Fake Game (The System #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

TWENTY-TWO

DEER

“ S hots for everyone!” Parker stands on a pool table holding a bottle of very expensive vodka. At least twenty people crowd around him, and he begins pouring the liquid into their mouths.

“Sydney is so going to murder him,” I mutter to myself.

Myself, because I have been abandoned. Or, almost abandoned.

Stevie and Aleks are making out on the couch in front of me; the pretty brunette is straddling her boyfriend while their tongues decide to see how far down each other’s throats they can go.

Sydney is going to murder them as well.

And as for the lady of the hour? Well, Lee is chatting with a group of lifestyle creators who intimidate the hell out of me. Granted, she keeps glancing back my way, giving me a not-so-subtle thumbs-up to check in every twenty or so minutes. But that’s beside the point.

This sucks.

There are too many people, and I am still too sober.

Three shots have done nothing but level out my nerves and put me on the same plane as a normal person.

“Deer!” Parker’s British accent draws out the vowels. “Come over here!” He waggles the bottle of liquor.

I don’t really want to drink from the communal well of Copper Wolf vodka—even if the bottle is made from crystal.

I swipe my hand in front of my neck, making a cutting motion as I call out, “No thanks.”

He pouts because only Parker Covington can make pouting look attractive. But before he can sucker me into taking a shot like I know he will—because I seriously have an issue saying no to people—I push up from my safe little nest in the corner of the room and weave my way through the crowd.

There are way more people here than I expected, and it seems impossible to get anywhere without someone’s body touching my own. It’s a sensory overload. Especially with all the flashing lights from people taking selfies and videos. This whole party is just a bunch of people trying to use each other to get a leg up in the world. They’re wondering whose ladder rung they can step on next to push themselves higher. No judgement on them, it’s a tough world out there. I’m just not interested in it.

I spot the door to one of the back rooms and push my way through the throng of bodies until my hand has enough space to reach out and grasp the handle. I push down and practically hurtle my body through the door.

I instantly regret my choice as I watch a guy snort a line of coke off some chick’s cleavage.

Mm. Nope.

I swivel on my platform heels to retrace my steps, except a body suddenly bumps into mine, almost putting me on my ass.

“Well, if it isn’t the princess.”

My stomach curdles at the voice.

“Decker.”

“I’m surprised to see you here. Didn’t think you left the castle much these days?”

“You know how it is. I like to come down and see how the peasants are doing every once in a while.” I give him a dramatic once over. “And now I have, so I’m leaving.”

I push past him, and he doesn’t stop me. Daniel Decker is one of the most narcissistic streamers I know, and unfortunately someone I had the displeasure of going to high school with. But because our families know each other, it means Decker has some sense of self-preservation and knows not to mess with me. His family has called in one too many favors with mine, so he will always be in my debt and never a true threat to me. Still, seeing him has just made this night all the more lackluster.

I want to leave.

Cementing my choice, I pull out my phone and toss a quick text to the group, letting them know I’m splitting. Parker might be the life of the party right now, but he’ll keep an eye on Lee.

I break through the crowd and slam my palm onto the down button for the elevator. The doors slide open, and a group of girls spill out, giggling and laughing. One of them spots me, her eyes widening with recognition.

“Ohmigod, you’re Deer! Can I get a picture?”

“Sure.” I plaster on my perfect smile and lean close, throwing up a peace sign.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah.” I throw on a pout. “I’m not feeling great.”

“Oh nooo.”

“Yeah.” I slip into the elevator and begin pressing the close door button like my life depends on it. “Have a great night, though.”

The doors can’t close quickly enough as I’m stuck keeping my mask in place with the girl. Finally, the last slivers of flashing lights disappear as the doors clink shut, and I let out a deep breath. The noise of the party fades away as I descend back to the ground.

When the doors open to the ground level, I freeze. There are groups of people waiting to get in as security guards check them over.

Dammit. I should’ve known this would be the case.

Yeah, it’s an invite-only party—but that’s never stopped the word from getting out. Everyone wants to be where the limelight shines.

My eyes frantically bounce over the crowd as I quickly map my escape route. Without giving myself time to hesitate, I throw my shoulders back and push through.

I hear a few people call my name, and more than one person grabs my shoulder or pulls on my skirt. But I press one hand to my chest and keep a placid smile on my face as I make my way through the droves of people.

There’s too many of them. I need to get away.

More people continue to call my name, and all I can think about is finding somewhere else to go. I break through the crowd and immediately make to cross the street, putting more distance between myself and the party, more distance between myself and everyone else. It’s still too much. I feel too exposed. I didn’t plan this well at all. I need an escape.

Now.

I spot a couple slipping into what looks like an expensive cocktail lounge, a beautiful red door leading into the black brick building.

Close enough.

I follow behind them, fleeing the outside world for one of hushed music and vanilla-scented air. It doesn’t take long for me to notice that there is something different about this place.

The lights are dim, casting a warm glow over the surrounding patrons. The lounge has been designed to resemble an old, prestigious university library. The seats are all jewel-toned velvet, and the tables are a dark walnut. Fake sconces light up the walls, interspersed between bookshelves that are filled with leather-bound tomes and decanters holding whiskey and red wine.

My attention snags as the couple before me flash their phones at the bouncer, some sort of passkey on their screens. The bouncer nods them forward and gestures to the back of the bar. I watch as they bypass all the other patrons and head for another deep red door in the back, scanning their phones again before disappearing.

Shit.

Nerves begin to prick at my skin as I worry about being let in.

“ID?”

I dig around in my purse for my driver’s license, holding it out between two nails. The guy angles it up, flashing his light on it before giving me a once over. Once he deems my ID to be passable, he hands it back without a word.

“Thank you.”

I try to feel confident as I make my way to the bar, picking a stool off to the side and hidden from anyone who might walk in. It’s like I’m in my own little oasis.

“What can I get for you, darlin?” The bartender slides a glass of water and a house cocktail list in front of me. It only takes me a quick glance to land on something.

“The Broken Bombshell, please.” I present my credit card to her.

“Open or closed?”

“Closed.”

She nods, taking my card and the cocktail list.

I pick up the glass and take a healthy sip of cool water, my body finally calming down and no longer on high alert. Something about this place feels safe.

The red door in the back opens again, two men and a woman exiting this time. The men each give the woman a kiss on her cheek before walking out of the lounge, but the woman doesn’t follow. She takes a seat at the far end of the bar, and I watch as the bartender pours her a glass of whiskey without a word. She’s stunning, with long dark hair and smoky eyes. The dress she is wearing has a cutout on both sides, revealing a plush hourglass figure.

She catches me staring, and frowns slightly, tilting her head to the side as she rakes her gaze over me. I fidget with the edge of my dress, worried that she can tell I don’t belong. For a second, I think she’s about to come over, but a man stops next to her and leans to whisper in her ear. Her eyes widen, some sort of realization glossing over them as she continues to look at me, before a serpentine smile spreads from her red lips. She turns to smooth out the man’s tie, murmuring something to him, and then flicks her wrist back to the red door.

He gives her a nod, walking past and scanning his phone before disappearing behind that damn mysterious door.

“One Broken Bombshell and the check.”

My daze is shattered as I blink down at the coupe glass filled with a blush pink liquid and topped with a rosemary garnish.

“Thank you.” I quickly scribble out my tip and pocket my credit card. I hold out the little clipboard, working up the courage to ask the bartender, “What is that red door?”

A knowing smile crosses her features as she takes the check from me. “If you have to ask, you don’t need to know.”

That’s a little dickish.

I pick up my cocktail and take a sip. The smoky mezcal blends with the fresh strawberry puree and a hint of rosemary. It helps soothe some of the annoyance I’m feeling—but annoyance is better than panic.

When I raise my eyes back to the mysterious woman, I find her chatting away into her phone. Her gaze is still on me, and I have to bite back the instinct to run my fingers through my hair or smooth down my dress.

There’s something unnerving about her, like she recognizes me. But it’s not the same as when people recognize me from my streams or viral content; she looks at me like she knows me personally.

Minutes pass, and even once she has finished her phone call and begins talking to yet another young man who sidles up next to her at the bar, she doesn’t stop glancing my way. I’ve been bouncing between watching her and that damn red door, but I still can’t put the pieces together. The best I’ve come up with is that there might be some high stakes poker room in the back—like the one I’ve heard Parker and his friend go to in Vegas.

I’m thinking about this way too much. I should really just go home and call it a night.

I down the last of my drink and pull out my phone, clicking on the rideshare app. The nearest available ride is…

Fifteen minutes away.

Of course it is.

My finger is millimeters away from clicking the confirmation button when I catch the woman moving. My eyes fly up, tracking the foxlike smile that stretches across her red lips as she stares just past me.

In my periphery, I see a man flash his phone at the bouncer before stalking in. The woman gracefully slides off her bar stool, legs eating up the distance as she walks from the back of the lounge to the entrance.

“Took you long enough.” Her voice has a sultry pull to it.

“Savannah.” The man’s voice is deep. Familiar.

“I’ve kept an eye on her, don’t worry.” She rolls her eyes playfully and then reaches out to dust off his shoulder. My vision turns red at the edges, and I have no idea why until the next sentence leaves his mouth.

“Where is she?”

With just three words, I know who it is. I don’t even need him to turn around.

“She’s right there.” Her finger points directly at me, and I freeze like a fox caught in a hen house.