Page 1 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
Chapter One
It takes courage to
grow up and become
who you really are.
E. E. Cummings
The only thing running through my mind as we make our way to the bar is: this place used to be a strip club. Now, it’s a trendy nightclub that caters to New York’s elite and whoever is lucky enough to be allowed entrance. Tonight, that includes Aimee and me. How we got in, I have no idea, though I suspect it has something to do with Aimee.
At almost six feet tall, she has the body of a model and the looks to boot. She’s a small town girl from a rural part of America, but looking at her, you wouldn’t know. Dressed in a tiny sequined dress and sky high heels, she appears every bit the big city girl she pretends to be. With every step we take, I can see men eyeing her in lust and women staring at her in envy.
“I heard this place used to be a strip club,” says Aimee, echoing my thoughts.
Aimee and I just met today. We’re both juniors at Wilton University. She’s my new roommate in Vaserley Hall, one of the upperclassmen dorm buildings at Wilton. As far as I know, we’re also the only transfers in our hall.
Whereas I completed my breadth requirements online while volunteering internationally, Aimee went to the local community college in her hometown, eventually saving up enough money to pay the remainder of what her scholarship at Wilton doesn’t cover.
We’re both new to the area, and not even minutes after meeting me, Aimee suggested that we go to Rogue, the hottest club in New York. Earlier, she told me that the small town she grew up in was too isolated, and she was excited to become a New Yorker as quickly as possible. I believe her. She already looks the part, and I could have sworn that earlier she asked me to “pass the watta bottle, dahling.”
I slide a sidelong glance at her, wondering what she’s hiding behind her glamorous façade. I understand the desire to abandon roots better than most, but I usually do so by running from place to place, never settling down. I can already tell that Aimee, on the other hand, is choosing to become a different person entirely.
It’s alarming to watch.
“But, like, a high end one,” Aimee continues.
A surprised laugh tears through my throat. “A high end strip club? Do those even exist?”
I’ve always thought of strip clubs as seedy places, but as I look around, I can envision Rogue as a classy strip club. Even if those words together feel like an oxymoron.
There are dancers hanging from human-sized birdcages overhead. They’re dressed in stylish, little black dresses, but I imagine that back in Rogue’s strip club days, the dancers above used to wear absolutely nothing.
The bars enclosing the cages are black and shaped into webs of intricate, beautiful gothic designs. Instead of a covered bottom, the bases of the cages are made from thick glass, allowing the club patrons to see completely into the cages from below. I hope the dancers are wearing underwear, but I keep my head down just in case.
The rest of the nightclub has a modern gothic aesthetic that gives the place a noir and forbidden vibe. It makes me feel like I shouldn’t be there, but I’m lucky to be. There are grand chandeliers that hang above the cages. The walls are painted a matte black, and the floors are concrete with a shiny, black epoxy finishing.
Above the chandeliers and suspended cages, the ceiling is a pure white, contrasting starkly with the blackness of the rest of the club. The bar area, too, is a clean white painted over intricate, wooden fixtures. There are several tables cut into the wall throughout the club and hidden by rich, velvet red curtains that hang from the high ceilings and brush down to the floor for ultimate privacy.
A VIP level is also above us, partially covering the high ceilings on one side of the club. It has a balcony view that overlooks the rest of the club, but as far as I can see into it, which isn’t very far at all, there doesn’t seem to be anyone up there.
“If a high end strip club exists, leave it to Asher Black to own it,” a guy says, approaching us from the side just as we reach the bar.
I catch Aimee eyeing the guy with interest. He’s attractive in a stereotypical way, but he isn’t my type. While I prefer men of the tall, dark and handsome variety, this guy is only slightly above average height and has pale blonde hair. Like every other guy in the club, he’s wearing dress slacks and a button down.
As cute as he is, he’s the type that would blend in with a crowd, and after two years of traveling the globe and meeting so many diverse people, I need someone different to peak my interest. Someone intriguing. Mysterious, even.
I turn my head towards Aimee and mouth, “He’s all yours.”
Even before she grins at me, I already know that she’s interested. On our Uber ride here, she confessed that she has a boy obsession. It was more like a warning, cautioning me to ignore her one track mind if it gets too crazy. I assured her that it’s nothing I can’t handle.
As a former foster kid, I’ve seen more than my fair share of crazy. Hell, I was given the sex talk by one of my foster mothers, a self-proclaimed asexual being who had been my foster mother for less than an hour before she proceeded to tell me how to stimulate a frenulum. On top of that, she was actually still a virgin.
I watch in amusement as Aimee looks at the guy again, her gaze scanning him with renewed interest. The guy flushes as she sidles up next to him. I wince when I notice that she’s at least a full head taller than him in her heels.
She must have had a hard time finding guys her height in her small town’s slim pickings. At 5’8”, I’m a few inches shorter than her, and even I sometimes have difficulty finding men taller than me wherever I go. Call it vanity, but I have trouble dating men shorter than me.
“Zeke,” the guy introduces himself.
He’s still fidgeting self-consciously, but I don’t blame him. Aimee is absolutely stunning, and her attention is completely on him. I can see how that would be unnerving for him.
“I’m Aimee.” She points to herself. “And that’s Lucy.” She gestures to me with the same hand, before continuing, “So, who’s Asher Black?”
Zeke’s eyes widen comically. “He owns this club…” His voice trails off awkwardly. He looks like he wants to say more, but when his eyes glance up at the VIP area, he quickly averts them and shuts up. He looks almost… afraid.
Intrigued by Zeke’s reaction, I turn my head in the direction of the VIP floor. It’s a level above the main area of the club, so I can’t see into the top, but there’s a grand staircase leading up there. It’s no more than a few feet away from where we’re standing at the edge of the bar area, which means I have a close up view of the two guards that are stationed in front of the stairwell.
They’re both wearing suits and have coiled earpieces on like the ones I’ve seen in movies. Their eyes are constantly scanning the club, always on alert. And earlier, when we walked past them on our way to the bar, I heard them speaking what I think was Italian.
I also notice there are guards stationed all over the club, pressed against the walls with their arms crossed and eyes vigilant. They, too, have the cool coiled earpieces. In fact, there are a lot of security guards at Rogue, and they’re all decked out in high tech gear and super serious faces like they know what they’re doing. It’s pretty intimidating and very over the top.
One of the guards at the bottom of the stairwell briefly touches his earpiece. He says something to the other guard, and suddenly, both of them tighten their formation beside one another. A beautiful blonde woman approaches the two.
She’s tall and thin with a willowy model’s frame similar to Aimee’s. I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that she is a model. Usually, I would be blown away by her beauty, but standing next to Aimee, I’m used to it. I can’t help but watch, though, as she ascends the stairs with grace after ignoring both guards along the way. I wonder who she is.
Behind her, she’s followed closely by a man. A soft gasp escapes my mouth. He’s breathtaking. My eyes trace the defined edges of his jaw, entranced. He has a face that belongs on the big screen, but my intuition tells me he’ll never agree to such exposure.
It’s his eyes that convey this to me. They’re intelligent but also guarded. From this distance, I can see how sharp and vividly blue they are. A punitive coldness exists within their depths, mimicking the dark expression on his face, which gives me the distinct impression that he doesn’t want to be here.
I look away from his eyes, because the callousness in them is too much. Almost unhuman. I try to look away from him altogether, but I can’t help myself.
I stare.
I don’t even try to hide it.
I look at his dark hair, which is cropped closely at the sides but kept longer at the top. I look at the tailored suit he’s wearing, which does nothing to hide his muscular physique. I even look at his feet, which are encased in sleek dress shoes that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
As he passes the guards, I notice that he’s taller than both of them. He has to be at least six feet and two inches tall. I watch, captivated, as his eyes scan the crowd before they lock onto mine. They stay there for longer than normal, long enough for me to see them darken before he sweeps his eyes down the length of my body, lingering a beat too long on the partially exposed swells of my breasts. I think it’s lust I see in his face, but it’s gone almost instantly.
Like it wasn’t even there.
Maybe I imagined it?
His attention returns to one of the guards, whose mouth is moving. They nod at one another before he passes by. He was there for less than ten seconds, but the whole thing took my breath away. I’m winded by the time he’s up the staircase and out of my sight.
I catch a rough elbow into my side from Aimee. I rub the area below my ribs, massaging away the ache, and glower at her. “What was that for?”
“Where’d you go just now?” she asks. “You looked like you were deep in thought.” A giggle slips past her blood red lips. “Smile. We’re at a club. And not just any club. The Rogue.”
I sigh. “Nowhere.” And then I lie, wanting to keep the lust I saw in Blue Eyes to myself. “I was just worried about the first day of classes tomorrow. Almost everyone else has the advantage of going to Wilton since their freshman year. It’s intimidating.”
