The Mafia Vampire's Mistress

Chapter 5: A Forced Celebration

Layla

My eyes grow heavy but I fight off the sleep that desperately wishes to pull me under. Jesamen has been having night terrors every night for weeks now. Without me there to wake her up, she’ll scream for hours. Every time I wake her, I beg to know what she sees in her dreams, beg her to let me help her, to give me some of whatever burdens she carries. She never does.

But something is different- I have not heard a peep from her room tonight. So I force myself to stay awake, force myself to watch show after show, mindlessly staring at my TV, denying myself sleep, knowing that at any minute, my friend will need me.

It's no wonder then that she caught me by surprise, bursting into my room without so much as a knock, her body tightly bound in a dress that displays every exquisite curve and flawless dip on her body, her feet encased in sky high heels, stilettos that end in a lethal point. Her makeup is perfectly done, her hair hangs halfway down her back in a curtain of soft waves.

“Up,” she commands, clapping her hands as she walks gracefully towards my closet and begins inspecting the clothes hung up inside.

“What’s going on?”

“Did you really think I would let you stay in on your birthday like this? Come on- UP!” she says, carrying several dresses from my closet and laying them at the foot of my bed before grabbing my hands and pulling me towards my vanity.

“I am celebrating! A quiet night in with my favorite show, what could be better?”

“Really? What’s the main character’s name?” she asks, staring at me in the mirror as she begins to brush out my own loose curls, adding product as she works. She laughs at my blank stare, my mind failing completely to remember any part of the show still playing softly in the background.

“Exactly. Now, sit still while I do your hair and makeup. Lucy and the girls are on their way over now to pregame. I have so many surprises for you- you’ll LOVE them!”

Something tells me that I won’t love them quite like she does, but that’s not surprising. Jesamen loves any excuse to celebrate- but she always insists on celebrating her way. I truly would have been satisfied spending a girls night in, drinking wine and watching movies on the couch while surrounded by junk food, but that’s not exactly Jesamen’s style. Any excuse to go out on the town, to be the center of attention while dressed to the nines, she’s taking it.

Before long, my walls vibrate from the thumping music playing in the living room as Jesamen puts the finishing touches on my makeup. A knock on the door announces Lucy and her friends' arrival. Lucy is another orphan like us, a friend of Jesamen’s from the girls home that she was in until she came to our foster home.

She’s sweet and fun, easy to talk with, the kind of person you feel as if you’ve known for years after only a few minutes of conversation. She’s only just moved to the city, but already we’ve become fast friends. I don’t know the other girls with her too well, but they all come into my room to help choose my outfit and accessories, wishing me a happy birthday and presenting me with small shots of liquor in celebration.

“Ohhh, you have to wear this one, it's to die for!” Lucy’s friend Sabyna gushes as she holds the black dress up to her body for the others to see.

The others eagerly agree, grabbing a pair of chunky, black heels with small glittery accents that match the necklace and earrings that have already been set aside. The dress itself is a classic club outfit- one Jesamen bought for herself but decided it suited me better. I’m not sure why, nothing about it is my usual style. In fact, I’ve never even thought of wearing it on a night out.

The cut is low, revealing ample cleavage, a corset binding around the midsection designed to lift my breasts up further. The length of the dress is shorter than I usually prefer, but the girls cannot stop gushing when they see me in it, insisting that it is the perfect dress for where we’re going.

Before I have a chance to disagree, Lucy closes my door, pulling me in front of the full length mirror attached to the back. I let out a small gasp, hardly recognizing myself. Jesamen has done an incredible job with my makeup, accentuating my features without overwhelming my round face, my hair flowing in loose waves except for two sections that she braided back, keeping the hair from falling into my face.

Perhaps it is the dress, the makeup, perhaps it is the girls enthusiasm when they see it all put together, or perhaps it was the delicious shots they’ve fed me giving me the confidence I would normally lack. But as I stare back at the girl in the mirror, a small smile begins to grow, complimenting the soft blush on my cheeks.

“Alright, let’s go,” I say, and am met with cheers as the girls stand, pulling me into our kitchen to indulge in more alcohol before our ride arrives.

I press the others for more information about the plan for the night after we all cheers and down another round, Sabyna mixing together a round of cocktails for all of us to enjoy while Jesamen is on the phone, organizing our ride. One of the other girls, Amy, excitedly tells us about a guy at work she recently went on a date with and how he and his friends may meet us out tonight.

“If they can get in, of course,” she looks to Jesamen, who is still on the phone and distracted but manages a quick nod before covering her cell’s mouthpiece.

“Text Stephanie, she’s the one who hooked us up with a table. Tell him to dress up or even having their names on the list won’t be enough to get them in!” she whispers, before going back to her phone call and squeals excitedly, “Matt, you’re a lifesaver, thank you! How soon can you be here?”

Jesamen’s friend Matt is a driver for a very fancy car service company. Limos, town cars, whatever the customer has requested. Her friend Stephanie is a cocktail waitress and part-time model, the two often working together to land different photo shoots and waitressing jobs at rich and exclusive clubs. They rarely stick to one club for long, so there’s no telling which one Stephanie has agreed to help get us into tonight.

Despite my earlier claims, I feel excitement for what lies ahead begin to grow. I feel beautiful, giddy from the shots, a pleasant hum under my skin as the booze enters my bloodstream. Jesamen hangs up and orders everyone to down the rest of their drinks and grab their purses, announcing their ride will be here in five minutes.

We all have just enough time to chug the rest of our drinks and scramble to the bathroom for last minute makeup touches before heading out of our apartment and down to the beautiful limo waiting for us in the parking lot. Matt stands at the opened door, dressed in casual running shorts and a t-shirt, his hair a rumpled mess. He clearly has no intentions of joining us tonight, but the easy smile on his face tells me he’s not upset to help us ride in style.

“Happy birthday,” he tells me as he helps me into the car, the others filing in quickly behind me. Jesamen gives him a friendly peck on the cheek and hands him a small card.

“Friday next week, ask for Daphne and she’ll hook you up.”

He grins at the card, thanking Jesamen as she climbs in before closing the door behind her and heading to the driver’s seat.

Over the last few years, Jesamen has managed to put together an impressive network of service personnel, helping her get into the most exclusive of spaces with a few well timed phone calls and trades. I’m certain that at this point, she could get into any place in the city as long as she had her phone and an hour to work with.

The backseat of the limo is outfitted with soft leather seats, a privacy window, and two ice buckets filled with a bottle of champagne each.

“Will we even have time to drink all of this?” I giggle as Sabyna fills our glasses.

“We’ll have enough time to try!”

Two large glasses each later, and the limo glides to a stop. The windows are tinted and the light outside is dim, making it impossible to see where we are until Matt opens the door. Music and the sounds of a large crowd fill the car in greeting, and we all eagerly climb out. The air pulses with anticipation and a thumping bass. A decently large crowd stands along a large warehouse building, held in line by a thick velvet rope and kept from entering the building by two massive men in black suits, flanking an elegant woman standing at a hostess stand while she flips through a small stack of papers.

“Next,” she calls, without so much as looking up.

Jesamen walks right up to her, cutting off the group who was waiting in line and ignoring their shouts of protest completely.

“Layla River’s 25th birthday bash, the table reservation is under Jesamen Smyth,” she says, handing the woman her I.D. and waving us forward to do the same.

The woman produces thin VIP bands and attaches them to each of our wrists after looking over our IDs.

“Your first bottle is covered by the reservation. If you wish to order another bottle or any additional cocktails, our staff will be available to do so, just press the button inside your area so they know when you require assistance. Please be aware that anything after the first bottle will be charged accordingly. Any questions?”

We all quickly shake our heads no.

“Excellent. Damon here will guide you inside. Enjoy your evening at Pulse ladies, and happy birthday!”

She smiles at me warmly, gesturing toward the door where a third man in a black suit has appeared, holding the door open for us. The music and lights seduce my senses the moment I walk in, following behind Damon’s massive form as if in a trance.

It is easy to see why the club has been named Pulse. The lights flash in perfect time with the music, casting the bodies on the dance floor in different shades of red, blue, green, and white, reflecting off their glistening skin. The music itself is hypnotic, its sounds gliding along my skin and thrumming through my veins. I find I cannot stop myself from dancing as we walk, so entranced by the space around me.

We are taken to a semi private booth tucked back from the dance floor. A small, low table was placed in the center of the ample space and has already been filled with glasses, ice, and mixers. By the time our waitress appears, carrying a bottle perfectly balanced on a tray in one hand and a sparkler in another, I realize that I have begun to pass the point of tipsy and am quickly approaching the point of being well and truly drunk. My cheeks are flushed and my mind is cleared of all my worries that have been weighing me down as of late.

Jesamen seems to have finally turned a corner. Her eyes are no longer surrounded by the dark marks that have clung to her face for days, her smile dazzling and reaching her eyes as she laughs at a joke Lucy tells her. She seems energized, rejuvenated- as I watch her longer, her energy takes on a slightly frantic edge, her eyes never lingering in one space for long, darting around to inspect the dark booths in our section, the dance floor, an upper level walkway that is slightly hidden by the lights flashing just beneath it.

Her eyes linger on the upper level as three dark shapes emerge. Their features are hidden, wrapped in shadows, but their appearance and Jesamen’s intense stare tell me that whatever it is Jesamen came here looking for, she thinks she has found in them.