Worst Impressions

Bonus Chapter - Punching Freddie

Club 51 was only one of the jewels in the crown of Freddie's family, so stating that he was at one of them wasn't helpful in narrowing down my search. Fortunately, they were all in the same district, and that would certainly help to save time.

His father was a shrewd businessman and had mastered the art of promotion, perfectly balance the feeling of exclusivity which enticed high-end patrons with affordability, ensuring that they would empty their pockets time and again at the various premises. While there were strict rules regarding the age of patrons, Freddie and I had been somewhat exempt from them thanks to our connections. Our parents had never permitted alcohol consumption while we were underage, but had seen some value in using their teenage relatives as a means of boosting a venue's popularity.

One shot of Freddie in the club on social media could reignite enough interest in a club to drive sales through the roof.

I ordered one of Madame Courtenay's drivers to take me into the city. Fortunately, the driver had few qualms about edging over the speed limit. I sent him away as soon as we were at the curb in the general district. The less Madame Courtenay's staff saw of Freddie and Beth's inappropriate behaviour, the better. They reported everything back to her like loyal spies, and I had no doubt that she would soon be aware of my impromptu trip into the heart of Paris. There'd already been whispers about the absence of Freddie and Beth at dinner that night. Her mother had fretted about her safety. I couldn't be sure as to her sincerity but, as I'd left the house, I had observed her checking her phone and staring down the drive as though in anticipation of Beth's return. That was enough to reassure me that I was making the right decision in taking matters into my own hands.

The lines out the doors were, as per usual, packed with glamourous and excitable would-be patrons. The women were dressed in skimpy outfits despite the frigid winter air wrapping around their bare skin. Their male counterparts laughed raucously, their voices carrying over the roar of passing traffic and thumping music spilling through the door. I had no time to stand around in a line waiting on bouncers to decide whether I had the appropriate attire for the venues. Instead, I approached whoever was in charge at each to speed up the process. After rapid conversations in French, during which I was required to flash my ID and have him call my uncle, I was could ask for an honest answer regarding Freddie's presence in each establishment.

Finally, I struck gold at Club 51 and was waved through by the bouncer with little resistance.

The anger of the patrons who'd patiently stood in the cold chased on my heels.

I didn't care.

They could yell and swear all they wanted. Those people meant absolutely nothing to me. All I cared about was finding Beth and putting as much distance between her and Freddie as possible. I'd ship her back to England if that's what it took, but I wasn't about to let my cousin smooth talk her into anything that she might regret.

Knowing my cousin, he'd lingered outside after our phone call. It had been clear that he was riled up. He wasn't the sort to take that angry energy back and inflict it on a woman. Freddie wouldn't have gone back to Beth until he'd cooled his head. It wasn't her fault that he was a pervert or that he'd baited me into running after the pair of them. I was confident that they were still in the club and that he hadn't taken her elsewhere.

It was the only thing that I was confident of.

The dancefloor was packed with bodies glistening with sweat, all of them pressed tightly together, writhing and dancing. The ground vibrated with the heavy bass. It was so powerful that the air around me pulsed in time with the music. Lights strobed through a haze of perspiration and mist from vents overhead. Drunks gathered around the bar, all pushing against one another in a vain attempt to be served before the rest.