When We Were Still Human by Vaughn Foster (mobi reader android TXT) 📗

to say something, but she barely heard him. She needed to get out of there. She’d been an idiot and had run low on drugs, liquor, or anything else that could have been helpful. There was no way that she had enough of anything to cross into the aether. But leaving without her phone was not an option.

Cushions flew off the couch and she got to her hands and knees.

“Ah-hem!”

“Cheshire, not now. Why don’t you help me look for once—oh. Thanks.” Avia stood and reached for her phone. He swatted her hand away and continued to scroll, brows furrowed.

“Huh. They still haven’t got him yet.”

“Got ‘who’ yet?” Avia sighed, futilely attempting another grab at the device. “Come on, give it back!” Her skin was itching and she needed to get out of it. If she could send a text now, then Nico could probably meet her at the club, and she wouldn’t be stuck standing around waiting.

“That serial killer in New York.” His thumb swiped further down the article and he shook his head. “Another homeless guy got ripped into this morning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Avia grunted, lunging up and successfully snatching back the phone. “But thankfully, we’re nowhere near NYC, so nothing to worry about.” She frowned when she saw the long crack down screen, but everything still seemed operational. Exiting the newsfeed, she sent the text and tucked the phone into her pocket.

“You ready or do you want to change?”

Cheshire looked down at his Converse, black jeans, and Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt. He shrugged, took the house keys from her hand, and stepped out into the main hall. “I’m good. But you’re not going to be the one holding the keys. If I have to sleep in the hallway again because you locked us out, I promise that every curtain in that condo will be torn to shreds the next time you leave for work.”

Neon lights and booming EDM crashed the second the bouncer let them in. Avia grinned when she saw DJ Muskrat standing above the crowd like a king on his dais. His hands moved over countless knobs and buttons as he controlled the room.

Cheshire was standing a foot away, but she could physically feel him tense up. She didn’t know why he insisted on coming. He hated loud music. He hated dancing. He especially hated paying ridiculous prices for alcohol “just because it’s in a fancy glass.”

She reached into her bra and pulled out the tiny wallet containing her cash and credit cards. “Grab us some drinks? I’m going to hit the bathroom.”

“No!” Cheshire exclaimed, retreating back like it was poison. “I don’t want your boob money!”

Avia rolled her eyes and pressed it into his palm. “It’s boob money, or you can sit around sober.” His eyes went to the wallet, then to the stage where DJ Muskrat was now dancing shirtless—which should have been impossible, given the giant mascot-style rodent head.

Avia smirked as he begrudgingly shoved the wallet in his pocket—a luxury she had forgone for years.

“You always have to choose between ass or storage space,” Danna had said once. If only it wasn’t true.

Avia turned to head towards the restrooms, then stopped. “You have your ID, right?” she asked, referring to the fake she had made for him in Miami several years before.

Cheshire gave a thumbs up and before she could say anything else, he started pushing his way towards the bar.

Immortel was boujee, but Avia still felt the bathrooms were far too nice for a nightclub. Did drunk millennials really need marble walls, waterfall sinks, or stalls separated into their own cubicles? Someone had told her once that, before it was a club, the building used to be a fancy banquet hall. If that were true, it was so long ago that even the employees weren’t sure about it.

The middle stall was occupied so she pretended to check her hair in the mirror until the other girl—a tipsy blonde with obviously fake implants—stumbled out and took off for the dance floor—without washing her hands.

Avia shook her head with a “tsk” and walked to the stall on the far left, now the only one occupied. She knocked twice, paused, then rapped her knuckles for exactly three seconds. The secret knock was a bit over the top, given she could just text “I’m here,” but he insisted on the precautions.

The lock slid free and Avia quickly stepped into the stall, shutting the door behind her. Her lips creased in a tight line. Instead of being met with Nico’s uniform round classes and preppy neon polo, Avia was face to face with a stranger. A black guy in a dress shirt, tie and a ridiculously nice watch sat cross-legged on the closed toilet, reading Cosmopolitan. He was cute, she’d give him that, but by no means justified the thirty-dollar Uber.

“Who the hell are you?”

He glanced up from the magazine and smiled. “Nico couldn’t make it. I’m Lorne.” He held out his hand. She left it.

“Well, Lorne,” she said, extending the ‘o’ in mockery. “Did Nico at least give you my stuff?” She brought a hand to her forehead and swore. “God, he always does this kind of shit. At least he had the decency to send somebody this time.”

Lorne set down his literature and unstrapped a tiny brown sack from his ankle. Sitting up, he tossed her the bag then proceeded to pull something up on his phone. “Chill pills, X, Molly, Hell Dust. He also threw in some extras because you’re ‘such a loyal customer.’”

Avia pulled the drawstring and peered into the sack. Nico really had hooked her up. She reached into her bra and took out the large bills she had set aside before they left.

Lorne took the money and counted. He did so without comment, she noted, thinking back to Cheshire’s