Hierarchy Read Free

school had followed her and those had been enough to make her a target for wagging tongues and young men bent on counting coup.
    She shook the thoughts off as she came at last to one of the nightclubs the waiter had mentioned that had piqued her interest. He’d said it was an upscale club that catered to a ‘slightly older’ crowd as opposed, he’d added hurriedly, to those that were predominantly attended by the barely legal.
    She’d tried to take it philosophically. She thought she looked good for her age, but she didn’t delude herself into thinking she looked like a teenager. There was no sense in getting insulted about the truth, especially when she knew he hadn’t intentionally insulted her.
    He’d succeeded in depressing her, but she’d managed to set it aside and focus on trying to enjoy her evening.
    She thought she would’ve been a lot more depressed, in any case, if she’d gone into a club and found that everyone there was barely twenty.
    The line outside the club made her a little uneasy. True, there seemed to be 8
    almost as many men and women lined up to go in that appeared to be in their mid-to-late twenties or early thirties, but most of them seemed to be wearing black leather or at least black clothing. Her pink halter-top and blue jeans made her feel almost as out-of-sync as she would’ve felt if she’d discovered the crowd was mostly teens.
    She stood in line debating whether to stay or leave until she finally reached the front. The bouncers, she saw, were also dressed in black—finely tailored black suits that set off their muscle bound physiques wonderfully. The woman taking the cover charge stared at her for a moment and flicked a questioning look at the two bouncers.
    Feeling her belly tighten with nerves, Bronwyn glanced questioningly at the two men, as well. She discovered the man who’d been stamping everyone’s hand as they went in was studying her clothing. “I’m not dressed for the club?” she asked uneasily, withdrawing the bill she’d held out to the woman.
    He tilted his head, scanning her length again. “You haven’t been here before.”
    Bronwyn felt her face heat. Nothing like sticking out like a sore thumb! “I just moved to the city a few weeks ago,” she said apologetically. “It’s ok. I’ll leave.”
    He blocked her path. “Did I say you weren’t welcome?” he murmured, a faint smile curling his lips. “I’m just wondering if you know what you’re getting in to here.”
    Bronwyn blinked at him, blushing harder. “The waiter at Chateau Marseilles suggested I might like it if I liked rock music.”
    His dark brows lifted. He flicked a glance at the other bouncer. “I’ll tell you what … I’ll let you go in and have a look around since you’re new to town. If you like it and come back, we’ll take your money.”
    Bronwyn smiled back at him tentatively. “I don’t mind paying,” she assured him.
    Shaking his head, he took her hand and lifted it, the stamp poised in the air.
    Instead of stamping the back of her hand, however, he caught sight of the edge of her tattoo and turned her hand over, studying the small design on her inner wrist.
    Surprised and a little embarrassed, Bronwyn studied his expression, trying to decipher what the frozen look on his face might mean. She couldn’t imagine what there might be about the tattoo itself, however unique it was, that he’d find so fascinating.
    Everyone else she’d seen in line had had more than one tattoo and all sorts of piercings.
    For what seemed an eternity, he stared at it and finally seemed to shake himself.
    Lifting his head, he studied her piercingly. “Cool tat. Where’d you get it?”
    Discomfort wafted through Bronwyn. She shrugged. “I was born with it, actually—well mostly,” she admitted. “I know. It’s weird. All the kids at school teased me about it. Nanna said I shouldn’t let it bother me. I should be proud of it … because it was so unusual, you know. Anyway, she