My Best friend's Brother

Once You're In

~Joan~

Aaron had left the next morning after making sure he cautioned his sister and me—though most of his warnings were directed at me. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief once he was gone. His constant watchful eyes, like those of a hawk, had been unnerving. And the way my body reacted to him? It was better not to think about that.

“So... What are we going to do? We can’t stay home all day just because Aaron asked us to,” I asked after we’d spent nearly half the day at home doing yoga. Rhoda shrugged, her lips pressed together thoughtfully, before her eyes brightened.

“I do have an idea, actually,” she said, and I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Shouldn’t you be playing the role of an obedient sister?” I teased, slipping out of my yoga pants and waiting for her answer.

“I saw a club down the street,” she said, her voice almost conspiratorial. “Maybe we could check it out and have some fun.”

I paused, staring at her skeptically. “So you can leave me alone again?” I asked pointedly.

“No,” she said quickly, raising her hands as if in surrender. “That’s not going to happen again. I promise.”

Her mischievous glint returned as she leaned forward. “Actually, there’s something we need to check out there. You in for the ride?”

I shook my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Why not?”

---

“IDs?” a massive man, towering at about 6’4 and built like a wall of muscle, asked as we approached the entrance. Rhoda and I exchanged a quick glance.

We hadn’t realized clubs in Spain actually enforced an ID policy. Back in New York, IDs were more of a formality—used but not always checked.

Rhoda stepped forward, her glittering black dress catching the light. It wasn’t exactly a clubbing outfit, but with its thigh-high slit and plunging neckline, it worked.

The bouncer’s eyes flicked down to her cleavage, and I smirked, clutching my purse. Rhoda’s way with men was unparalleled. Even if they wanted to resist her, they rarely could.

“Hi, we’re new in town, and we don’t have IDs,” she said, her voice smooth and sweet.

“No one gets in without an ID, ma’am. Club policy,” the bouncer said firmly, but Rhoda wasn’t one to give up so easily. She leaned in, placing a hand lightly on his arm.

“I just want the experience,” she said, her voice softening, her eyes taking on a hooded, almost hypnotic look. “What would it take to let us in?”

The man hesitated, his resolve wavering.

A sharp voice rang out behind us in Spanish, something about moving out of the line and not holding others up. Whatever it meant, it seemed to spur the bouncer into action. He stepped aside.

“Meet me at the back entrance by midnight,” he murmured. Rhoda gave him a sly smile as we walked in.

Inside, the club was a sensory overload—flashing disco lights, pounding music, and people packed shoulder-to-shoulder. It was everything you’d expect, and yet I felt bored before we’d even started.

“Christ,” Rhoda whistled, grabbing my arm. “Jo, look.” She pointed toward a darker, more secluded area of the club.

I turned, my eyes widening as a slow smile spread across my lips. Now this was interesting.

In the shadows, people were dirty dancing—half-naked, blindfolded women grinding against their partners while some made out hotly.

“I feel so hot,” Rhoda fanned herself dramatically.

“Damn, I need a drink,” I muttered, moving toward the bar. Rhoda followed, weaving through the crowd.

“A martini,” I said to the bartender, hopeful he’d understand. He didn’t. He just stared blankly at me.

“Oops. I don’t think he speaks English,” Rhoda muttered. I sighed, frustrated. Why hire a bartender who couldn’t understand the language of most tourists?

Luckily, a sharply dressed man stepped in, speaking to the bartender in rapid Spanish. Turning to us, he smiled politely. “Hi, beautiful ladies. How can I help you?”

“Finally,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Someone who speaks English.” He chuckled as we placed our orders.

My gaze wandered back to the secluded section of the club. The scene intrigued me. Did these people feel powerful or vulnerable, blindfolded and half-naked with so many eyes on them?

Heat pooled low in my belly as my mind drifted, unbidden, to Aaron. I imagined him here—tall, dark, commanding. My cheeks flushed as the image shifted, placing me as the woman in his arms.

Shaking my head, I pushed the thought away feeling quite guilty for having such thoughts with Rhoda just a breath away. The bartender returned with our drinks. His dark eyes lingered on us.

“You’re new here,” he said, his tone neutral. I sipped my martini, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, we are,” I said, when a small commotion drew my attention.

“What’s going on?” I asked. Rhoda straightened beside me, setting her glass down.

“They’re making a pick,” the bartender explained. “One of the men chooses a woman from the crowd to blindfold and dance with. When it’s over, she gets paid.”

I frowned, watching the women in the corner trying to attract attention. This place wasn’t just a club—it was something darker.

Before I could dwell on it, a slim, blonde man stepped into my line of vision. My body tensed instinctively as he approached.

He stopped in front of us, his eyes raking over our bodies with open hunger. My stomach churned.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his attention on Rhoda.

“No, thanks. I’m not interested,” she replied coolly.

“We don’t take no for an answer,” he said, his voice hardening as he grabbed her wrist.

“Hey!” I stepped between them, breaking his hold on her. My heart was pounding, but I stood firm.

“She said no,” I said, glaring up at him.

He sneered. “This is how it works. Once you’re in the club, you play by the rules.”

Rhoda tugged at my arm. “Jo, let’s just leave,” she whispered, but the man’s grip tightened on her other hand.

Panic flared as more men—bouncers—stepped toward us. I scanned the room, mentally calculating how far the exit was.

Without thinking, I swung my fist, landing a solid punch to his face. He stumbled back, releasing Rhoda.

“Run, Rhoda!” I yelled, grabbing her hand.

We bolted for the exit, adrenaline surging as the bouncers gave chase. The heels on our feet slowed us down, but desperation propelled us forward.

A glance over my shoulder told me they were closing in fast. If they caught us, it would be over.