1
“You can forget it,” Brayden said, giving me a side eye before flipping on his blinker to turn on to Fifth Street. Downtown was packed already, and his Jeep crawled to a stop behind the endless red glare of tail lights.
“Forget what?”
“You’ve got that look on your face. The one that says you’re about two seconds away from popping open that door and running for your life.”
“I do not.”
“Yeah, you fucking do. But you promised, Jesse, and I need this. We only graduate from college once, and once you start your internship, your social life is over.”
I sighed and looked out the window at the misty overcast that was perpetual in Westport, Washington. I almost hated that Brayden knew me so well, but more than that, I hated I ever let him talk me into going out tonight. I’d much rather have been at home, binging on Netflix shows and celebrating alone, but no. There would be no alone tonight—not where we were going. I tugged at the sleeve of the overpriced designer suit Brayden had lent me and tried to remind myself that it was only a few hours, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for my best friend.
“Stop fidgeting. It’ll give us away,” he said, and then his lips tilted up. “Don’t overthink it. This is supposed to be fun. And when have I ever let you down when it comes to that three-letter word?”
“That’s what worries me,” I said, biting back a smile.
“I believe what you meant was ‘That’s what excites me. I’m totally gonna get off tonight, and I only have you to thank.’”
“Oh Jesus. I said I’d go, not that I’d participate.”
“The fuck is the fun in that?” Brayden slowed to a stop in front of an unmarked building, and put the car in park as a valet appeared. “A few drinks in and you’ll let someone jerk you off. You’re too tense, my man.” He squeezed my shoulder and then got out of the car as I reluctantly followed suit.
As we walked up to the nondescript front door, I could feel the nerves I’d managed to squash earlier resurface. Brayden hadn’t told me much about where we were headed tonight, except I could and should expect some crazy shit—and when it came to Brayden, that could mean anything.
The door was opened for us by a behemoth of a man who had a shaved head, a stern expression, and was dressed in a pristine suit that looked as though it cost more than my monthly rent—not that that was hard, considering the place I called home was a tiny studio in one of the less desirable neighborhoods. Unlike this particular neighborhood.
Once we were inside, the door shut firmly behind us, and Brayden, myself, and the behemoth were enclosed in a tight foyer area where a second man stood behind a desk. I told myself not to tug at the collar of my shirt, but the sudden claustrophobia that overtook me had a feeling of unease twisting in my gut.
I was a cautious guy by nature, but right then, being locked in these tight confines with two strangers who could wipe the floor with me if they deemed it worth their time made me slightly…jumpy.
“What did you say this place was called again?” I said under my breath to Brayden.
“The Wolfe’s Den.”
Yeah, okay, that didn’t help my nerves at all. “The Wolfe’s Den?”
“Right.” Brayden walked toward the front desk as though that should answer all my questions, but before he got too far, I grabbed his wrist and halted him. When he looked over his shoulder at me, I shuffled closer, not wanting to make a scene.
“This place is, you know, safe, right? Reputable?”
The sly curve of Brayden’s lips told me if that was what I was looking for, I’d definitely come to the wrong place. “It’s…both of those things. But probably not how you mean it.”
What the hell does that mean? I was about to ask when Brayden turned back and approached the desk. Without a word, he pulled out a stack of bills—shit, were those hundreds?—and handed it over. The man counted them out, and once the number hit ten, I couldn’t bear to look anymore. That was more than I’d made the entire year cleaning up coffee spills and panini crumbs at Lava Java, and even though I’d been friends with the guy long enough not to be shocked by his wealth, I still couldn’t get over the way he threw it around so mindlessly.
The man behind the desk nodded, apparently satisfied at the amount Brayden had given him, and then set a small square box on top of the desk. He didn’t say anything, but Brayden seemed to know what that meant, because he pulled out a long, antique-looking brass key from his pocket and inserted it into the box. As he turned it, there was a clicking sound and the box seemed to glow purple from within.