Page 34 of Stroke of Luck

“Pussy-blocked who?”

“Here you are, sweet-thing, I made it a double,” Carly shares as she sets the drink on the table in front of the couch. “Need anything else?”

“Not from you,” Remo warns, stepping up behind me and resting his hands on my shoulders.

Carly just rolls her eyes at them and heads off, clearly not concerned about her own well-being.

Seeing the frustrated looks on their faces makes me giggle, which turns into a real laugh, my whole body shaking and tears slipping out. “Oh god, maybe I should give her a chance if she can brush you both off like that.”

“The fuck you will,” Othello snaps. “Carly’s my cousin, but we were raised together like siblings. Otherwise she would be dead and buried six feet under already.”

“Now things make so much more sense!” I exclaim, clapping my hands together. “I think I’m going to adopt her just like I did the other three. Then I don’t have to be the only extrovert!”

“Absolutely not! The two of you together would be like unleashing hell on the world.” Remo shivers, squeezing my shoulders harshly. “If we’d known you two would hit it off, I never would have brought you here when she was working.”

“You guys don’t want me to make new friends?”

“Why don’t we try finding the original best friends first? Something tells me they help keep the crazy in check,” Othello answers, handing me my drink.

I know he’s not trying to be a dick when he says this, but the fact that I’m here having fun and I don’t know where they are slaps me upside the head. Why didn’t I press my parents for information about them? I could tell they knew who they were, even if they didn’t really approve. Tomorrow I’m going to make it my mission to find out what I can about where I’ve been the past four years. I'm sure if I look up social media and all that, it will trigger something to finally see their faces.

A tug on my hair pulls my head back. I peer up at Remo, pulling me out of my wallowing. “Where did you go, coniglietto? You’re supposed to be having fun, remember?”

“This is a place that I would have dragged them to kicking and screaming, but eventually they’d have given in and ended up having a blast. I would have gotten a private table and bottle service while one of them yelled at me for spending my parents’ money and pissing them off, while the other would be ready to kick any guy’s ass that looks at us funny. Meanwhile, I would be challenging the British one to a drink-off before we dragged everyone out dancing.”

“Your friends sound amazing,” Remo comments, giving me a soft smile. “I have no doubt that you will be together soon.”

“Why can I remember so much about them but not their names or what happened that night?”

Remo strokes his hand down my cheek. “You will. Give it time. We will do some searching tomorrow, alright? For now, just enjoy the night and know that your friends would want you happy and safe, most of all.”

I smile up at him and nod my head. “Will you dance with me?”

“Only because you’ve asked,” Remo answers begrudgingly, helping me off the couch and steadying me as I slip my heels back on.

Turning, I point to Othello. “You too, boss man. You’re not getting out of this without letting me grind up on you.”

He raises an eyebrow at me even though I can see the desire lurking in his eyes. “I don’t dance.”

“Liar.”

“Is that so? What makes you so sure?”

“Intuition and a guess that you weren’t always so uptight.”

“Uptight? Hmm…” Othello muses, standing and stalking over to me. “I think we’re done dancing for the night, if you really want me to show you how far from uptight I can be.”

The look in Othello’s eyes tells me that I’m in trouble… but the best kind of trouble. As if he’s given Remo some sort of secret signal, I’m scooped up and once again placed on his hip. I hold on for dear life as we head downstairs, through the crowd and back to the elevator, the bodyguard from the stairs making a path for us. I don’t know what Othello says to him, but it damn well puts a fire under his ass. The elevator is already open and waiting for us when we arrive, allowing us to step right in. Once the doors close, the quiet is almost shocking after all the noise from the music.

“Care to share what we’re doing? Did you even let the others know we were leaving?” I ask, struggling so Remo will let me down, but he ignores me and holds tighter.

Othello looks at me, letting his gaze wash over my body, his hunger burning along my skin. “They’ll be fine.”

“Okay… that still doesn’t answer my question though,” I challenge.

Then the door pops open and we’re off once again, through the restaurant, out onto the street, and into the limo. Othello gets in first, and Remo hands me off to him as he climbs in behind me. Before I can even move to settle into my own seat, Othello lays me out on the floor of the limo, crawling over me. I gasp when I see him pull out a spring-loaded switch blade from his pocket, flicking the blade open. Part of me wants to panic because who in their right mind wouldn’t, but the other part of my brain—the crazy part—tells me not to worry about it. He won’t harm me. He lets the tip of the blade run from the base of my neck down my breast bone, to my navel, and over my crotch. Then, with a slash of the knife, I hear fabric tear, and cool air hits my lady bits.

“Hi, did I miss a memo somewhere where I’ve consented to knife play?” I rasp, blown away by how fucking turned on I am right now.