14. Hope
CHAPTER 14
Hope
I couldn’t get out of going to the club with Hawke, and believe me when I say I definitely tried.
So I enlisted the best sidekick one could ask for—Ivy. She’s wearing a sparkly dress with knee-high boots. I’ve never understood Ivy and Hawke’s relationship. They seem to get along like the rest of us but have a strange reverence for one another being… well, whores. They love it. They live for the chase and indulge in the catch.
Ivy’s a party girl through and through, and when you mix that with Hawke, who likes to party just as hard, I know it’s going to be a crazy night, and my batteries are already drained. Billie couldn’t make it because of a work trip but, honestly, I’m happy for her and Ford. They’re definitely in the honeymoon stage, so even if she was staying with him for the evening, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Hell, I’d much rather that for myself as well.
Ivy dressed me in a yellow fitted dress, which surprisingly works with my porcelain complexion, red hair, and blue eyes, but I can’t help noticing she’s dressed me up like a sunflower when I’m anything but. I usually stick to darker tones, but she was so excited and can sometimes step into dress-up doll mode, which I’m not entirely against. It takes the work out of it for me. I also put contacts in tonight.
It’s not like anyone here will know who I am, and I’m not entirely against having a night out. I just somehow end up making stupid decisions when I’ve had a few drinks—case in point: running through Central Park with detectives chasing me down.
Hawke picks me and Ivy up from her and Billie’s apartment, and the moment we walk into the club, Hawke guides us to the VIP area as if he has it booked out every single night. I don’t really know the logistics behind him and these clubs’ he frequents, but he always has an area waiting for him. We’ve only just sat down when a waitress appears with a bottle of tequila and shot glasses. And from out of nowhere, women flock to our booth to come sit on Hawke’s lap.
“Wow, they’re fast,” I say to Ivy. But when I turn to her, she’s looking over her shoulder at the dance floor below us. I can tell she’s on the prowl. Damn, I might still end up on my own even though I brought her as my backup.
Ivy lives in the moment. It’s the thing I like about her the most. She isn’t afraid of who she is or how she presents herself to the world, and she unapologetically goes for what she wants.
“They’re catering to his poor, broken heart now that Ford’s practically married off.” She bites her bottom lip, trying to hide the smile. “But who cares. We’re not here for him. Let’s drink.” She pours numerous shots, and Hawke raises his eyebrows, impressed. We all lean in, clink our glasses in cheers, then throw back the tequila.
It fucking burns, but I embrace it.
Okay, this is going to be a fun night. I try to amp myself up, even though in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about the new book I started reading this morning. I take another shot.
Hawke entertains two beautiful women, and I can tell he’s extra needy lately. He’s so used to going everywhere and doing everything with Ford. I wonder if he feels the same way I do. I mean, he, Ivy, and I are basically the last three who aren’t in any kind of relationship, and I’m pretty sure we’re all overtly against it.
A group of four guys approach our table, and Hawke immediately stands to intimidate them away. Ivy, however, smiles at him with a look that promises imminent death if he doesn’t stand down. “Boys, how’s your evening? Care for a shot?” She dangles the tequila bottle.
We have another shot, and a round of cocktails is handed out. Hawke seems torn between keeping an eye on us and the women currently perching on his knees.
Ivy giggles at two of the men, and I can’t help but notice she and Hawke are practically mirroring one another. It’s almost as if it’s a contest at this point. I’m not at all opposed to it, though, and I’m enjoying the subtle buzz of the alcohol feeding my system.
I stand and move to the balcony, watching everyone on the dance floor. I wonder what it would look like if someone came in and gunned them all down. I imagine the red spray of blood splattering the room. I hear the screams. I see the twisted expressions.
I quickly push down the invasive thoughts.
If anyone knew I had these thoughts, they’d lock me up, and I’d be shunned. Certainly not by my family, but I think my mother might be surprised, even disappointed.
The urge to pee comes on strong, so I collect my purse from the couch and tell Ivy I’m just going to the bathroom. She tries to follow me but I insist I’ll only be a few minutes. She lets me go, turning her attention back to the man on her right. And that’s something I’ve always appreciated about Ivy and Billie; they may only be a couple of years older than me, but they’ve never treated me as a child who couldn’t look after myself.
Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I notice Hawke making out with one woman while his hand is down the shirt of the other. A king in his domain, most certainly. I look back to Ivy, who’s sitting on one guy’s lap while entertaining the other three. She looks like a goddess in a reverse harem. It’s rather impressive.
I take two steps down the stairs, and when I look up, I freeze.
Braxton is staring up at me from the bottom of the staircase, those crystal-blue eyes darker than usual in the dimly lit club.
He’s here, tracking me again. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. The man’s tenacious, especially coming here when I’m with my cousin. It brings me flashbacks of the night we first met, and I’m quick to shove those down because I am not going down memory lane with this asshole.
I hold my head high, descending the stairs and pretending like I don’t know him. I can tell in my peripheral he’s smirking, but I pay him no attention.
The moment I reach the bottom of the stairs, he clasps my wrist.
“You weren’t attempting to walk by without saying hello, were you?”
My gaze snakes over to his, and I’m forced to look up through thick eyelashes, even when wearing heels. I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let it go. Even though I’m still one step up, he’s still taller than me. His scent of sandalwood drifts over to me, and I hate how it impairs my judgment. Or maybe that’s the tequila. “Hello, Shortcake.”
I want to say it’s the alcohol that forces me to suck in a sharp breath, trying to counter the heavy impact his smell has on me. And it couldn’t have anything to do with his beautiful fucking face with those plump lips. Said lips quirk up, but he quickly hides it as he leans in and drops his mouth beside my ear. “Did you miss me?”
“No. What’s there to miss? A middle-class man skipping out on his duties to harass a woman who’s not interested? I’m quite all right, thanks.”
His smirk grows, and it causes butterflies in my lower stomach because only this man has ever reveled in my scathing words. But he lives for the challenge.
“‘No’ seems to be your favorite word. But I once remember you screaming another once upon a time. If memory serves correctly, it was my name.”
I scoff, and his other hand cups my jaw. And tiny prickles erupt like a kicked hornet nest all over my skin. It brings me to life, startlingly and painfully, and I meet his gaze. “I got your present. I liked the colors.” The compliment washes over my skin like he’s the very thing that both antagonizes and soothes me.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. Does he really like it? I won’t be baited by such an easy question, but I wonder what he really thought. I consider what his criticism might’ve been.
“You’re lying,” he says.
“Surely, you’re a better detective than this,” I tease, purposely hovering my lips near his. He inhales my breath, and the warmth of his flushes over my own lips, creating a tingling sensation. I remember what he tastes like. Memories flood my mind of heated, painful, and destructive sex.
My first time.
I pull away with a conniving smirk, but he doesn’t remove his hand from my jaw as his gaze lingers on my lips.
“You think this cute little innocent act fools everyone, but I know how dangerous these hands of yours can be.”
“You think I’m cute?” I ask breathlessly. “And the only thing I recall being small was… not my hands.”
He laughs, and I’m so stunned by the break of character that I can’t help but let loose a small smile. “It would appear your attitude still needs much work.”
“I can’t entirely say yours is favorable either.”
“But you like it,” he’s quick to shoot back.
His hands are hot, feeling like brands against my skin.
“If that’s what you tell yourself to get to sleep, then I think you’re the only cute one here.”
His gaze is locked on my mouth. And before I know it, he moves in closer, and his lips daringly brush against mine.
I’m so surprised by the action that I suck in a breath, and it’s his air that I’m breathing. My tongue coaxes his, inviting more. His tongue slides against mine, and before I can think twice about it, I’m grabbing his shirt and pulling him into me so our chests are pressing together.
I don’t think either of us is thinking of what we’re doing. We’re just being. This could turn into a colossal disaster, ripping at one another just like last time. It brings back all the reasons I liked him. The insults, the push and pull, the arrogance of this fucking man fuels every inch of my inexcusable hunger for him. Even when I know who he is, it just makes me want it more.
His hand grips my jaw even tighter, and his mouth assaults mine possessively. No other man’s kiss has compared to his. No matter how I tried to find someone else who could replace those scorching memories, I never could. I may not have fully enjoyed our first time together that night, pushing through the pain of losing my virginity, but each time after that was a barbaric and carnal claiming I’d never known existed. But what I remember most are these fucking lips and hands, demanding and dominating every inch of me.
I’m jerked back suddenly. Braxton reaches for me, but a thick arm and hand keep him from touching me.
My heart races as I register what the fuck just happened. When I look over my shoulder, a cold, damning presence is smiling at us with death in his gaze.
Hawke is nothing but the killer right now, but Braxton holds his ground. The two square off, and I can feel the palpable tension. “It’s best you leave,” Hawke says in a low, gravelly tone.
Chills run down my body. Behind Hawke, I see Ivy staring, her mouth open wide, as she tries to assess the situation. Dread fills me because if Braxton does react, he’s fucked. Hawke will literally beat him to death. But, somehow, my cousin, despite his killer edge, respects my wishes and my claim for my prey.
Braxton looks from Hawke to me, then dips his head and turns to walk away. I’m shocked because Braxton loves antagonizing people, especially if he can then pin them with a night or two behind bars. But it’s as if that kiss was just as mind-melting for him as it was for me. What the fuck just happened?
He strides through the crowd, people moving out of his way as he makes for the exit.
“Little red, you’re in trouble,” Hawke says, looming behind me, and suddenly, it feels like my father just walked into the room. They might not be blood related, but Hawke is an Ivanov through and through.
Shit . I’m totally in trouble.