DECEPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Club 11 is one of the most prestigious and exclusive nightclubs in London. People travelled far and wide and paid extortionate prices to luxuriate in Liam Warren's den of iniquity, the nocturnal playground for entertainment seekers and wealthy socialites. You are guaranteed to have one of the best experiences of your life if you are over the age of twenty-one, have a wad of fifty-pound notes in your wallet and own a yacht in the harbour.

Big Guy was adamant that no other hot spot compared. And I believed him to a certain degree, but I had to take everything he said with a pinch of salt. After all, he is biased toward the place considered to be his second home. I have never partied at Club 11. In saying that, I know there are plenty of night spots in central London that people rave about.

"No." Brad's hand raised to silence me. "Bar Ice is not a rival club. I cannot believe you said that."

This man is so dramatic. I never once claimed that Bar Ice impacted Club 11's performance. "Hey, I am not JonBonVoyage," I reminded him whilst ingesting the reviewer's drawn-out evaluation of The Best Bars and Clubs to Attend when in The Big Smoke. "Oh, he is not a happy bunny. Look at this. 'Club 11 is quite possibly the worst nightclub I have ever visited. If disease-ridden strippers, sticky, overcrowded dance floors, vile, overpriced spirits and filthy, old-fashioned toilet facilities are a bit of you? Warren's overhyped shack of cruelty, maltreatment, indecent acts and abuse of power, will tick all the right boxes. Hashtag: CorruptionCannotBeSanatised.'"

"Who is this tosser?" Brad snatched the phone out of my hand and scowled at the screen. "And to think, people actually believe this nonsense." He flicked through the review's agreeable comments. "What an absolute pillock. JonFuckingBon is next on my hit list."

Taking the phone out of his hand, I stuffed it in my pocket.

"Club 11, as quoted by Tatler, is the king of nightclubs, the best of London." He debated with a playful smile. "That has to count for something, right?

"You read Tatler," I deadpanned the response. "Really?"

"What can I say? I am an erudite man." He gestured to himself. "Look at the state of me. I am fucking beautiful, the embodiment of glamour, fashion and society. Tatler and I? A match made in Heaven." Then, when he seemed to remember something, his lips grimaced. "And for your information, the strippers are not walking infections. Warren takes care of the girls. Monthly health checks are mandatory."

My brow rose impishly. "Who am I to argue with facts?"

"As for the restroom." He defended his boss and the club. "If high-end, luxury natural stone, wireless charging points, automatic induction doors, accessible washrooms, illuminated vanities and stretches for respite are considered unhygienic and obsolete, then I cannot help you."

My gaze skimmed over his handsome face. "Overpriced alcohol?"

"Warren prides himself on quality."

"And take unjust advantage of individuals?"