Arrow to the Heart: A Dark Cupid Romance

Chapter 5

ＤＥＣＬＡＮ

══════════════════

I fucking hate nightclubs, and this place is hardly the exception. This one in particular is Lotus, an underground hotspot run by the cartels. It's a base of operations for cartel business: selling drugs, sex, and other less savory services to both human and nonhuman clientele, as long as they pay in cash.

Several Cupids work here helping the call girls sell a supernaturally enhanced "girlfriend experience". Those lower on the totem pole sell their Cupid touch like a club drug, giving their clients a taste of euphoria, love, or sexual pleasure for a price.

But it's not just Cupids, all kinds of creatures use Lotus as an office of sorts; all sanctioned, of course, by the cartel leaders who own it. You can find whatever you need here: a bit of muscle to threaten your enemies, revenge on an ex-lover. Hell, for the right price, the cartels could secure you a seat in the Senate.

You might even catch an agent of the Fates slumming it here every now and then, if one of their golden boys gets really desperate.

It's also where Eli can be found most nights, usually picking up jobs for me. Which is why I'm here.

To fucking apologize to the son of a bitch.

"You here for business or pleasure?" the bouncer asks me. It's their subtle way of getting a read on you.

If you say you're here for pleasure, it means you're here to buy, and they'll direct you to your poison of choice. If you say business, then you're looking to sell—which is only acceptable if you have approval from the big bosses. I'm almost never here, so he wouldn't recognize me from my dealings with the cartels.

"I'm looking for Eli," I say with a smirk. He gives me a quick once-over before tipping his head in the direction of Eli's usual booth.

I weave through the crowd until I'm standing in front of his table. He's lounging in his seat, his legs spread wide with his right arm draped over the back of the booth. He's wearing dark jeans and a light blue shirt under a black blazer. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal most of his forearms and the top few buttons near his collar are undone. He swirls the drink in his hand as his eyes meet mine and he smirks—fucking smirks.

He knows exactly why I'm here.

I take a seat next to him and rest my palms on my knees. I forgo a greeting in favor of cutting to the chase.

"I'm sorry," I say, just loud enough to cut through the music and crowd noise. "I was a dick."

It's about as verbose as my apologies get, but he pinches his lips together and quirks an eyebrow as if he wants more.

"Is that so?" he asks. The glint in his eye tells me he's already forgiven me.

"It's possible that, maybe, you hit a nerve in our last conversation."

"Ah yes, laundry girl. What's her name again?"

"Nice try." I shake my head and he laughs.

"Had to give it a shot." He smirks and gestures for me to sit in the booth beside him. I sit and he turns his body more toward me. "You have quite a soft spot for the girl, don't you Dec?"

"Here I'm trying to apologize and you're calling me soft?" I say with a huff.

"Must you always be so dramatic? It's okay to be soft sometimes. I actually think it's a good look on you." I roll my eyes, but he keeps going. "You need to feel that for someone. It's healthy. This whole anti-attachment thing isn't going to work forever. Someone has got to break through those grumpy defenses eventually. I refuse to let you become a pissed-off old maid. And lord knows I'm not marrying you."