prologue ii.

Angelica

Barely anyone is here when the bouncer leads me in, not after biting his lower lip and wiggling one brow at me suggestively. It should've been the first red flag because while I hoped for not much of a crowd, this kind of empty feels... wrong.

I tell myself it's not an issue and adjust my curls again, making sure it covers my face as I take in my surroundings.

From the outside, the club looks small, but the interior is anything but. The lighting burns low and red, like the walls themselves are alive, like the entire place is breathing heat. Apparently, it's known for its mean drinks and fiery decor—which makes sense, given the name.

I hang my head low as I walk to the round bar which houses three bartenders, though I'm sure with the amount of people here, they've barely done any work.

"Welcome to Inferno, pretty lady. What can I get you?" One of the bartenders, a blond, spike-haired dude with one dimple asks.

I lick my lips, my eyes going over the menu hung behind him before clearing my throat.

"Um, a whiskey?" I say the first familiar thing I see.

"Want anything else in it? You strike me as someone who'd prefer something sweet," the bartender says, as though he can tell this is my first time ordering a drink. He doesn't even know it's my first time out alone.

"What would you suggest?"

"A whiskey sour. It has a mean punch but it's also sweet and sour," he says, leaning against the round slab that separates us. I nod, because it sounds like something I'd like, and he goes on to make it.

As I watch him work, I'm so amazed and engrossed by how much he's shaking the drink that I don't notice the five ladies who take their seats beside me until, in the process of grabbing my drink with shaky fingers, I spill some on the mesh sleeve of the lady closest to me.

"Oh my god," my hands fly to my lips. "I'm so sorry."

The obviously tall and very sexy female doesn't yell or do anything violent; instead, she smiles.

"It's fine. You're good," she says, dabbing the wet spot with a napkin from a bunch on the slab, but I shake my head, my words lodged in my throat too tight that tears pool in my eyes.

"I really didn't mean to inconvenience you. Please let me make up for it," the words finally pour out.

The lady, whom I can tag as a model, watches me for a few seconds, as if stunned... or maybe calculating, then she nods.

"If you want to make it up to me, then join our party," she says with a smile that is far from plotting.

I blink, confused. "Party?"

She nods.

"We're heading to the red room later," she says. "You should come. We're just here for a pregame, but you should totally come with, 'cause a beauty like you shouldn't be sitting and drinking alone."

I look behind me to be sure she's talking to me, because unlike her and her friends, I'm ill-prepared. My dress doesn't hug my figure like theirs does, my hair is not laid or styled to perfection like theirs, I'm wearing flats unlike their very high heels, and I came out with a bare face.

So I shake my head.

"Unfortunately, I don't think I'm dressed for such. I just came out to have a drink," I say to her politely, tapping my glass of chill whiskey sour. She purses her lips.

"Oh come on, we're lacking one person, and you said you want to make up for ruining my dress. Just drink and think about it," she says and I nod with a smile, finally bringing my drink to my lips.

The drink is exactly as the bartender said. It's sweet and sour at first, but then the alcohol hits and my throat is on fire.

"You like?" The bartender mouths and I nod, eagerly bringing the glass to my lips for a second sip. I take another sip, then another, and by the time I notice, my glass is empty.

"Hey love, we're going in now, have you thought about it?" The girl beside me says after what feels like an hour, but she sounds as though she's at one end of the room and I'm at the other. My head feels light and heavy at the same time, but more than that my vision is slightly blurry.

I feel something grab me by the arm, and when I look down, it's long fingers.

"Finish your drink and come with," she says already too close, dipping a finger into my second glass, then she twirls it, and raises the glass to my face.

It feels wrong, dirty and I should say something. I don't.

I've never been able to, so instead, I part my lips and do as she says.

Somewhere at the back of my mind as I gulp my drink down, something nags at me. This feels too fast, too much, but the thought slips away before I can hold onto it.

I think of my list and how this stranger said there'll be others in the red room. Men, I hope.

If I go with her will I get to have my first kiss, seeing as I didn't get the clubbing experience I hoped for?

I swallow the last of my drink and nod. Telling myself I will.

Rising to my feet, my head feels hazier than it was seconds ago. I'm walking but it seems as though I'm floating, and I'm not sure anymore if what I'm holding is my purse or a rock. I feel very destabilized and something feels really off.

Is this what being drunk feels like? Am I drunk?

"No you're not, baby. You're just tipsy," a female voice answers from beside me, and soon, the bright red of the room changes into a deep fiercer red. I know this is not a result of my drunkenness because this room is smaller, and there are about six or maybe seven men in the room, looking at us the same way, like they've already decided our fates.

"Ah, welcome my lovelies," one man says in a thick accented voice, but the rest of his words drown out because my eyes find a dark figure in the corner of the room. His arms are folded, shoulders relaxed But there's something controlled about him, like he's not part of this, and from where I'm standing, that's all I notice.

Multiple people begin to laugh when someone says something and my heart pounds loudly in my chest.

Are they laughing at me? I don't know, but somehow for the first time in my life, I don't care. It has to be the alcohol.

"Who is she?"

"A random catch…at her face. She'll earn you a lot."

"Damn, you're right…keep her for myself, she looks full of surprises."

"Where did you find her?"

A laugh slips out of me as they speak, thin and unsteady. It doesn't sound like mine, and while I'm trying to keep up with what's being said, they don't stop talking.

Suddenly a cool air gushes past me and someone steps into my line of sight. He's dressed in all black, and even in my haze, I'm pulled to him.

He's not sizing me up like the others are, doesn't try to touch me, doesn't speak, just watches me. He's the guy who was folding his arms in the corner. I smile at him, but he doesn't return the smile; instead, he tries to step around me but I block his path, grabbing his shirt.

"Seems like even…everyone wants you." I don't know who is talking or who they're talking to, but it makes me smile.

"You can take her with…if you'll let me have a taste of her afterwards."

Those are the last words I vaguely remember from that night before waking up in an unfamiliar room, with a pounding headache and a hollow, terrifying blank where the rest of the night should be.