Chapter 11-y
M usic poured through the speakers that had been haphazardly mounted on the crumbling cement walls. It was good. But not great.
Maybe I really was too old for this shit. Thirty was not twenty.
Damn straight.
I’d forgotten how crowded and unsanitary these pop-up dance clubs could be, but as I navigated my way through the haze of flickering neon lights with the thudding bass to guide me, I was rudely reminded.
The smell hit me first—a pungent mix of sweat, cheap perfume, liquor, and something metallic. Rusted pipes, I hoped, and not blood.
The walls, once some kind of industrial concrete, were chipped and stained with graffiti. It was New York chic, but the layers of old flyers, and the unmistakable grime of years of neglect made my nose twitch.
I stepped over the remnants of a crumbling wall—likely broken down to "expand" the dance space—and I nearly stumbled on a pile of debris that looked like it had been there for decades.
Horrifyingly, right next to it, a couple was sprawled on the floor, oblivious to the filth around them.
The guy had his arms wrapped around the girl’s waist like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, their mouths locked in a frantic kiss.
I couldn’t tell if the dark smudges on her legs were from dust or bruises, but I was certain of one thing.
The small, brown pellets just inches away from their feet weren’t crumbled snacks— they were rat feces.
It was shit.
Actual rodent shit.
Gross.
My stomach churned, and I felt an involuntary shudder roll through me.
Ew.
That was definitely not hygienic.
And yet, I found myself oddly envious of the two of them, mauling each other like lovesick teenagers.
They didn’t care about the atmosphere or who could see them, so into each other, into the moment.
I mean, it was likely drugs or alcohol that enhanced their lust, but still.
It was like the two of them were caught in their own little world of desperate desires and I wondered if I’d ever felt anything like that.
Yes.
With Ono.
Nope. I was not going there. Thinking about those few days I’d spent with Ono Bottarelli was pointless.
Someone jostled past me, spilling a splash of something cold onto my arm.
Hopefully, it was just beer, but I didn’t dare sniff it to check.
“Watch yourself, Mama. Gotta be careful who you’re seen with, right?” the stranger said.
Asshole must be drunk.
I kept moving, weaving through the crowd as I made my way toward the dingy restroom sign barely hanging onto its nails.
I was already regretting every life choice that had led me here. Shaking my head, I wished I could just leave right now.
But human nature wasn’t about to wait for better circumstances. And I really had to pee.
“Shelly, wait! Where are you going?” I spun and saw Lucy waving at me from the beginning of the hall.
She jogged over to me, and I crossed my legs. Dammit, I needed to step up my kegel game.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Lucy added, smiling at me and enhancing her natural beauty.
She looked just like her father, Marat Volkov. Simply born to be beautiful.
Even after knowing her for half my life, it was still shocking when I looked at her flawless face.
Her features were perfectly symmetrical, and her coloring was amazing.
Lucy had almost black hair, porcelain skin that bronzed in the sun, and crystal blue eyes like an alpine lake.
Her hourglass figure was a throwback to times when society appreciated women with meat.
Like a modern Mae West but softer somehow.
Everywhere she went she left a trail of broken hearts. But that was not her fault.
Lucy wasn’t even a flirt. She had the best heart, and I loved her as much as I loved Micky and Clem and all the rest. Like family.
“Just going to the bathroom,” I shouted over the music. “But I think I’m gonna get outta here when I’m done, girl. I am too old for this scene,” I said, and she giggled, shaking her head.
“Stop it! You are not,” she said.
Lucy and Andrea were a few years younger than Micky and me, but we’d all become close over the years. It wasn’t unusual for me to hang out with one without the other or any of them, really.
Aella and Coral had joined us there with a few of their friends as well, which meant double the security.
“I really am. Oh my God. I really gotta pee, Lucy. I’ll see you before I decide,” I told her.
I grimaced as I shoved away from her. She was great, really. The whole Volkov Clan was. They were just so big, and they did everything together.
With their overprotective parents, that meant we always had plenty of bodyguards in the background watching out for everyone.
Truth was, I was glad about that. The city could be dangerous, and if I left, I knew Lucy and Andrea would be fine.
New York City was still a dangerous place, and I liked knowing we were being taken care of. It was the only reason I felt comfortable leaving early.
Otherwise I would never. I mean, Lucy and Andrea and all of them were the family I’d missed after my parents had died.
They filled all those spots, all the deep, secret longings I’d had when I was a little girl for friends.
Even Sammy and Nico Jr., the only two boys among them, had adopted me as a sort of honorary cousin.
They were both here tonight, and it was great to see them.
Sammy and Jr. were every bit as dominant and good looking as their dads and uncles.
Every bit as powerful and menacing as a certain blue-eyed man I promised myself I wouldn’t think about.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, moving past a group of young scantily clad women taking selfies by the mirror until I found an empty stall in the restroom.
“Thank god,” I whispered as I pulled my jeans down and squatted over the toilet.
I didn’t care that men and women were going in and out. I really just had to pee.
Still, it took me a minute to get going. I had to flush even though I hadn’t started yet just so I’d relax my pelvic muscles.
Whatever.
I guess I was pee shy.
After I was finished, I flushed again, refastened my jeans, and opened the stall.
Then I screamed.
Loudly.
“Oh my fucking God! What are you doing here?” I asked.
I was stunned at the well over six foot tall, hulking male who stood there.
Goddamn, he looked good.
My pulse raced as I took him in, blue eyes blazing in the darkness and head canted like a curious animal as he just stared at me.
“Hello, Doc. Miss me?” he asked, licking his bottom lip and making me long for things I had no business wanting.
I had to hand it to him, though. The man certainly knew how to make an entrance.
Ono was decked out in an expensive-looking black button-down shirt and tailored slacks.
The soft fabric caught just enough light to show it wasn’t some off-the-rack piece, but something custom made and luxurious.
I recognized quality when I saw it, and whoever his tailor was, they’d done a superb job fitting his larger than average frame.
The top buttons were undone, revealing the smooth plane of his collarbone. Those ridiculously sexy, inky lines drawn into his skin peeked out from where the shirt was open, and the vast wealth of muscles at his chest was visible beneath the thin material.
His pants fit him perfectly, accentuating his long legs and powerful frame. His thighs were so thick, I thought they’d bust right through the material if he should attempt to squat or bend while wearing them.
I appreciated a man who filled out his clothes, and Ono did that. Beautifully.
He wore Italian leather shoes, polished to a subtle shine. They looked like they cost more than most people’s rent.
The whole outfit together would probably pay mine for a half a year and that was saying something. Hoboken rents were not cheap.
His clothes were tasteful. Donning a simple facade, but each choice was deliberate, giving him an air of effortless elegance and muted strength.
My breath caught in my throat as my thorough perusal reached his face.
God, how did I forget how handsome he was?
It had only been a few days since I’d seen him.
Held him.
Kissed those lips.
Felt his big body writhing over mine.
His dark hair was combed back from his face in a way that felt almost old-school, but modern at the same time.
Every strand stayed in its place, like even his hair dared not defy him. He was just so damn perfect.
It made me angry. Made me want to press my body against his, run my fingers through it, leave a lipstick stain on his collar.
The shadow of scruff dusting his jawline and cheeks deepened the sharp angles of his face, making his already striking features appear even more chiseled.
The contrast between the sleekness of his clothes and the rough edge of his five o’clock shadow made it impossible for me to look away.
He commanded every iota of my attention. And it was infuriating.
Ono Bottarelli was the kind of handsome that made you feel a little off-balance, like the room shifted just because he was in it.
Stupid dumb jerk.
I shouldn’t be standing there waxing poetic about his beauty like some love-struck idiot.
“What’s that look for, Bellezza?”
“You’re in all black. Come from a funeral or something?” I said.
“Something,” he said, and I felt electricity sizzling between us.
He stood there like a dark dream. There wasn’t a single splash of color on him.
None.
Nada.
Zilch.
Except for his eyes.
Those were like shards of polished stone, cutting through the monochrome of his appearance, flickering with something sharp and alive.
Something deadly.
As if he was thinking about some deliciously dirty secret that only he knew.
Even the tattoos that peeked out from beneath his shirt collar and cuffs curling across his neck and the backs of his hands were void of color.
The intricate designs were all done in rich, black ink.
Stark and unforgiving.
No soft pastels or vibrant hues to soften the impact. Just black.
Like shadow etched into skin.
It was as though someone had pulled him straight out of one of those old gangster films.
Angels With Dirty Faces or something like that.
He was more dangerous than Cagney, though.
A modern hood who was one part gentleman and one part storm waiting to break.
My heart stuttered.
Those crazy blue irises continued to stare. Their color was unearthly and damn near hypnotic.
Finally, I remembered myself. I was aware of our surroundings.
The old factory was decrepit, and it stank.
Nothing was up to code.
Nothing was pretty or enticing.
No pomp and flash there. Just loud music and too many people.
“Why are you here, Doc?”
“What? Why do you care?”
“Because you don’t belong here.”
“Don’t tell me where I belong. You don’t know me.”
He was really starting to piss me off.
No, I wasn’t going to tell him I was just leaving. He didn’t deserve that, running out without a word after sleeping with me.
And I sure as fuck wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I agreed with him, that no, I didn’t belong there.
I felt a little too old and out of touch in that space. I wasn’t enjoying the music or the atmosphere.
But I was only there to enjoy the last of my days off, since he’d monopolized most of them with his intrusion into my life before he did his disappearing act.
I mean, he just left.
Vanished into thin air.
And I was still reeling from that hasty exit.
Did this prick ask me if I missed him?
Ignoring the jolt I felt inside my gut, I rolled my eyes as I pushed past the big man to wash my hands.
“I know you, Doc. Say I don’t,” he growled.
“Yeah, right. Besides, why would I miss you?” I asked, as if it was the dumbest question in the world.
My gaze flicked to his in the reflection of the broken mirror that hung over the sink. He was so goddamn handsome it was unfair.
My chest squeezed as he trapped me in his unwavering stare.
Like a predator who’d just found his prey.
But I refused to play the wide-eyed doe to his hunter.
Fuck that.
Ono Bottarelli might not have to work hard to get a woman with his flashy good looks and whatnot, but I wasn’t any woman.
I was Dr. Michelle Davis, and I had people who cared about me who would make this guy disappear if I asked them to.
Not that I would.
I would never abuse my friendship with Micky and the others that way.
Still, it bolstered my ego to remind myself I wasn’t weak or alone in the world.
“Because I missed you, Bellezza,” he said, and was it wrong that joy spiked in my blood at his confession?
“Yeah, right,” I murmured.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, Ono. I don’t believe you.”