Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals! novel Chapter 133

Chapter 133: 133. The Club I

Maisie

"You can’t go in there, ma’am."

The bouncer took up most of the doorway.

He was enormous. Not quite Lycan-sized, but close enough.

"I’m with Quinlan."

His expression remained blank. "I was given specific orders not to let you in."

Somewhere behind him a door opened and faint laughter spilled through, followed by the sounds of... moaning.

My fingers curled into fists.

The Lycans had brought me here, claimed they had a bit of business to conclude that wouldn’t take long, assigned me a werewolf guard who kept growling at every man who approached me, and disappeared through those doors.

It’d been thirty minutes and I was beyond irritated.

I’d watched man after man, and a few women stumble out of those doors, looking dazed, skins flushed, clothes ruined or askew, and very... satisfied. I didn’t need the Goddess to tell me what the hell was going on in there.

But why bring me here at all, if they had plans on getting their needs met by some hooker in a waitress uniform? I felt like an idiot. I didn’t like feeling like an idiot. I was going up there to break someone’s fucking nose and then, I was going home.

"If you let me in, I promise not to break you in half."

The bouncer arched a brow, looked me up and down, and then settled his gaze on my pretty pink nails that Violette had freshly polished for me this morning. "Oh, I’m sure."

My Lycan was all for the violence, and I knew how easy it would be to crack his jaw. But I stopped myself, sucking in a deep, calming breath. He was just doing his job. I would save the violence for my mates.

Defeated, I returned to the bar.

The werewolf security detail assigned to me followed. So did his sharp glare. Apparently, I was considered a flight risk.

"What’s up there?" I asked the bartender as I settled back onto the stool, nursing a glass of water because my husbands had decided I couldn’t be trusted with anything else.

The tender, whose name is discovered to be Trevor, followed my gaze to the staircase. His lips kicked up in a faint smirk. "Trouble."

I felt my interest and frustration intensify and I sat up straighter. "What kind?"

Trevor nodded at the club around us, L’ange déchu, the iridescent lighting and writhing bodies in every corner, the kissing and groping in the dark.

"People think this is the club," he said. Then he laughed. "But this is merely the lobby."

My lips parted as I glanced around me. "The lobby," I repeated with disbelief.

"The pretty part. The public part. The part people are meant to see."

A fresh wave of curiosity hit me. "Then what’s upstairs?"

His smile widened. "They say it’s a theatre. And a seat in there costs more than a man like me could ever make in ten years. They say the fee is to buy discretion and secrecy."

Okay. I was beyond curious now.

"And what happens in this theatre?"

He shot me a funny look. "Did you hear what I just said, beautiful? No one knows exactly what goes on in there because no one speaks of it. The kind of men who can afford a place like that can also afford hiring assassins to kill you off if any kind of information about them gets leaked. So the girls don’t talk about it."

"The girls," I stammered, heart racing. What was Quinlan? A pimp? My heart dropped. Was this his own way of handling what happened to him as child?

As if reading my mind, Trevor laughed. "No. It’s not what you’re thinking. The boss is something of a connoisseur. The theater, from what I hear, is for people with tastes they can’t indulge out in the open."

My brows drew together.

"The girls apply for the position, by the way. The current waiting list is a year long. Many are influenced by the pay that comes with. Who wouldn’t? But the interviews are thorough in ensuring those who are picked are into the job because they genuinely like it. And the payment is only the added benefit, not the price of their value."

I stared at him, stunned beyond comprehension.

"The clients are screened too before they’re accepted. It doesn’t matter how wealthy they are, they must meet the most basic requirement before acceptance."

"Oui."

I couldn’t stop staring at her. Perhaps, it was because of her beauty. Or maybe it was because she smelled like Quinlan.

Pet?

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