Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FIONA
The moment the limo pulls up to the curb, I second-guess everything. The heels, the dress, the decision to get in at all.
When the door swings open and Wesley steps out, that gnawing unease in my gut roars to life. He straightens the front of his suit with an arrogant flourish, as though the whole world’s lucky just to see him exist.
“You look stunning.” His gaze sweeps down my body like a scanner with too much interest.
I try not to flinch when he takes my hand and brushes a kiss to my knuckles, but every cell in my body recoils. I already hate how close he is. How comfortable he seems touching me.
A chill spiders down the back of my neck. I don’t know if it’s him or just this eeriness of being watched.
Is Aleksei here? Lurking somewhere? Watching me from some unseen corner?
My eyes gloss over the street, but there’s no sign of him. Still, the buzz beneath my skin refuses to fade.
Wesley gestures toward the open door, and I force myself to move, slipping into the backseat. He slides in after me, and we’re too close—his knee brushing mine, his cologne invading the air. I already can’t wait to get this damn meeting over with.
The ride is filled with surface-level questions about my family, our vineyard, and his claim at potential. I answer as little as I can, nodding where necessary, letting my gaze drift out the tinted window.
After nearly forty minutes, we pull up to what looks like an industrial warehouse.
My brows furrow. “This doesn’t look like a club.”
Wesley reaches into a small velvet box, pulling out a black lace mask that he holds out for me. “Put this on.”
I don’t take it. “Where the hell are we?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a wink.
My God, the way I hate men who wink.
I should leave. Right now. But curiosity—dangerous, stupid curiosity—settles in my gut, and I slide the mask over my face, instantly knowing I’m going to regret it.
He opens the limo, the cold air biting across my skin as we start toward the door. A few people in masks are already lined up, equally dressed up.
When it’s our turn, a man in a red devil’s mask steps forward with a black scanner in hand. He doesn’t speak or ask who we are, just lifts the device and sweeps it over our masks. A faint beep follows, and without hesitation, he steps aside to let us pass. These clearly must have chips in them.
Inside, the space is nothing like the industrial exterior. Chandeliers hang from exposed steel beams, casting a dim glow over marble floors and leather seating. Maybe this is a club after all…
A masked woman stands by the elevator, pressing a button without speaking. Wesley places a hand on the small of my back and guides me inside like we’ve done this before.
I really don’t like this man touching me.
When the elevator glides open, we step into a large hallway pulsing with distant bass and the hum of decadence. A few steps ahead, two masked men in black suits stand at a pair of double doors. Their eyes flick over us before one of them gives a subtle nod and allows us to whatever waits inside.
As my eyes adjust to the dim red-washed room, the low, sultry throb of music pulses through the air. Bodies move together on the dance floor, hands roaming, clothes slipping, mouths crashing. Some of them are already half naked, tangled in each other like this is foreplay for something more.
I stop cold, my stomach flipping.
“What the hell is this place?” I spin toward Wesley. “You’d better tell me now or I’m out.”
He laughs. “Suit yourself. But from what I hear, you and your family need me.”
He’s right; there aren’t any other investors knocking on the door. But we don’t need him that much.
I grit my teeth, spine stiffening. “Let’s just find somewhere to talk business, and then I’m leaving. And for the record? Dragging me to some seedy club? Not exactly professional.”
He scoffs. “You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”
My expression sharpens, pure venom bleeding into every syllable. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Ms. Clark. Lighten up.” He reaches for me like we’re old friends, his hand sliding around my waist and pulling me close like he has any right.
I shove him off without hesitation, but he only chuckles, shaking his head like I’m a cute little thing throwing a tantrum.
Every inch of me screams to leave. But I follow him as he walks a few steps ahead, needing to get this over with. I don’t want this son of a bitch to think he’s intimidating me.
As we make our way down the hallway, I can’t help peeking into the open rooms lining the walls. At first, it doesn’t register what these rooms are. Then the truth lands like a punch to the throat.
And suddenly the club doesn’t feel like a party. It feels like a trap.
Ropes swing from the ceiling. Leather cuffs dangle like ornaments. Sex, skin…so much fucking skin. Bodies grinding in sync, gasps and moans bouncing off the walls.
Bile creeps up my throat.
Oh my God.
“You’re disgusting.” I step back. “I’m leaving. And if you think there’s still a deal, you can shove it up your—”
Wesley’s smile morphs into something jagged and feral. Before I can take another step, his hand snaps out and clamps around my wrist, his fingers pinching tight against my skin until I wince.
“Let go of me.” I yank against his hold.
But he doesn’t. Instead, his face darkens, all charm gone, replaced by something twisted and unhinged.
“Do you have any idea how much I paid to get you here tonight?” He shoves me forward until my back slams into the wall.
I flinch, the air knocked from my lungs.
“Too much,” he sneers, his face inches from mine. “More than you’re worth. So if you won’t give me what I want…” His hand creeps down my chest. “I’ll just take it.”
Anger crackles beneath my skin, burning through the fear. My pulse hammers, vision narrowing to a single, violent solution.
He has five seconds before I knee him so hard in the balls, he won’t be walking straight for a month.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I lift my knee, ready to end this, but I don’t get the chance.
Because in an instant, he’s gone.
One second, Wesley’s leering in my face, and the next, he’s flying backward like a rag doll. Ripped away from me with brutal force.
A man in a plain black mask slams him against the opposite wall so hard, the drywall splits with a thunderous crack.
“Fuck! Get the hell off me!” Wesley thrashes, arms flailing like a fish on land, but it’s useless.
The tall stranger’s hand wraps around his throat. Tight, unyielding, and utterly calm.
I freeze. Because I know those hands. At least I think I do.
The man doesn’t speak, his forearm pressing into Wesley’s throat until his sputtering becomes silence, his face turning an alarming shade of blue.
Two more masked men appear. And once the first man releases Wesley with a shove, the others seize him, dragging him off like trash being taken to the curb. He kicks and shouts, sputtering threats about not knowing who they’re messing with. But they don’t give a shit.
Where are they taking him?
Probably throwing him out. Good riddance. Couldn’t have happened to a better bastard.
I force in a breath, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead and trying to steady my hands. My heart’s still galloping, but I manage to look up and meet the stranger’s eyes.
He’s still watching me. Still silent. So still it makes my blood chill.
Those eyes... God, they’re familiar. So is the way he moved…
“Um…thank you,” I manage, my voice far too calm for someone who almost got assaulted.
He doesn’t reply. Just keeps watching me instead, unnerving me.
“I’m not supposed to be here. It was supposed to be a business meeting, but somehow, we—” I stop myself, shaking my head.
Why am I telling this man all this?
“Anyway, I have to go. Have a good night.”
As I start to pass him, my shoulder brushing his arm, he doesn’t let me get far. He grabs my wrist—not enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop me dead—and pulls me closer.
And the moment I smell that insufferably delicious cologne, I know.
Aleksei.
“I’m almost insulted you didn’t recognize me,” he murmurs. “I thought we were friends, Ms. Prosecutor.” His lips stroke beneath my ear. “Good friends.”
My body prickles but I ignore it, stepping back.
I can’t believe it’s him. Does he have no boundaries left?
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
His knuckles brush across my jaw, the hollows beneath his cheeks deepening with the grind of his teeth as he laughs.
“My brothers and I own Rzvrt. Want a tour, moya ptichka?” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Or would you prefer to participate?”
Before I can answer or even think, his arm tightens around my waist, dragging me flush against the hard lines of his body. Heat blooms across my skin, any memory of how I got here dissolving into static. My mind short-circuits, my body completely forgetting who the enemy is.
He slides a hand up my thigh, toying with the hem of my black pencil dress like he has every right to.
I shudder, lashes lowering despite every cell in my body screaming don’t.
No. This is wrong.
I promised myself I wouldn’t let this happen again. That I wouldn’t fall under his spell, not after everything. Not when I know who he is.
Yet here I am, melting at the first drag of his fingers like I haven’t learned a damn thing.
“Net,” he growls, the word slicing through me. “You look at me when I touch you. I want no confusion about who makes you feel this way. Understand?”
My gaze jerks back to his, and I hate how easily I obey. It’s like some part of me is wired to respond to him, no matter how hard I fight it.
“Did he hurt you?”
The shift in his tone throws me. There’s something beneath it. Anger. Maybe concern. Or something twisted in between.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
Why the hell do you care?
A muscle in his jaw tics. “Do not worry. He will be handled either way.”
“Handled? How?”
Does he mean…
I don’t even want to think it.