Chapter 12
VAL
My nose wrinkles as Naomi slides the shot glass across the table to me.
“Fuck you.”
She laughs loudly as she slips next to me into the VIP booth at Doomsday.
I don’t really know why this club has become the weekend hangout spot for the Zakharova crew.
Okay, I do: because Laz Kislev, who pals around with—yes, I’ll say his name, but only fucking once—Roman, Bane, Nero, Carmine and Nico, is a part owner of the place.
Laz is also a man-whore approaching altitudes I’ve achieved, which is… saying something.
The difference between us is I view the girls of the Zakharova as sisters, and Laz views them as potential conquests.
I mean, he’s not a creep about it, but let's just say I’ve got my eye on him.
Like hell am I going to let any of my girls slum it with that ho.
Anyway, one of the big perks for our crew when it comes to Doomsday is that Laz has us all on the permanent guest list, which means no line, ever, and a comped booth in the VIP section whenever we want it.
At this point, I’m not sure what ballerina tree he’s even barking up anymore, given that Lyra, Naomi, Milena, and Brooklyn are all firmly spoken for—enough that not even Laz would be dumb or ballsy enough to make a play for them.
There’s Evie, but I think she’s way too innocent to catch that whore’s attention.
There’s also Dove, but…well, I honestly don’t know there.
Dove is a relatively new member of our crew. And if I thought I had a mysterious, murky background, that girl is next level.
It’s obviously no secret that she’s the oldest daughter of Cesare Marchetti, don of the Marchetti Italian mafia family. But she also disappeared from New York for years, and no one has any idea where she went, or why she’s back.
The rumor mill says everything from jail, to rehab, to a convent. So… Take your pick.
I mean, she’s an insanely good dancer—easily one of if not lowkey the best in the entire fucking company, and I don’t say that lightly. So wherever she was, she was able to keep practicing.
“Tequila? Seriously?” I push aside any questions about which of my friends Laz is trying to shove his dick into and glare at the shot glass before dragging my gaze back to Naomi’s smug face. “Are you high?”
She laughs again. “I mean, if you’re going to get your panties in a bunch about it, I can go get you a cranberry and seltzer—”
“Baby girl, the problem is, when I drink tequila, my panties come off,” I grin.
She rolls her eyes. “Try not to get us banned, 'mkay?”
“Hey, you brought the gasoline, psycho.”
Milena, sitting across from us, tosses her blonde locks back and laughs before raising a shot of what I’m confident is vodka.
“He has a point. Why are you feeding him tequila?”
“My own amusement?” Naomi giggles.
“Ooo, what are we drinking?”
I glance up as Brooklyn and Dove, fresh off the dance floor, slide into the booth. Brooklyn glances past Naomi at me and smirks.
“Anymore buttholes on your phone?” she snorts. “Dude, you gotta raise your standards.”
Dove furrows her brow, smoothing her silvery-pink hair—not gonna lie, kinda want to try that look—back into place. “I think I missed something?”
I like Dove, and again, she’s outrageously talented. But we’ve never really click-clicked. Partly, she’s got a bit of a wall up when it comes to men. But the rest? Who knows.
“Val, Turboslut that he is—”
“I’m sitting right here,” I mutter.
Milena blows me a kiss. “I mean, debonair cad that he is…”
I nod my approval. “Much better. Proceed.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to Dove. “Two total sketchballs texted him their…uh…”
“Assholes,” Brooklyn says with a dry smirk. She glances at me and sighs. “Yeah, I’m gonna go with the rest of them here. You need to raise your standards, buddy.”
I grin as the rest of the booth loses it.
“Anyway,” Naomi laughs. “We’re drinking tequila.”
“Or vodka,” Milena amends.
Naomi pushes two shot glasses toward Brooklyn and Dove. “Got you guys.”
Brooklyn groans. Dove just smiles and shrugs her shoulders. “I’m good. Thanks though.”
“You sure?”
She nods her chin. “Yup, all set.”
Curious.
The rest of us do our shots with a cheers.
I’m funny with alcohol. I mean I like having a drink, socially. I also like certain not very hardcore drugs, occasionally. But I could also do without either one and be completely fine.
I get that some people truly need drugs or alcohol to get past social anxiety, to lose their inhibitions a little so they can actually enjoy themselves. I know introverts who drink in social settings simply because not drinking in those situations would be impossible for them.
But when I say I could do without either, I mean I could still go out and have a wild time without either.
I believe they call that “high on life”..
Just then, another familiar face appears at the table.
“Evie!” Milena blurts, grinning as she jumps out of the booth to hug our friend. “Come sit!”
“Uhh…” Naomi frowns at the neon pink, fishbowl-sized cocktail in her hands. “What’s that?”
Evie grins widely. “These guys at the bar bought it for me! Isn’t it cute?”
“Yeah, cute, spelled alcohol poisoning,” I mutter as Milena shakes her head and reaches for it.
“Hey!”
Milena plucks the enormous glass out of Evie’s hands. “Evie,” she sighs. “C’mon.”
“But it smells so yummy!”
“Sweetheart, you get tanked off one glass of wine, and that,” Milena sighs, jabbing a finger at the Barbie sorority jungle juice from hell, “could literally kill you.”
“Also, A, which fucking guys?” I growl. “And B, who handed it to you—the bartender, or them?”
Evie opens her mouth, thinks, then shuts it. “Them?”
“Yeah, that's a hard nope.” I stand, slide past Naomi, and take the drink out of Milena’s hands. “How about no one drinks the roofie colada, deal?”
Evie’s face pales. “But they were nice!”
“Oh, I’m sure they were.” Milena frowns deeply, turning to squeeze my arm. “Thank you,” she mouths.
I nod grimly and take the drink up to the bar. It being the single most obnoxious drink on the menu, the bartender remembers exactly who ordered it.
“Pretty sure I saw them leave a minute or so ago,” she yells over the club music. “But I’ll tell Security to review the tape.” She points to a camera near the ceiling, angled toward the bar. “We’ll be able to see if they slipped anything into it.”
“And then?”
She arches a brow. “You're friends with Laz, right?”
“We’re…acquainted.”
She smirks. “Let’s just say, if he spots those guys dropping anything into that drink, if they show up here again it would be real bad for their health.”
Laz, I might just be changing my opinion of you. Slightly.
I thank her and head back to the VIP section. Halfway there, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Unknown
Please. Look im rly sorry
Unknown
about t elbow in ur faccee
My jaw tightens. Mystery fucking solved who unknown is.
I almost ignore it. Because I’m off this fucking ride…right?
Except, apparently, I’m not.
I ignore the voice inside calling me a weak, horny shitbag as I start typing.
Me
I don’t remember giving you my number.
Unknown
got it from Evie’s cell
Unknown
sory, hope that’s okya
Goddammit. He’s obviously drunk. But it’s making him get the way that does something to me—when big, tough, macho Roman goes all fucking soft and submissive. I mean, the fucker is literally asking for forgiveness, after the fact, for sneaking my number off his sister’s phone.
It’s kind of adorable.
It’s also really fucking hot, as much as I want to tell myself otherwise.
Either way, I find myself adding his contact to my phone.
Me
and if it’s not?
I’m fucking with him, because, well, it’s fun.
Roman
im sorry
Roman
I just rly need 2 talk 2 u
Me
Pretty sure taking someone’s number without permission and texting them is spam, which is a crime, pal.
Roman
lol. u remember what my fam does for a living, right?
I feel myself grinning widely at the screen.
Touché, wreckage.
Me
ok not the threat I was going for
Roman
LOL
Me
Well? We’re talking. Talk.
Roman
meet? Face 2 face?
Me
Maybe I don’t feel like getting punched in the fucking nose again.
Yeah, I’m still completely fucking with him. I know the elbow was an accident. But I also can tell that he’s still really broken up about it, and the idea of making the man squirm a little for me is…a high.
Roman
Val, I’m so fking sorry. Please.
Me
okay
Roman
you’ll meet me?
I suck my lip between my teeth, feeling my cock starting to thicken.
Tempting, Roman. Very, very fucking tempting.
But he won’t get off that easy—pun totally fucking intended.
Me
I’m over the hit. That doesn’t mean I’m going to jump up and rush on over just because you’re horny.
Roman immediately starts typing, and I watch the three dots appear, disappear, appear, disappear, over and over. Until…
Roman
I just want to apologize
Me
lol ok
Roman
this isn’t about wht hpned. I mean…bfor the elbow.
Me
lol “whAt hAPpEnNed”.
What are we, fucking twelve? Use your big boy words, Roman. This isn’t about ”that time we made out in the steam room and jerked each other off”. Or “that time I was a subby, horny little slut for you, Val.”
About what happened.
Fuck right the fuck off.
Me
If we can’t talk like adults about how hard your fucking cock got when I jerked you off, and how much you whimpered and moaned for it, then I don’t know wtf there is to talk about.
Those fucking dots appear and disappear a bunch of times before he finally figures out what to say.
Roman
U came on to ME
My mouth drops open.
Yeah, we’re fucking done here.
I close the text exchange and slip my phone into my pocket before I step back into the VIP area and slide back into our booth.
“All good?” Brooklyn arches a brow.
I nod. “Yeah, they’re going to tell Laz about it.”
“Thank God,” Dove scowls. “He looks like he’d know how to take care of creeps.”
I keep my gaze on Dove a little longer.
Which tree are you barking up now, Laz…
“Hey hey, party people!”