Deeper (The Deeper Chronicles #1) Page 2

  “We’re celebrating your big day, whether you want to or not.” Sofie looked mutinous at Avi’s insistent, silent ‘no’.

  “I don’t know why I told you it was my birthday,” Avi mumbled, stacking some books while Sofie followed.

  “Hello? Because we’re friends.” Sofie’s hands took up residence on her hips in defiance.

  Unfortunately for Avi, she’d slipped and told Sofie about her low-key birthday the previous day during their lunch. Her new friend had been upset. “Friends shouldn’t keep secrets from each other,” Sofie had uttered to a flabbergasted Avi. But, it hadn’t taken long for perky Sofie to return with a devilish grin and a promise to make it up to her.

  Avi blinked and bit the inside of her cheek, coming back to the here and now, meeting Sofie’s eyes, which were brimming with excitement. She offered a tentative laugh in response to her friend’s very loud one.

  “Fine,” Avi said.

  Sofie screamed her enthusiasm and threw her slender arms around Avi’s shoulders. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

  This is a mistake, Avi thought while exiting the cab.

  Those four words had run through her head during her bus ride home. Doubt overruled anticipation, even while she applied the final touches to her smoky-eyes. Avi second-guessed her decision to go out, remembering the disastrous end-result of a time when partying was all she did.

  Music spilled out of the club and seemed to make the walls shake and shiver.

  What am I doing?

  She felt her sanity slipping.

  Did I give off a clubber vibe? Because those days were long gone.

  A luxury SUV cut through traffic as if everyone else on the road knew Noah Adams was seated in the back, the man New York’s gossip sites called a playboy with rumored criminal ties and a confirmed short fuse and, therefore, gave a wide berth. The President and CEO of Accipere LLC was a man who enjoyed maintaining an air of intrigue. Maybe it was his hypnotic onyx eyes or the way his tailored suits cut his tall, muscular frame, but Noah Adams was intimidating and mysterious to just about everyone. At thirty-three years old, Noah had earned every bit of wealth, power, and fear surrounding him.

  As usual, the day had begun too early and ended too late. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat. Smooth lane changes and butter-soft leather lulled Noah into a rare relaxed state. A phone rang from its place in the center console and shattered his brief moment of serenity. He lolled his head toward the phone and debated letting the call go to voicemail. The numbers glowed brightly in the dark cabin, and recognition made Noah sit up in his seat.

  The driver’s gaze rose to the rearview mirror at his boss’s change in posture and contemplative stare at the mobile phone. He tapped the brakes, lurching the vehicle forward.

  Noah looked up and met the wide eyes of his latest hire, Zachary Bakker. “Eyes on the road, Zach.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Adams.”

  The kid was all right, although a bit jumpy and star struck, but that would go away in time. Noah waved away the young man’s worries and re-focused his attention on the ringing phone.

  It was a number that hadn’t called him in two years.

  He knew he had to take it.

  Hell, he wanted to take it.

  Noah tapped the green button and held the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” the voice on the other end said, sounding nervous. He was never nervous.

  Noah took a deep breath. Their last conversation had been brief. Although two years had passed and they had exchanged no more words, Noah had always called on holidays and birthdays and spoken to the silence. Not one single word from the person on the other end of the line in seven hundred and thirty days—not that Noah had been counting.

  His heart raced as he tried to appear unaffected. “What’s up?”

  “Is that how we’re speaking these days?” His rich, familiar chuckle reminded Noah of nights spent on a worn blue couch in Brooklyn, eating take-out, and watching Saturday Night Live.

  “Only to old men who call when I’m ready to go home,” Noah responded, wanting to keep the man talking, and relishing every word.

  “Ah, so now I’m old?”

  Noah imagined Harry Manning’s violet eyes bright with laughter. He should be taking off his reading glasses and turning in for the night; that was the schedule Harry had kept when the two had spoken more frequently.

  Noah huffed out a breath and toyed with a cuff link while trying to find the words to say. There were few people who had Noah’s real contact information, and Harry was one.

  Still.

  The two were so deeply connected, despite their seventeen-year age difference, that it was impossible to scrub the other from their lives, even after Harry had “washed his hands.”

  “Noe...” Harry’s use of his nickname forced Noah’s concentration back to the phone call.

  Noah cleared his throat and smoothed out his lapel. “What are you doing calling?” The words left his mouth and he immediately regretted his tone.

  “I see not much has changed,” Harry said. “Still speaking first and thinking second.”

  “Hard to change what’s part of you. You know this.”

  Harry’s laugh was strained. “What I have to talk about isn’t for this phone, but since I don’t have any other number...”

  A crease marred Noah’s brow at what Harry insinuated. He needed another number. One that would be untraceable and changed every two weeks or so. If Harry was referring to that kind of number, then there was trouble—the sort of trouble that could include officers who wore dark blue jackets with ‘DEA’ emblazoned in bright yellow lettering across the back—trouble that made Noah’s ass itch and would require a call to his high-priced lawyer.

  Fuck. “I’ll take care of it,” Noah said, mentally adding another item to his never-ending to-do list.

  “How soon? Because what I have to say...” Harry stopped speaking.

  “A day at the most.” Noah paused, the seriousness of the situation dawning on him. If Harry was spooked into breaking his self-imposed exile from Noah’s life, then it just became Noah’s top priority. “Someone will be in touch.”

  Harry coughed. “Good. Good. So, until then?”

  Two years ago, Harry would have ended with: talk to you later.

  But a teen who should have been fucking around on Facebook or doing some other teenage bullshit had ruined Noah and Harry’s friendship. When a tingle of guilt would try to creep into Noah’s subconscious, he reminded himself that he wasn’t directly at fault. It wasn’t like he told the kid to push that shit into her veins. That was her choice. Choices were made every day. The consequences weren’t always favorable, but one had to be man or woman enough to deal with whatever the outcome was.

  Some would say Noah was cold-hearted. Maybe he was, but he never tried to convince anyone he was someone other than who he was.

  “Noah, are you still there?”

  He massaged his forehead before answering. Thoughts of that kid stirred up something he didn’t dwell on for long, but her death wasn’t enough to get him to do more than a few protocol changes; the heart of his operations remained the same.

  “A day, then we’ll talk.” And I’ll learn what the fuck is going on. A part of Noah wanted to prolong the conversation, but he struggled with what next to say.

  “Sure. Tell the guys hel—”

  “Harry, I’ve got another call.”

  Harry’s sentimentality was too much to deal with right now. Another day...maybe.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  The line remained open until Noah clicked the end button.

  I need a drink.

  The phone was tossed onto the seat beside him while Noah tried to forget the man’s voice and his words. His mind lingered more so on what couldn’t be shared.

  He was in the dark, and Noah Adams was never in the dark. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was being in the fucking dark about his businesses, his associates, and
his competitors.

  Who am I kidding? I hate lots of other things, like cops—Harry was the exception—sellouts, liars, thieves, a bad fuck, slow motherfuckers…the list goes on. Noah watched the New York scenery through his window. Bad fucks were high up on the list. The thought made him chuckle.

  Zach looked back at his boss. “You okay, Mr. Adams?”

  He had been looking forward to going home and crashing from the long day, but as he passed a corner, another idea came to him.

  “Zach, hang left when you can and head to one.”

  The young driver nodded his understanding.

  The car came to a smooth stop.

  In less than a minute, Zach was opening the back door for Noah. The familiar New York City smell invaded Noah’s nostrils, and it was a welcoming scent.

  It was his city’s aroma.

  A mixture of exhaust fumes, recklessness, and restless excitement. To his left, he was pleased with the long line of patrons. Above his head were the words: Club Envy. He passed by Tim, the night’s security personnel, with a nod of acknowledgment. He walked with confidence down the corridor and was pleased when he heard the heavy bass pulsating the walls.

  Noah took pride in the esthetics of his establishment. He spared no cost. If it was unique, he got it. He flew in one-of-a-kind Russian tiles that some would say cost too much and was over the top. When others told him to watch the bottom dollar, he dug deeper into his pockets to get the best. As he walked farther into his club, the glare from the mother of pearl, diamonds, abalone shells, and black onyx stones in the tiles caught his attention.

  Noah gave himself a small opportunity to appreciate their intricate beauty, which brought a pleased grin to his lips. The tiles, the furnishings, the menu, everything about the nightclub evoked a feeling of luxury and exclusivity, which were the two things the type of people his club catered to were used to, demanded, and enjoyed. The people who whisked by him toward the dance floor in their Louboutins and Ferragamos knew the meaning of LuxTouch tiles and carried around American Express elite Black Cards.

  They were the city’s prettiest young socialites, heirs, multi-millionaires who spent big to have a good time. Their last names were some of the most influential in New York and abroad. They also had habits—expensive and discriminatory habits—to which Noah catered. Club Envy was for beautiful people with beautiful needs.

  Voices clamored for his attention, none of which he answered. His long legs took him up the stairs leading to the quieter VIP lounge. He sat in his spot in the far corner in a red leather seat. He nodded in the bartender’s direction, silently ordering his drink of choice: a whiskey sour.

  Avi shook her head at the line of partygoers.

  She had very few dislikes, but waiting in lines now topped the list. For reasons she still didn’t understand, club owners liked to keep their customers waiting. Back when she was eighteen and away from her mother’s overprotective gaze, Avi never minded the lines. Her love for dancing and the freedom her freshman year at Florida State University offered had Avi queuing up with glee every chance she had.

  Stellar grades in high school had earned her a full four-year scholarship to any college of her choice in Florida. She’d picked the one farthest from home. She loved her mother, but wanted a chance to be free of her overly watchful eyes, even for just a little bit. At first, she was the typical wide-eyed first-year college student, spending Friday nights in the library and showing up to classes ten minutes early. Eventually, the desire to experience more had attracted her, and Avi and her roommates became more interested in club-hopping, learning new dance moves to impress each other, and buying sexy clothing to catch the eyes of cute boys, rather than studying.

  A letter at the end of her second-year detailed Avi’s careless behavior. She’d violated the terms of her scholarship by remaining on academic probation, and hadn’t cooperated with her advisers to turn her low grades around. These reasons resulted in the loss of her scholarship. Ellie Linton had a few words for her only child, and none of them were pretty. All of them, however, were harsh Jamaican words Avi had never heard before and didn’t understand.

  That summer was painful.

  Avi worked at a local ice cream parlor, where the hours were grueling and the pay was low. But the worst was speaking to a mother who never responded, not even after Avi’s multiple apologies. Returning to school that Fall was out of the question. Her mother was a single parent, and despite working hard, they never had any real extra money. Besides, Ellie was pissed. If Avi wanted to finish her degree, she would have to find a way to pay for it herself—that much her mother had yelled at her. Avi’s bank account told her even community college would be out of the question for a while. Applying for loans wasn’t an option, because Avi had no real income of her own, and Ellie wouldn’t co-sign any of the applications.

  Days flew by, and soon, the month of August was upon the Linton household. Avi’s first tuition installment was due mid-August. The summer had been lonesome; Avi missed her mother. The thought of remaining in their little town with even smaller prospects twisted her gut, but not having Ellie’s presence in her life had made the idea that much more nauseating.

  It was late, much later than Avi was accustomed to her mother being out, when Ellie walked into their tiny rental home and presented her daughter with a check to cover the first semester for her junior year. Avi’s fingers shook when she pulled the check to her, hesitant to even look at the amount. She stared with misty eyes into her mother’s somber, brown ones. Ellie’s words gave Avi real hope for the first time in months: ‘I’ve been working overtime.’ Avi’s gratefulness was expressed to Ellie’s slumped shoulders as she shuffled away.

  Things had been going well at school, and Avi had made good on her promise to take care of business, but the summer before the start of her senior year, Avi’s world was rocked again. Everything shifted when she was pulled over by two of her city’s police officers.

  Her stomach roiled at the sight of the line to enter the club, which wrapped around the building. Avi had no intention of falling back into old habits and getting off her game.

  I’ll make it up to Sofie. Take her to lunch or something.

  New York was lonely, and Sofie was her only friend since moving from Norland, Florida, but she’d be foolish to enter that club. Not when she was still paying for the consequences of her poor decisions.

  Just when she decided to hail a cab and chalk the night up to a lapse in judgment and wanting to please her new friend, the persistent wave of a slender hand caught Avi’s attention and halted her retreat. Forcing a smile onto her lips, she moved closer to the body attached to the exuberant hand that had beckoned her.

  Impatient women hiked up their already short dresses and tugged down their necklines while men eye-stalked the women they planned on approaching with a drink in hand and a dance request on their lips.

  This is going to be a long night.

  Sofie stood behind a solidly built man. The guy was like a human Hummer—all thick thighs, wide shoulders, and a foreboding countenance. No one would be getting past him. Avi stepped closer to the velvet rope, which was unclasped to provide her easy entry as if she were a VIP member. The burly man ushered her farther in, allowing her to walk past him and into Sofie’s embrace. The words ‘Club Envy’ blinked behind Sofie, who turned and pulled Avi through a black door, and then down a dark corridor that glowed with neon lights.

  She found herself anticipating the sights inside. Now I understand the line outside, Avi thought when she and Sofie reached the end of the long, narrow path. It opened to a large dance floor surrounded by leather seating arrangements, which were being tended by minimally dressed male and female servers.

  This would have definitely been my kind of place years ago.

  “Stop gawking like a country bumpkin and let’s go,” Sofie shouted, tugging Avi behind her.

  She was left with no choice but to follow, not only because Avi would lose her friend in the thick crowd, b
ut because her interest was now piqued. Avi was loath to admit it, but she wanted to be a part of this world of exotic beauty.

  After getting her mother’s gift of a second chance, Avi had been on the straight and narrow, and though there’d been a bump in her plans, she’d forged ahead. One night was all she was going to allow herself.

  “This is us.” Sofie plopped down on a plush white couch that was away from the frenzied dancing and loud music.

  A server was quick to approach the duo and ask for their drink orders. Never one to deviate from what she knew, Avi requested her go-to drink of Long Island Iced Tea.

  Sofie shook her head. “No. She’ll take the Bad Girl Concoction, and just a refill for me, please.” She tapped the empty glass in front of her.

  Their server disappeared, returning with two drinks. With no idea of the ingredients or taste, and having to rely on the dim lighting, Avi’s eyes grew large when they settled on the innocent looking mint garnish that rested on the lip of the oversized glass. Sofie, the bolder of the two, picked up her drink and sipped from the straw while watching Avi over the rim of her glass.

  Man up, Linton. Avi picked up her glass and tipped it in Sofie’s direction as her thanks, and then tentatively placed her lips on the rim.

  “This is good.” Avi swallowed more than a sip of the colorful mixed drink. She took another gulp and rolled her eyes heavenward in appreciation. The flavors overwhelmed Avi’s tongue and challenged her to get to the bottom of the glass so she could learn how the drink was made. “What’s in this?” she asked, taking her fifth—or tenth—gulp.

  “A little of this and a little of that.” Sofie shrugged with a contagious smile.

  Smiling in return, Avi knew that line was totally made up. It was the way Sofie’s eyes darted around, refusing to look at her. They sat in companionable silence while Avi tapped her foot to the beat and Sofie surreptitiously spied on those walking through the front door.