CHAPTER 35
SABRINA
Alone, the indomitable Chris Jackson motions to the corner of the room—a door at the far end of the reception room I hadn't noticed until now. I head towards it, my feet making a little sound as I take those first steps. I feel his eyes on me as I cross the room.
When I open the smaller door, I find myself in a small hallway that seemingly leads back into the club. Only this hallway is private, quieter.
The hallway walls are covered in the same dark wood paneling as the reception area of his office, framed with black and white movie posters that look like they're from the 60s.
Noah's Ark. The Sound of Music. La Dolce Vita. West Side Story.
I take in the images, smiling to myself, when I suddenly remember that I'm not alone in this dark, wood-paneled hallway.
My he
