Dre lifted a brow while I fought my anxiety. I wasn’t even dressed for the club, so I felt self-conscious enough in my skin-tight jeans and off-the-shoulder crop top.
“I need to search her,” the stair guard said before we could pass.
Dre started to argue, but I shook my head and held out my arms for the guard to pat me down. He then looked inside my oversized crossbody purse that I got from a thrift store before confiscating the pocket knife that Hunter made me carry around. “I’m gonna need that back when I leave,” I warned.
The guard said nothing as he straightened and waved me through.
I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and let Dre escort me over to the end of the bar where there were far fewer people. Everyone seemed to have gravitated toward the opposite corner where Mr. VIP sat. I was careful not to look around or make eye contact with anyone as I sat.
Dre distracted me by wiping away the tears that hadn’t dried with a cocktail napkin. After I gave him a tremulous smile in thanks, the sweet bouncer ordered me the sluttiest drink on the menu and a plate of their only vegan option. Once he was sure I wasn’t going to fall apart, Dre fist-bumped me before quickly leaving.
As I watched him muscle his way back to the stairs, I had a fleeting moment of regret for turning him down when he asked me out. Now he was happily married with a baby on the way, and I was single yet again thanks to Hunter.
Who am I kidding, though? She would have run Dre off too, so it wouldn’t have mattered.
To say my bestie was possessive was an understatement, and I was guilty of the same. But that was before we broke a cardinal rule that threatened everything. Hunter tried to turn back time, and when I told her it was too late, she said we had to try. It wasn’t the first time one of our relationships crashed and burned so that our friendship could endure. I was just foolish enough to believe this time was different.
When my food and cocktail arrived, I ignored the former since my stomach felt like it had been shredded. I quickly downed the strong drink, hoping to numb the shitty feeling, but it didn’t work and brought a fresh wave of tears. I was still fighting them back andlosingwhen the hairs on my arms suddenly rose. Forgetting the drama my arrival caused earlier, my head shot up so I could find the source of the eerie feeling and immediately my gaze clashed with another across the long length of the bar. Time slowed as I choked on the sight of the fineas fuck man lounging in a relaxed pose against the back of the bar stool.
He seemed to have been watching me for quite some time because he didn’t startle or look away now that he’d been caught. In front of him was a portfolio, which he ignored along with a drink and a basket of wings. His dark brown skin glowed under the purple LED lights around the bar, but he was slightly turned so the half of his face that wasn’t exposed cast his features in shadow.
It made him look like a demon.
I searched and searched, but it was the only flaw I could find. Those high cheekbones and chiseled jawline looked like they had never even borne a single pimple. His jet-black hair was cut into a low fade, heavily moisturized, and meticulously brushed. The crisp white button-up shirt he wore underneath his blue pin-stripe vest pulled tautly against his muscles and had me choking on my damn tongue.
I thought maybe it was a coincidence that our gazes happened to meet, so I waited a beat and then two more, but he never looked away. The VIP guest who had commandeered my brother’s club openly watched me as if he weren’t at all concerned over the repercussions of making me uneasy. He studied me like one would a horse before they rode it.
Okay, it wasn’t the best analogy, but I didn’t know how else to describe the intent and possession in his eyes. A man who looked likethat, who wore his obscene wealth like a second skin, and reeked of too much power certainly had his options.
Could a nobody like me truly be the focus of his attention?
I blinked away my tears to clear my blurry vision, and he seemed to finally notice them, though his calm expression didn’t change. He had no reason to care that I was upset. He merely found my tears fascinating.
It was unnerving the way he watched me because I couldn’t read his thoughts, and secretly I wanted him to love what he saw. I craved his approval, and that bothered the shit out of me, especially when I just swore off love forever.
I huffed my frustration when a full minute passed and he continued watching me as if I were both fascinating to him yet still too unremarkable to act on it.
What the fuck was his problem?
I silently communicated with my eyes that I wasn’t in the mood and that he should fuck right off.
Finally, the relaxed expression on his handsome face shifted, and the slow smile he unleashed on me at my attitude was indulgent—as if he found my anger cute. Unwillingly, my frown melted away while confusion and desire prickled my flushed skin. I thought maybe his smile was an invitation—not that I’d accept it—until he suddenly looked away, dismissing me to address the scowling man standing over his shoulder. They whispered back and forth, and it seemed the mystery man had forgotten all about me, until the grump he was speaking to suddenly flicked his gaze in my direction, then looked away and nodded at whatever Mr. VIP was saying.
I knew without a shred of doubt that they were discussing me.
In what detail and to what end, I didn’t know.
But I did care—enough to consider going over there and asking him what was so fucking funny. I fantasized about slapping him toon, but that thought was swiftly swept away when the bodyguard straightened, and I caught sight of the gun resting on his waist.
Weapons weren’t allowed in my brother’s club.
The man he was guarding must have had some serious pull if my arrogant brother bent the rules for him.
That’s when I finally took a real good look at my surroundings for the first time and noticed everything amiss. Among thedroves of scantily-clad women were the obvious bodyguards. The ones who resembled Secret Service agents in their suits and neutral, non-threatening stances that weren’t fooling anyone.
And then there were the ones you weren’t supposed to see…
The true muscle, who at first glance blended with the other club goers. It was their constant vigilance and quiet menace that gave them away, and I counted at least thirty sprinkled around the club. They lingered around the exits, watching everyone who came and went. They inserted themselves onto the dance floor below, standing like immovable pillars amongst the writhing bodies. They were even posted at both bars, but they didn’t order drinks or converse with anyone. Even the sections were occupied by the secret assassins.
