Chapter 4

Shocked faces. Hard nipples. A man’s thick, full shaft standing tall.

Oh. Shit.

I somehow catch myself before I fall, but then two heavy hands land on my shoulders. They’re not rough like the guy from earlier, but they hold power just the same.

I’m turned around, and that’s when I almost fall again—this time because my jaw nearly hits the damn floor.

My eyes snap up to see who touched me, and my heart nearly drops out of my chest.

I stare. And stare.

And melt.

God, if the floor could just open up and swallow me right now, I’d say thank you.

I breathe in fast, heat rushing to my cheeks so quick it burns. I’m not just scared.

I’m… something else too. Excited. Nervous. Shaky in all the wrong places.

A cold chill moves down my spine, light as fingers brushing across my skin.

“Mr. Montgomery. Mr. Hudson,” I whisper, my breath coming out all wrong.

They look down at me with dark eyes. Black almost. Both men dressed in suits that cost more than what I make in a month. Broad shoulders. Strong chests. Taller than anyone has a right to be. I have to tilt my chin up just to meet their eyes, and when I do, I wish I hadn’t.

Their faces are hard. Their eyes even harder. But even like that, they’re gorgeous. Like sin in the flesh. That kind of dangerous pretty that makes you do dumb things just to be closer to it.

They smell good too. Too good. It wraps around me and instead of warning me to back away, my stupid body leans in, wanting more. I should care why they touched me. Why they’re here. Why this is happening.

But all I can think about is the warmth in those hands.

Pathetic. I’m so damn pathetic.

The music throbs low and deep. Beats ripple through the air, mixing with soft moans and cries from the other rooms. The kind of sounds that hit deep inside, even if you pretend they don’t.

I tell myself not to feel. To shut it all off. But part of me still longs for that kind of touch. That kind of care after a long, hard day. Instead of going home to cold walls and silence. Instead of clinging to some silly dream of Rio I’ll probably never reach.

Everyone around us keeps going like nothing happened. Like I’m invisible. Like I don’t matter.

And just like always, I realize I’m alone.

Grey—the one with darker eyes and a colder stare—leans toward a waitress and whispers something. She hurries off. Probably a free drink to the couple I messed up, or another girl to make up for my mistake. Meanwhile, I know what’s coming for me. A warning. Or worse.

A pink slip.

“Ms. Kane,” the one named Drake says, his voice low and smooth, like whiskey on leather. He touches the earpiece in his ear and says, “I’m bringing her to you now.”

I swallow. My throat is dry.

“Bringing me to where?” I ask, my voice barely steady.

I swear, the first thing I’m gonna do when I get home is bolt the door shut and never come out again. I’m always in trouble somehow. It’s like I walk around with a sign that says mess with me.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Drake slides his hand down from my shoulder and lands it on my lower back. Right in the small space where the leather of my top ends and bare skin begins.

His fingers don’t press hard. Just a light touch. Barely there. But I feel it like a spark lighting a fuse.

It’s just his fingertips. That’s all.

But it’s warm.

And slow.

And controlling in a way that makes my breath catch.

He doesn’t shove. Doesn’t push. Just lets his fingers guide me down the hallway like I belong to him.

The hallway feels long. The lights are dim. The air is thick.

We reach a set of stairs hidden behind a door. I’ve never been up there. I know better. That floor is for the rich ones. The powerful ones. The ones who don’t deal with girls like me.

My hands curl into fists. I try not to shake.

But Drake’s touch still lingers, and I hate myself for thinking about it. For wanting more. I try to bury those thoughts, shove them away, but they crawl right back out and whisper what it would feel like to have his whole body against mine.

Just as we reach the top, Grey moves behind me. I feel his presence before I hear him. It’s like a wall of heat presses against my back.

His hair is black as night. His face serious. Sharp lines and hard edges.

I turn fast and plant my hands on his chest, trying to explain myself before I even know what I’m saying.

“Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react like that. I didn’t expect the guy to grab me like that.”

Silence.

“Please. Don’t fire me. I really need this job.”

I’ve never begged before. Is this how you do it? Do you just throw the last of your pride out and hope someone hears you?

I start to pull my hands away but it’s too late.

Grey covers my hands with his, locking me in place.

I freeze.

His heart beats under my palms. Strong. Calm.

And I can’t look away.

He’s not soft. Not safe. But he’s… steady.

I glance over at Drake and find him watching me, eyes dragging over every inch of me like he’s trying to read my thoughts. His gaze meets mine and something flickers there. A spark.

And then, out of nowhere, he smiles.

I forget how to breathe.

Grey’s voice rumbles through his chest. It shakes my hands. My bones.

“When you face Sylan,” he says, “I think the last thing you’ll be worried about is your job.”

God. His voice makes my nipples hard.

I hate that it does.

And still, I can’t stop thinking about his hands. What they could do if they really touched me. Really touched me.

As if that’s not already bad enough, my eyes won’t leave his face.

The way the light hits his jaw… sharp, strong, perfect.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Stop it, I tell myself. Don’t go there.

But it’s easier to get lost in how good-looking they are than to face where this night is heading.

Because I know it’s not going to end well.

I take in a shaky breath and ask, “What will happen now?”

I don’t even try to hide the way my voice shakes. What’s the point?

Grey doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes my hand. His grip is strong but not too tight. He starts leading me down another hallway.

Drake moves beside me, his hand resting gently on my other arm. The touch is light, but it holds me in place like an anchor.

“He’s being removed from the club as we speak,” Grey finally says, his tone calm and cold. “You don’t need to worry. He won’t touch you again.”

I stumble at his words. My knees dip, and a strong hand catches me before I fall.

“Excuse me?” My voice comes out sharp, too fast. Then I catch myself. “Sorry, but… that’s not what I meant.”

Grey turns his head, and the look he gives me is enough to shut me up in a second.

That look says: Don’t push.

So I don’t.

My brain screams for everything to slow down. I want a moment. A breath. A friend. A pause.

But none of those things exist here.

I’m all alone. Again.

And this time, I’ve gone from the fire straight into the frying pan.

No one’s coming to pull me out.