We walked through the entrance and took an elevator to get to the top. The doors opened to a broad room with dim lighting; the setting was classy and intimate, reminding me of a speakeasy.
A few individuals were engaged in muted conversation, and others were having drinks at the bar.
This doesn't look like an Underworld.
However, the more I looked, the more I noticed men at every corner. I bet they had guns. This wasn't so normal after all.
"Nervous?" Noah asked in my ear, drawing me close, until my body was practically glued to his.
I didn't reply, choosing silence for my sanity because God knows I'm this close to punching him in the face.
We neared a woman at an entrance, dressed stylishly in her evening gown, with a few men standing beside her in guard.
"Noah Voss..." he introduced, and she stuck out her hand for him.
Noah obliged, kissing her knuckles, lingering more than usual, and Deja vu gripped me like waves.
Like father, like son.
