Even beneath the stage makeup and the dim lighting, I'd recognize her anywhere.
Cecelia Sutton. NotJade. Cecelia.
She moved with the fluid grace I'd always admired from a distance, her body swaying to the sultry beat that filled the club. But she didn't belong here—not under these hungry gazes, not on this stage, not in this world.
I moved before I'd made a conscious decision to do so, abandoning my drink and cutting through the crowd that had gathered. Rational thought had evacuated, replaced by a primal need to remove her from anyone's eyes but mine.
The security guard at the edge of the stage started to step in my path, but something in my expression made him hesitate just long enough for me to vault onto the platform.
Cecelia's eyes widened in shock as she recognized me and her carefully choreographed routine faltered. “Rafe? What the—”
I didn't give her time to finish. In one fluid motion, I swept her up and over my shoulder, ignoring her squeal of surprise and the murmur that rippled through the crowd.
“Put me down,” she hissed, fists pounding against my back. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“Leaving,” I answered, already striding toward the exit with her squirming form secured against me. The weight of her was nothing compared to the heat of rage coursing through me—not at her, but at whatever circumstances had brought her here, at every person who'd been watching her, at myself for not somehow preventing this.
“Rafe, I swear—”
“Not now, Cecelia.”
We'd almost reached the door when a figure stepped into our path. Santiago Alvarez, co-owner of Vice and Virtue, regarded me with a mixture of amusement and irritation.
“De Luca,” he said coolly, “I believe you're leaving with my employee.”
“Get out of my way, Santiago.”
He didn't budge. “The lady owes me money. She agreed to dance to work off her debt.”
Fight clearly draining out of her at Santiago's words, Cecelia went very still on my shoulder. The implications hit me like a bucket of ice water. What kind of trouble was she in that she'd borrowed that kind of money? And what exactly had she agreed towork off?
“Please put me down,” she begged quietly.
I ignored her. “How much to clear the debt completely?”
Santiago's eyebrows rose slightly as he named a figure that would make most men blanch. But I wasn't most men.
Without setting Cecelia down, I shifted her weight and reached for my checkbook. “I’ll double it for the inconvenience and your discretion.”
“Rafe, no.” Cecelia squirmed on my shoulder. “You can't—”
“Quiet,” My tone left no room for argument as I scribbled out a check for double the amount he’d mentioned and handed it to Santiago. “We're done here.”
After examining the piece of paper, he tucked it into his jacket pocket with a slight nod. “Your girl is free to go.” His eyes flicked to Cecelia, still draped over my shoulder. “No hard feelings. You'd have been wasted as just a dancer anyway.”
The implication in his tone made me want to put my fist through his face, but I had more pressing concerns. With a curt nod to Santiago, I carried Cecelia through the door and into the cool night air, only setting her down when we reached my car.Shrugging out of my jacket, I wrapped it around her shoulders in one smooth motion.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I demanded without thinking.
She jutted her defiantly, but I could see the vulnerability she was trying to mask. “I was thinking I needed to pay off a debt, and this was the fastest way to do it.”
“By selling yourself?”
“I was dancing, Rafe, not turning tricks,” she shot back, pulling my jacket tighter around herself. “Not that it's any of your business.”
“It became my business when I walked in and saw you on that stage.” Running a hand through my hair, I tried to calm the storm raging inside me. “Fucking hell, Cecelia. You could have asked for help.”
“From whom? You?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Why would I do that?”
