Strike ( Book 4: Stronger Series )

49. Impression

A cough from behind us alerted me that there were still other people in the room. Clive, Owen, and Scott stood awkwardly to the side. A second later, loud music began playing above us, the floors rattling from the heavy bass as voices and footsteps mingled with it.

"Where are we?" I asked, turning my attention back to Darren.

Instead of answering, he took my hand and led me toward the stairs. "Come on, we have a party to attend. And you need to change."

Red flags. Red flags everywhere.

"If it's another auction ..." I warned as I followed him up the stairs. I didn't care what the consequences would be. I would murder every purchaser in that room.

As we exited the basement with Clive, Owen, and Scott in tow, we entered a hallway that was completely consumed with red lighting, the source of the music getting louder and louder as we approached.

Darren stopped short at a door to our right, opening it to pull me in behind him, leaving the rest of our entourage to remain in the hallway. Inside was some kind of large office with a huge one-way mirror that showed the other side of a bar.

Darren released my hand to rummage through a nearby closet, his demeanor suddenly that of a man on a mission. Relief was apparent when he eventually handed me a hanger with a little black dress draped over it.

"Put that on," he ordered as he headed back into the closet.

Trying not to roll my eyes, I changed into the black garment, discovering it was a slim-fitting dress that reached just above my knees with cutouts in the front so you could clearly see my four-pack. The thin shoulder straps kept my muscular shoulders and arms revealed while the cut showed just a little bit of cleavage. I tried to decide if it was something I could fight in, catching the stretch of the fabric and the forgiveness in the waistline. I could probably make something happen in it.

When Darren came back with a pair of shoes, the six-inch pumps making me cringe, he stopped when he took notice of my appearance.

"On second thought," he said, carelessly tossing the shoes over his shoulder as he looked me up and down. "I kind of like this look on you. It's fitting actually."

"Well, that's a relief," I said. "Those shoes you had looked like a damn death trap."

He smirked. "I thought you might want a few extra inches tonight."

I shook my head. "I don't need them. You're just putting me at a disadvantage anyway."

Darren stepped toward me, his hands raising to draw my ponytail from my back to fall down my chest, his fingers twirling through the curls that had managed to remain intact after the placement of that god-awful hood. Irritation boiled in my blood as I still found myself seeking the approval in his eyes, and when I found it, I wanted to slaughter the butterflies that took flight in my stomach.

"I need you to do something for me tonight, my little queen," he said.

I lifted a brow. "Queen? Didn't you just tell me to sit down?"

"That's for when we go home," he answered. "Until then, especially while we're here in Vegas, you need to maintain a certain demeanor. This is the underground, and I need you to walk in there like you own the damn place and everybody in it. There are some people in there who may try to test you. Set them straight if they do."

I tilted my head at him. "Where the hell are we?"

That evil glint in his eye returned just to taunt me. "I told you, The Underground."

Darren then took my hand and led us back out into the hallway where Scott, Clive, and Owen were still waiting. We continued down the hallway until we came to a set of black double doors, the source of the bass coming from beyond them.