Chapter Seven
Chloe
I’d been more paranoid than ever. Every street I walked, every corner I turned, my eyes searched for him.
For a shadow lurking out of sight. Sometimes, even a quick glimpse of a man in a tailored coat was enough to send my heart pounding.
I knew he was dangerous, and I couldn’t forget the way his eyes burned with something dark and possessive, as if something about me was already his. Whether I wanted it to be or not.
And even though it had been about a week since the last time I’d seen him, I still wondered how the hell he had found me so easily. Was it just coincidence, or had he been following me? I had to stop this, had to rid him from my thoughts.
The club pulsed with the same heavy, distressing music as every other night while the same neon lights flickered around the silhouettes packing the room and over the dancers already performing on stage.
I balanced a tray in my hands, weaving through tables and men with greedy hands, when a disturbance near the entrance caught my eye.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Zane. Showing like the devil had been hearing my thoughts and decided to answer in person.
Moving through the club as if he owned the place, parting the crowd with nothing but his presence.
All eyes turned to him, but he didn’t seem to care, moving with the confidence of a man who feared nothing, his gaze sweeping the room with authority.
Three good-looking men in black suits followed in clear formation, like he was the leader of a pack. A dangerous leader.
The VIP area next to the stage, usually reserved for high rollers, was cleared within seconds for Zane and his men.
He took the leather seat closest to the stage, his men remaining standing, their gazes scanning the club like beady-eyed hawks. Only a powerful man—or one with a handful of enemies—would need that kind of security detail.
Zane wasn’t just dangerous, he was important.
A waitress brought them drinks, and soon an older man, around late sixties maybe, joined them.
I pretended to clean a nearby table, keeping my eyes on Zane, trying to figure out what he was doing there. It couldn’t be a coincidence that suddenly, he was everywhere. But I also didn’t feel he was here for me this time either.
Minutes later, Zane shook hands with the older man as if they’d just closed a deal. They toasted and as they sipped their drinks, a group of women joined them, ones I hadn’t seen before. One moved straight for Zane, as if already knowing what to do.
She slipped between his legs without hesitation, swaying her body for him to see it.
Her breasts almost brushed his face every time she bent over him.
He didn’t appear surprised by the attention, but he also didn’t look displeased either.
Then she climbed onto him, straddling him.
His hands found her hips immediately, his fingers sinking into her skin, thumbs dragging slow circles as she rolled her body against him, reveling in every inch of him.
She melted into him, lips ghosting along his neck, following his tattoo’s inked path, blatantly pressing over him as if chasing more of the friction she was feeling between her legs and I clenched the cloth in my hand, forcing my own legs to stop turning so jelly.
I’d never seen anything like this happening under Bruce’s watch. These kinds of interactions belonged inside private rooms, away from prying eyes. Yet there he was, enjoying himself, and not a single soul daring to stop him.
The whole scene made my stomach turn for all the wrong reasons, even when it was confirming what type of man he was. And yet, I felt thirsty. I wanted his hands gripping my thighs, his mouth setting my skin on fire, his eyes only seeing me.
It was so easy to want to be there instead of being here and the more I watched, the more I wanted to be her.
I jerked my head, snapping out of it.
No.
No, no, no. What the hell’s wrong with me?
“Hey! I need five!” I shouted to the girl behind the bar, my voice sharper than I intended.
I needed air.
Without waiting for a reply, I turned, scurrying backstage, hoping that by the time I returned, Zane would be gone.
“Chloe!” Bruce’s voice startled me as soon as I walked behind the curtain.
I turned, and he handed me a piece of lace, the same kind of lingerie the girls on stage were wearing.
“I need you on stage for the last number.”
He wasn’t asking and I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“The club is packed, and two of the regulars didn’t show. You need to cover for them.”
“No, Bruce, wait.” I reached for him, grabbing his sleeve, clinging to it like a lifeline. “Please. Not tonight.”
He briefly eyed my hand still clutching his arm.
“Why? Because your boyfriend’s here?”
My brows knit in confusion for a moment. Then he yanked his arm free, eyes hard like stone, his tone unmistakable.
He saw us. “What do you mean? I don’t have a—”
“Get dressed and get your ass on stage, Chloe. Now.”
His voice was low but filled with unspoken threats.
Panic shot through me. “You have more girls, why me? I… I need to get back to the bar.”
I tried to stall, hoping to annoy him enough to change his mind, it usually worked. But this time, it only made his temper flare.
“Because you’re mine!” he roared. “And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with you!”
“This wasn’t our deal!”
“Enough!”
Pain exploded across my cheek as his palm connected. My head snapped sideways. The shock came first, then the sting.
Bruce had humiliated me, forced me into obedience in many ways, but he’d never hit me before.
Then his fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing me to face him again.
“Don’t you ever talk back to me,” he spat out. “Let’s not forget why you’re here.”
His words hit deeper than the slap.
“I’ve been patient with you, Chloe. But you’re not a little girl anymore.” His voice was low again, but not a single tone less threatening. “Now take off those clothes and change, or I’ll fucking rip them off myself.”
Then he shoved me backward, making me stumble.
“You have five minutes.”