be protecting me right now—but I couldn’t see a single one through the throng of reporters.
“Miss Le Spyre, can you tell us why you renamed the club to Forbidden?” one shouted.
Uh, because Ricky Pikar fucking named it after me. In numbers.
Turning my smile on full wattage, I twisted to glance over my shoulder at him. “Figure it out yourself. It’s a secret.”
I held a finger to my lips.
If Tommy could see me right now, she’d bust a gut, but I’d had to attend sessions with the estate publicist during my business training. The media gobbled this cheesy shit right up.
My stomach flipped.
“Basilia! Bottom right! International business success, why a nightclub?”
I located the journalist, cocking a hip and flicking my hair back as the cameras flashed. I hated stuff like this. I wasn’t a natural mover. MET Gala clips on YouTube were a fucking godsend. “You don’t enjoy doing things you know you shouldn’t?” I asked her, tilting my head. That would reinforce the nightclub brand.
“Is this a sign of what’s to come from the Le Spyre empire?” she called in reply. “A left-turn from your grandmother’s plaid vision?”
And this is part of why I hated events. In a bid not to show my reaction, I turned my gaze to a camera, dropping my chin to deliver what I hoped was a saucy smoulder. Part of me was glad I’d done the photo shoot with Lionel.
“My grandmother hated plaid,” I said mildly.
They had enough shots to do what I’d invited them for. As long as the Indebted hadn’t stood me up, whether the media painted the club in a good or bad light, this place would be filled to the brim for months to come. A promise of mixing with the rich and famous—with a healthy dose of exclusivity—very few could resist such an allure. Probably just Mrs Gaughton, Mr Triffz, and the rest of my realty trouble list.
“Middle left! Who can we expect to come tonight?” a man in a greasy T-shirt boomed.
Who indeed.
I scanned him up and down. “No one you’d know.”
The other journalists laughed.
Old money bitchery. I was kind of great at faking it. At least, I hoped it was mostly fake...
I’d settle for 50 percent fake.
Fred directed me through the alleyway to a small square sign halfway down. Ricky’s flashing neon 2274 sign was replaced immediately. If a person didn’t know where Forbidden was, they’d never find it.
Exclusive.
To my surprise, the doors were pulled inward as I approached.
My heart leapt at the sight of Marcus and Kirsten in their black leather outfits. I grinned at them as I entered. Cameras flashed from behind to get a glimpse. All they’d see were two beautiful creatures and a black curtain.
I faced the two Vissimo when the doors closed. “Glad you could show up.”
Two were here at least, and the squeeze in my heart at the sight of them was borderline painful.
Sweeping back the black curtain, I stared at the vampires filling the club. More than my fifty were here. Way more. Several hundred at least.
I located as many of my estate crew as possible in the crowd. “Thank you for coming,” I said to the gathered group.
My voice only wobbled a little.
Laurel dipped her head. The tension in my shoulders drained away at the smiles on those filling the dance floor. We were on the bottom floor of the building. The club extended for several levels, becoming more exclusive the higher you went. Or darker and more boring, in other words.
“Whatever clan you’ve come from tonight, welcome! Between you and me, my ears still can’t handle loud music. So tonight, for what may be the first clubbing night ever for some of you, I declare a silent disco.”