Chapter 1

They were lined up outside the non-descript warehouse, packed close together beneath a black awning that hung over the sidewalk. Cold rain fell in a steady drizzle and all of them were pressed close together, trying to stay dry. It was understandable considering what little clothing they were all wearing. There was enough skin showing on some of them that it would have been indecent, if not outright illegal, for them to be in certain parts of the city. Every club color, from the gothic black to the neon rainbow, was being represented by the throng and all the nipples pressed against tight fitting clothes made it clear just how cold it was.

No one complained, though. Complaining was against the rules. The bouncers at the door were keeping watch and were under strict orders not to let anyone enter until the appropriate time. Anyone who uttered one word about having to wait in line would be told to leave and not return for the rest of the night. There was no negotiating.

Fortunately for Michael, he had no need for negotiations, complaining or even lines.

As he walked past the front door and past the line of people, he got a few strange looks which he thought was funny. Considering the variety of outrageous outfits that were on display, a man in a trench coat, white shirt and a tie really shouldn't have stood out. But he might have been the only one who would step into this bunch dressed the way he was and still feel comfortable.

"You'll never get in looking like that." Someone said to him as he passed.

He glanced back and shrugged with a smile, then kept walking around the corner of the building. The line continued here, although the awning didn't extend that far out and there was a jumble of umbrellas as people stayed close together to share what shelter they had. Michael kept going past them as well, moving away from the end of the line and towards the alleyway that ran between the warehouse and an adjacent building.

The sun had set hours ago and rain clouds had brought the thick blanket of night over the city. The nearby street lamp spilled yellow light into the mouth of the alley, breaking the darkness but not completely. A long stretch of shadows separated the lamp light from a red bulb, glowing eerily at the end of the alleyway. It illuminated the only door that led into the warehouse, the only other way out of the alley once he went in.

Michael looked down the alley and paused a moment. Despite the fact he knew it was safe, he always felt nervous stepping into that space. There was a dumpster, garbage cans, and a stack of wooden crates that made plenty of blind spots for someone to hide behind. It was designed to be intimidating so that people who got curious might think twice about venturing further. If you didn't know what was down there, you didn't need to be there. The owner of this particular establishment didn't want the club kids in the line outside to know there was another way inside the warehouse.

He went down the alley, taking his time and staying alert for anyone who might be hiding. He glanced back a few times to see if anyone had followed him. Once he was sure that he was alone, he stepped up to the door and knocked three times. Paused. Knocked twice, paused again then knocked thrice more. A small window in the door slid open and a shadow on the other side stared out at him.

"What's your dirty little secret?" The shadow asked.

Michael responded with the password phrase. "My favorite flavor is vanilla."

The window shut and there was a sound of a heavy bar being moved before the door swung open. Michael glanced back once more and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

The long hallway was dark except for a small lamp sitting on a desk at the other end. The shadow, a bouncer dressed in black, locked the door and leaned against it as Michael moved towards the desk and the man sitting behind it.

"Just because you know the password doesn't mean I have to let you in." Enrique the desk man said.

"Yeah, I know." Michael said, grinning. "But you let me in because I'm so pretty."

Enrique smirked back at him. "You got the stuff?"

Michael pulled a padded envelope from the pocket of his trench coat and tossed it on the desk in front of Enrique. The desk man opened the envelope, glanced inside for a moment and whistled low.

"You always come through, man."

"Ten times out of ten." Michael said, "Hope that's what you wanted."

"Shit, this is better than I wanted, man. My baby's gonna love this."

Enrique closed the envelope and put it away inside his desk. Then he pulled out a white, plastic bracelet and handed it to Michael.

"You're early tonight." He said as Michael took the bracelet and put it on, "I don't think they've opened the doors yet. Normally I couldn't let you in but the boss said you were coming to make a delivery."

"I won't be staying long, unfortunately." Michael said, "Just came by to conduct some business before I go on vacation."

"Vacation? You?" Enrique asked, "You work more than anyone I know. Must be something special."

"Hard to call what I do work, but even I need time off once in awhile." Michael said with a grin. "And yeah, it's one of those once in a lifetime things."

"Don't let me keep you then. If you're looking for the boss, she should be in the lounge. She's entertaining some guests tonight, so don't mind the extra security if they frisk you."

"Hey, as long as it comes with a full service hand job, it's all good."

Enrique punched him in the shoulder and shoved him towards the end of the hall.

There was a door that said "Staff Only" to Michael's right and a stairway to his left. He took the stairs up and went through the door at the top. It led to a wide corridor that followed the wall around the inside of the club, making a private walkway for the people who were allowed to use it. The corridor had large, tinted glass windows along one side that offered a view of the club's expansive dance floor.

He followed the corridor around, listening to the techno music playing and stopping as the DJ ran through his usual sound check routine. The walls and windows vibrated with the steady thump of bass, muffling a good portion of the volume. It only took him a minute to reach the other side of the club and step out into the lounge.

The lounge was what most people thought of as the VIP room. It was quieter than downstairs, had dark corners and booths that people could slip away to, as well as large windows to watch the best action on the dance floor. In the farthest corner in the back there was a table on a raised dais, a place reserved for the club's owner, when the queen decided to hold court.

He could see her sitting there now, the center of attention as always. She had several people with her, some of her friends and admirers. All of them, including the owner, were wearing masks with feathers and glitter to hide their faces. All of them were dressed to the nines in sexy, stylish clothes. She was the only one he could actually recognize and only because she stood out from everyone else. He could always pick her out of any crowd, no matter what she wore or how she disguised herself.

By day, Melissa Farthing was a shrewd business woman who ran her club with clockwork efficiency. Everything that happened there always went off without a hitch. People loved to work with her because she could get things done and her venue was one of the most wanted after-hours spots in the city.

But like some sensual superhero, at night she transformed into the Queen Bee and everyone danced to her tune. She was the bright center around which all of her club revolved. She was the perfect hostess with all the social graces of a southern belle and enough sexual energy to keep all her boys and girls bouncing.

Michael had known her a long time, perhaps longer than most of the people she associated with. He understood that she hadn't really changed much from when they were in college together. She had simply become more of what she was back then and to his mind that wasn't a bad thing.

He moved towards her corner but stopped when one of the bodyguards stepped in his way.

"Sorry, private party." He said

"I'm here on business." Michael replied, "Making a delivery."

The guard held out his hand. "I can hand it over for you."

"I have special instructions to hand it directly to her." He pointed at Melissa.

The guard didn't move, nor did his expression change. "Like I said, this is a private party."

Michael saw movement from the sides as the other guards turned to face him. It reminded him of a line he heard once about not fighting with bouncers at a bar. He didn't know how many it would take to kick his ass but he knew how many they would use.

He sighed in annoyance, tilted his head to look past the bouncer at Melissa and let out a whistle sharp enough to make the man in front of him flinch. The Queen and her court stopped talking immediately and looked in his direction. Michael held out his hands in a "What gives?" kind of motion.

Melissa said something to the woman she had her arm around, excused herself from the entourage, and walked towards him. The red dress she wore shimmered in the light, pulling tight against her curves with every step. Her hips swayed and her body moved in a way that made it clear she was in no hurry to reach him. Her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes were narrowed. It was obvious to all of them he had pissed her off. She didn't like to be whistled at.

The guard started to say something as she stepped up beside him but was quickly silenced when she raised her hand. Her eyes never left Michael and he wisely remained silent as he waited to see what she would do. While he loved her as the dear friend she was and they had a long history together, it had always had its ups and downs because of one thing: Melissa's moods always kept people on their toes. One of her more poetic lovers had once described her as being "more fickle than a fae under a full moon in fall". Michael always thought it was the best description he had ever heard about her.

Melissa stared at him for another long moment before reaching out and grabbing his wrist, the one with the white club bracelet on it.

"What did I tell you about these?" She asked.

Michael was about to answer when she turned her gaze to the guard. It took the man a second too long to realize the question was being directed at him.

"White bracelets have lounge access-"

"No!" Melissa said, her eyes flashing. "Blue bracelets have lounge access, white bracelets have all access."

The guard seemed about to argue but thought better of it. "My apologies, ma'am. He seemed suspicious and wasn't dressed like your other guests."

Her eyes snapped to Michael, still angry as she dropped his arm. "He has a point. You look like a fucking noir detective dressed like that."

Then she turned back to her table without saying another word. Fickle as a fae.

Michael just shrugged as the guard looked at him. "Dames."

The guard managed to tighten his face enough to not smile and motioned for him to go. He followed Melissa back to her table, looking around at her assorted crew with a smile. It was impossible to guess their identities but he was sure that he would know a few of them without the masks.