"I didn't like it."
His jaw tightens. "Gemma—" There's a warning in his tone, and I can't help but want to push him. Just a little.
"You said wear something nice. This is nice." I grab my clutch from the bed.
He grabs my arm, his fingers tightening slightly. "Fucking change."
"No, I'm not dressing like my mother to go out. This is perfectly fine." The dress really isn't that bad. Hell, I own worse, and I'm sure Saint has seen worse.
"You look like a whore."
"I'm your whore, so I guess it's appropriate." The words are out of my mouth before I can think too much about it, but I'm tired of being pushed around, and if Saint wants to think of me as a whore, then oh well.
I'd rather be a whore than a pushover, especially to a man like Saint.
He stares at me for a long moment. I can see the calculation happening. The weighing of whether to punish my defiance or reward it. He won't admit it, but I suspect he likes the fight.
To a point.
Finally, his mouth curves into something that might be a smile. It's predatory, and I know he's going to find a way to punish me for this act of defiance eventually. I haven't won anything, and yet, it feels like I did.
I move past him toward the door. "Are we going or not?"
He catches my arm, spins me back. His eyes are dark, intense. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess."
"I thought that's what you wanted. To make things interesting."
His grip tightens slightly. Then releases me. "Fine. But every man who looks at you tonight? When I pluck their eyes out, that's on you."
I roll my own eyes before walking out of the room.
The club is in Williamsburg. Not Eclipse, that's Morozov territory. This place is smaller, darker, more underground. The kind of place where rules don't apply.
The bouncer takes one look at Saint and waves us through. He's clearly been here enough to be recognized.
Inside, it's all strobing lights and bass that vibrates through your chest. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, writhing to the music. The air thick with sweat and alcohol and something darker.
"Regular here?" I ask, as we take a seat in the VIP section.
He shrugs. "I enjoy blowing off steam."
We sit, and a waitress appears immediately. She's dressed in nothing more than a bra and hot pants. Saint barely looks at her as he orders whiskey. I don't get a chance to speak before he gets me a vodka soda.
I raise my brow. He knows my drink. I shouldn't be surprised, and yet, I am.
"Trying to get me drunk?"
"Trying to have fun. You've been locked up for ten weeks. Let's see what happens when you're let loose."
It's a test. Everything with Saint is a test, and yet, I'm determined not to fail. When the waitress drops our drinks off, I down mine in one go.
His eyebrows raise. "Careful."
"I thought you wanted to see what I'd do."
"I do, but I also need you functional."
"I'm functional." I finish the drink, set the glass down. The burn of the alcohol gives me a weird sense of courage. I reach for Saint's hand. "Dance with me."
