The High Price Of Father's Freedom

The rain was a deluge, soaking Abbey to the bone the second she stepped out of the taxi. She didn't care. She sprinted toward the massive, matte-black double doors of The Vault.

A bouncer the size of a vending machine stepped in front of her. He held a clipboard and wore an earpiece that probably cost more than her tuition.

"Membership," he grunted, not even looking at her.

"My friend is inside," Abbey shouted over the rain. "She's in trouble. I need to get her."

The bouncer looked her up and down-wet hair, cheap sneakers, panic. He smirked. "Yeah, honey. You and every other girl in the tri-state area. Step back."

"Please!" Abbey grabbed his arm. "She called me crying!"

He shook her off like she was a fly. "Back of the line, or I call NYPD."

A low roar cut through the sound of the rain. A red Ferrari tore down the street, splashing water onto the sidewalk, and screeched to a halt right in front of the velvet rope. The valet scrambled to open the door.

Miles Sterling stepped out. He was wearing a white suit that somehow repelled the rain.

"Mr. Sterling!" The bouncer's face transformed instantly. The scowl melted into a sycophantic grin. He unhooked the rope. "We weren't expecting you tonight."

Miles walked straight to Abbey. He took off his jacket-Italian silk, warm-and draped it over her soaking wet shoulders.

"She's with me," Miles said, pulling her into his side.

"Of course, sir. My apologies." The bouncer stepped aside, bowing his head.

Abbey felt a wave of nausea. The difference between being a person and being a nuisance was apparently a Ferrari and a last name. She didn't push Miles away. She let him guide her through the doors.

Inside, the bass hit her chest like a physical blow. The air was thick with expensive perfume and dry ice fog.

"Where are they?" Miles yelled into her ear.

"Sophie said a booth!" Abbey scanned the room frantically.

They pushed through the crowd on the main floor. Abbey spotted a VIP table near the DJ booth. Liz was slumped on a leather sofa, her head back. Two men in suits were laughing, clinking glasses over her unconscious form. Sophie was nowhere to be seen.

Abbey rushed over. She shook Liz. "Liz! Wake up!"

Liz groaned, her eyes rolling back. She pointed a limp finger toward the spiral staircase in the center of the room. "Up... took Sophie... up."

Abbey looked up. The staircase led to a glass-walled balcony overlooking the club. The Diamond Lounge.

"Oh, shit," Miles muttered behind her.

"What?" Abbey asked.

"That's the members-only deck. Like, founding members. I can't even get up there."

"Sophie is up there!" Abbey started toward the stairs.

Two security guards in suits blocked the staircase. These weren't street bouncers. These were ex-military types with earpieces and cold eyes.

"Private event," one said, crossing his arms.

"I'm Miles Sterling," Miles said, stepping up. "My father is-"

"We know who your father is, Mr. Sterling," the guard said calmly. "Mr. Woodward is upstairs. No guests."

Woodward.

Abbey's legs went weak. She grabbed the banister to steady herself. Of course.

"Look," Miles pulled a black Amex card from his wallet. "Just let us grab her friend. Five minutes."

The guard didn't even look at the card. "Money doesn't work here, sir."

Abbey gripped Miles's arm. Her nails dug into his sleeve. "Miles, please. Sophie."

Miles looked at the guards, then at Abbey's desperate face. His ego was bruising, but he pulled out his phone.

"I'm calling Ken," he hissed. "Armond's assistant."

He dialed, pacing in a tight circle. "Ken? Yeah, it's Miles. Look, I'm downstairs. My girl's friend is stuck in the Lounge... Yeah... Yeah, I know."

He paused, listening. Then he looked at Abbey.

"He says okay."

A moment later, a man appeared at the top of the stairs. Ken. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than Abbey's life earnings. He walked down, his face impassive.

He looked at Miles, then his gaze slid to Abbey. He took in the wet hair, the oversized men's jacket, the terror in her eyes.

"Mr. Woodward has granted access," Ken said. His voice was devoid of emotion. "You have five minutes."

Abbey took a deep breath. The air in the stairwell was cooler, filtered. She was walking up toward the sky, but it felt like descending into hell.

Miles put his arm around her waist again, tighter this time. Reclaiming his territory.

They reached the top. The glass doors slid open silently.

The noise of the club vanished, replaced by the soft hum of jazz and the clinking of crystal. The Diamond Lounge was dark, lit only by amber strip lighting and the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

And there he was.

Armond sat in the center of a massive U-shaped leather sofa. He was leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey resting on his knee. He looked like a king on a throne of shadows.

He wasn't looking at the view. He was looking at the door. At her.