The air in the Neon-Vault, HechZed Country's most exclusive underground club, was thick with the scent of expensive gin, imported tobacco, and the heavy, sweet musk of youth. The bass from the floor below throbbed through the velvet-lined walls, vibrating in the very marrow of those lucky enough to be in the private VIP sanctuary.
In the center of the plush, circular lounge sat Holino Ford.
He was the polar opposite of his brother Malcolm. Where Malcolm was all jagged edges, cold marble, and iron discipline, Holino was fluid motion and golden warmth. He sat with his head tilted back, a glass of amber liquid in one hand, while three incredibly beautiful, sassy boys draped themselves around him like living ornaments. One was whispering something scandalous into his ear, making Holino let out a rich, melodic laugh that sounded like a summer breeze.
