“Can’t,” I said. “I’m waiting for my wife.”
She exploded with laughter. “This guy.” She stabbed her thumb at me. “Hiswife.”
The song was coming to an end, and our men were starting to help the women from the stage. Chiara spotted us first, her husband standing with his arms crossed over his chest, as menacing as if he were about to face an escaped rat we’d found in our circle.
“Oh shit.” I saw Chiara’s mouth form the words. Then she turned so fast that she ran smack into Carmen. Her arms shooed them back up the stage, attempting to get the warning out fast enough. Traffic was gridlock. Scarlett and Rosaria, oblivious, were coming down the steps, blocking the reverse flow of things.
“Gotcha now.” I grinned. “Nowhere to fucking run.”
Juliette came bounding into the crowd, still dancing, until she ran into Romeo’s chest. He put his arms around her and she shoved him, not realizing who he was. Then she realized.
She started to slap at him when he attempted to steer her toward the door. Having enough, he hauled her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She slapped at his ass as he shoved through the crowd.
Similar bursts of activity were popping up here and there, when each man went to collect his woman.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Soraya said. “I lost you once.”
I looked at her, remembering that she existed. “Tell me if I had a sense humor when I knew you.”
Her eyes screwed up. She seemed to be thinking. “You could be funny,” she said, seriously. “But you were better in bed. I could tell it was your thing. Like I said, haven’t had better since.”
It had only been a second that I looked away, but it was enough. Scarlett, knowing she was caught, stopped where she was. Our eyes met. She turned for a second, looking in the opposite direction. Our men were behind her, moving her in closer to me.
Whatever Scarlett saw on my face, her options—easy or hard—made her nod once, lift her chin, and walk toward me with her head held high. I wouldn’t have to throw her over my shoulder then.
She went to move right past me until she realized who stood next to me. All of the blood drained from her face, then rushed back up, her cheeks turning crimson.
I went to go to her, but Soraya grabbed me by the arm. Scarlett’s eyes widened before they narrowed. She came toward us and we all met in the middle. Soraya had come with me. Her grip was tight.
“Who areyou?” Soraya asked, looking Scarlett up and down.
I went to move my arm, but she moved with me again.
“His wife,” Scarlett said. “And if you like your hand connected to your body, you’ll remove it from ofmyhusband’s arm.”
Who was supposed to be fucking mad here?
“He didn’t have a problem putting his hands all over my boobs,” Soraya said. “His mouth, too. She’s a little small for you, baby. I’m surpri—”
Soraya didn’t get the full word out—Scarlett’s arm flew forward, her balled-up fist connecting with the girl’s nose. Soraya’s head flew back, and blood rushed out of her nostrils.
Club security started to rush in, and before the scene turned into chaos, I lifted Scarlett off her feet, rushing for the door.
“Your coat, sir!” The attendant who had taken it waved the fabric in the air. I held my hand up. He threw it. I caught it one-handed and continued forward without missing a beat.
“Let me go!” Scarlett screamed. “Put me down! I’m not done!”
“No, you’re not done,” I said, shoving her into the back seat of the waiting car. “Here? Yeah. But done? Your night is just getting started, Ballerina Girl.”
* * *
I put two feet to the side of the bed, running a hand over my face and then through my hair. I had beaten the sun, and I sat in the cool, gloomy darkness of our bedroom, letting the silence surround me.
The night came back to me in the soreness of muscles, in the fire of the scratches along my back, in the emptiness of my balls.
We had taken the night out on each other. She had made me suffer—forcing me to watch as she entertained an entire club of panting men. For her, it had been the woman from Fiji—the fact that I had sex with her once upon a time, and then years later, entertained a comment Scarlett had made about her that I should’ve just squashed.
Scarlett hadn’t held back. Neither had I. Fueled up by the night, we’d been rougher with each other than usual. Our room was riddled with broken pieces of glass from the battle of bodies.
