Tomorrow, I have to go back to my claustrophobic, Papa-controlled world.
But for tonight, I’m in control of the next few hours.
I’m going to make them count.
Tamara is still holding my hand as we emerge from the darkened VIP hallway into the main area of the club.
It’s a booming, overwhelming maze of sweaty bodies and bright lights. The music is so loud I can’t hear myself think. I’m sweating already, too.
Tamara screams something in my ear, but I can’t make out what she said.
“What?” I scream back.
“I said, let’s get someone to buy us shots!”
I give her a thumbs up and a hesitant smile. I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all.
But if I stop to try and gather my thoughts, the image of Miguel beaten and slumped over in that tiny room flashes in front of my eyes.
I shudder.
Can’t be doing that. Look at Tammy—she’s dancing already, having fun, arms in the air and not a care in the world.
I try to smile and mimic her.
But I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched.
I tap Tam on the shoulder. “Does it feel like someone’s staring at us?” I yell.
She makes me repeat it a few times, but eventually she gets it.
When she does, she laughs out loud. “Of course we’re being watched!” she yells back. “We’re the hottest girls in the club!”
I feign another smile and try to breathe. Follow Tamara’s lead.
But I still can’t shake that feeling of being watched.
And when I turn around, I realize why.
Someone’s staring right at me from a small, innocuous doorway along one wall. He’s got dark hair raked back carelessly from his forehead. Tattoos trace over his brawny forearms, and more peek out from beneath the open collar of his henley shirt.
But it’s his eyes that draw my attention the most.
Even in this chaotic club, they stand out.
They’re darker than anything else.
Angrier. More intense.
And they’re locked dead on me.
6
Esme
I notice two things right off the bat.
First off, he’s deadly handsome. Handsome in a way that feels raw and primal. It doesn’t hurt that he’s big, muscular—over six feet and built like an athlete.
His features are somewhat exotic but still familiar. Foreign, maybe. His coloring is dark. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark everything, really.
His nose is sharp, proud, aristocratic. His cheekbones are defined, his jaw an aggressive square that offsets the fullness of his lips.
I might have called him “beautiful,” but the word just isn’t appropriate for him. Not with the light stubble coating his jaw, the piercing directness of his eyes, the careless way he rakes his fingers through his hair, as though he hasn’t given it a second thought his entire life.
Other people notice him, too. Their eyes keep flitting his direction, just like mine do.
He’s a man people want to be close to.
But they’re scared of getting too close.
I can understand that feeling. I’m a hundred yards away from him with a thousand people between us and even I’m a little scared.
There’s just something about the reckless way he surveys the crowd, the arrogant way he leans against the doorjamb…
He looks the kind of man who breaks things and laughs about it.
The second thing I notice about him is the way he’s looking at me.
I’m used to being looked at, admired, cat-called. Tam and I have been out for less than three hours and you could already fill a stadium with the number of men who’ve commented on my ass or tits.
Point is, I’m familiar with salacious glances and lust-filled gazes from men.
This is… not that.
Not by a longshot.
The man on the railing isn’t undressing me with his eyes like other men are. His gaze feels thoughtful. Almost curious.
But there’s an edge of possessiveness in his stance. A sense of ownership that I don’t understand.
“Esme? Hello… what are you looking at…? Oh, whoa.” Tamara trails off when she notices who’s got my attention.
I drop my eyes instantly, embarrassed to have been caught.
“Damn… now that’s a man,” Tamara says. She grins wickedly at me. “You know how to pick ‘em, boo.”
I laugh scornfully at that. I can count on two fingers the number of guys I’ve slept with.
There’s Mattias, the assistant of the man who cleaned the pool at my family’s compound. My father had him beaten senseless when he found out we’d slept together.
Then there was Felipe, the son of a supplier Papa used to do business with. Papa found out about him, too. He had the man’s father locked in the basement for a month.
I never saw either of them again.
So it’s safe to say that I have no clue “how to pick ‘em.”
“Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her arm and pulling her deeper into the club. “Let’s go get another drink.”
“Fuck that,” Tamara says, her eyes still fixed on him. “Let’s head over there and say hi to the Greek god with the Superman chin.”
“No,” I say, without hesitation.
“Why not?” Tamara asks, whirling me around to face her. “Oh, I see… You like him.”
I roll my eyes, trying to pretend as though none of this had any effect on me. “Grow up, Tam.”
“You do,” Tamara laughs. “Admit it. You’re attracted to him.”
“I… I mean, he’s not unattractive—”
“Understatement of the year.”
“But it doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “We need to leave soon anyway.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tamara asks. “The night’s just getting started!”
“Which means Papa’s probably got his men scouring L.A. in search of us right now,” I tell her. “We should go.”
“I thought we were going to the bar?” Tamara pouts. She’s clearly not ready to leave yet.
Just then, she stumbles and turns her ankle in her four-inch stilettos, falling right into my arms with a squeal.
I catch her, thank goodness, but it’s a dead giveaway that the night should be over a lot sooner than she wants. She’s drank way more than I have and she’s starting to get a little sloppy.
“Okay,” I concede. “Let’s go to the bar.” My real plan is to get
