Chapter 4
Mia
I spend a few minutes moving through the clean and tidy dressing room.
The whole space is bathed in a soft pink glow emanating from delicate rope lighting around the ceiling.
Without the overhead lights on, it almost feels cozy in here.
There’s a bank of ten makeup stations in the large space, vanity lights surround the mirrors, and the clothing rack that runs the length of the other wall seems never-ending.
I’m impressed to see that the entire rack is categorized by size, and thankfully the outfits aren’t all a size two or for girls who are only five feet tall.
A short, yellow satin dress catches my eye.
It’s slinky, strapless, and very pale, almost the same color as my hair.
The sudden urge to give in to my girly side surprises the hell out of me.
It’s something I haven’t felt in a long time.
I tell myself that it’s just to see if I can actually fit into this world as I start to peel off my clothes, leaving on my black thong and strapless bra.
I place my clothes neatly under the rack before gently taking the dress off its hanger.
Once I have it in my hand, I notice there’s shelving above with girls’ names taped under every cubby.
Crystal, Heaven, Pearle, Shadow, Jade… And the list goes on.
I snoop a little, seeing what each of the girls leaves here permanently, hoping it will tell me a little about them.
“That dress isn’t the one for you.” A deep, velvet voice assesses me, causing me to jump. My heart starts beating faster as I stiffen and spin around. When I find myself staring directly into the deep-blue eyes I’ve never forgotten, the eyes that have haunted me for a month, I freeze.
Aiden Foxx.
He leans against the doorframe, drawing from a freshly lit cigarette and studying me, his eyes questioning.
He inhales and exhales. The smoke makes the room hazy and the air thicker.
I fight the unexpected tingling under my skin as he just stands there, watching.
Nervous energy rushes through me, making me cover those nerves with my standard sass.
“Are your hands broken?” I ask, lifting my chin and resisting the urge to cover myself. I opt instead to place a hand on my hip. Confidence, Mia, confidence. He raises the one that isn’t holding the cigarette and admires it. It’s massive, sculpted, and covered in ink.
“My hands are very capable, I can assure you.” His tone is low, and annoyingly enticing. I can’t stop the images that run through my head with his statement, and I instantly scold myself for even considering this motherfucker touching me.
“Well, clearly they aren’t capable of knocking,” I note.
“I don’t knock on any door in my own club,” he says calmly, “but I do notice every new face, especially when it belongs to someone like you.”
He pulls another drag. The way he smokes is so intentional, like it’s the last cigarette he’ll ever have and he’s really going to enjoy it.
“Whatever that means, it’s just fucking rude,” I retort because I’ve got nothing else. I just want him to leave. “If you’re looking for Roz, she went with Lizzy.”
“Libby,” he corrects. My nipples pebble under the silky fabric of my bra with the intense way his eyes rake over me. It’s unsettling, like he’s judging me, and it’s starting to piss me off.
“And it means you don’t look like you belong here,” he explains.
I hang the dress back on the rack, then cock my hip back out, replacing my hand on it.
“You’re nervous aren’t you, darlin’? If you are, you shouldn’t be here.” He speaks like he sees right through me. As if he knows me, and his thick, resonant voice sounds as though it’s emerging from the deepest part of my forbidden fantasies.
“I’m not nervous,” I fire back.
His eyes are devoid of any emotion as he brings his cigarette back to his plush lips.
“Turn,” he orders.
I flick my eyes back to his. It’s a direct command; he uses the hand holding his poison stick to signal for me to spin around for him.
I take a deep breath. You’re just a girl looking for a job.
“Slowly,” he adds as he exhales. I fight the urge to slap this scumbag in the face as I do what he says, gritting my molars when I’m facing away from him.
“Do you make it a habit to scrutinize every woman who comes through here?” I ask, knowing that this very second he’s staring at my ass in a thong.
“No,” he answers simply, “and I’m not scrutinizing.
I’m praising. You’re fucking perfect.” My chest heats unexpectedly as his words cut through the humiliation I should feel.
The way this man talks, how he’s drawing me in with his eyes is spellbinding.
If he was the leader of a cult, people would follow him blindly, and, as much as I hate it, I fear I’d be the founding member.
“You don’t have the classic dancer’s shape,” he adds, though it isn’t a negative assessment. In fact, the way he’s looking at me when I turn and meet his gaze again is with appreciation. It’s the heated gaze of a man who likes everything he sees, and I hate that it feels…good.
“Then I suppose it’s good that I’m not here for your dancing or viewing pleasure,” I retort in a sweet voice.
“Hmmm. Then why don’t you tell me who the fuck you are, and exactly what you’re doing in my club looking through the other girls’ things?”
His tone has changed in an instant. It’s aggressive now, and the heat I just felt turns to worry as I realize how alone we are in here.
This close up, he’s a lot larger than he seemed when he was sitting on his bike outside the Yard.
He’s taking up almost the entire doorframe.
Every part of him is thick and heavy, and he wears dark jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a black and white flannel shirt, all of which seem both well made yet perfectly tattered.
His leather Disciples of Sin cut sits over top.
I let my eyes move over it, and that’s when I see his title patch over his heart.
President.
A sizzle of heat runs straight up my spine as the identity I assumed is confirmed.
I quickly catalog what it’ll take to learn more about him.
Men in his position of power within a club are generally closed off.
He’ll be protected—not that he looks like he needs protecting.
In fact, everything about him screams ruthless power, and I know he won’t be easy to get close to, unless he takes an interest in me.
Unless I make him take an interest in me.
This just got a lot more complicated, because if he is the man Nic was accusing, killing a club member is one thing—killing a club president starts a war.
Brushed metal rings adorn his first two fingers, and I watch the way his lips part to slowly blow out smoke on a long exhale.
The challenge of getting close enough to him to find out the truth creates a raging storm inside me.
He’s clearly a predator, familiar with trapping his prey, and the way that makes my core begin to spark to life is foreign, almost unnatural. And it’s just…fucking wrong.
His features come into focus through the haze of smoke in front of him as he pushes off the doorframe and moves toward me.
Up close, his eyes are startling. The coolest steely blue, yet they cover me in a blanket of heat.
Aiden stops directly in front of me. I flinch as he reaches around me to put his smoke out in an ashtray on the makeup counter behind me, the rest of his last drag drifting over me. I clench my fists at my sides.
“I asked you a question, darlin’.” He interrupts my thoughts as his scent washes over me. It’s spicy, warm, and mixed with leather.
I struggle to remember his question.
“What are you doing here, and why are you taking an interest in shit that isn’t yours?”
“My name is Mia, not darlin’,” I reply, lifting my gaze, “and I work here now. Roz told me to look around and help myself. I was seeing what the other girls kept here, trying to get to…know them.”
“Mia.” He repeats my name slowly as he watches me, cataloging my every expression.
“The ocean goddess.” His voice deepens as he reaches down to grip the very bottom of my braid.
My nipples harden further as I feel the faintest tug, and then he lets it slip through his fingers, uninterested.
I’m helpless as his eyes move down my body, then drag back up, painfully slow until they finally land back on mine.
“The ocean goddess with eyes to match. Pretty…” I hardly breathe as his gaze trails down my throat.
“Soft… Fragile… But that’s not you, is it… ”
It isn’t a question, it’s an assessment, and one that feels way too personal for having just met him.
“Where I come from, goddesses are strong. They lead and they fight… Rhiannon.” His voice is deep and velvety. My eyes burn into his with the way he thinks he can just come in here and judge me.
“Mmm… Maybe that’s more like it, yeah?”
I know my mythology—I was very into cultural worship when I was younger—but I’m very surprised Aiden Foxx knows the Goddess Queen Rhiannon.
The soft pink glow and the heavy silence between us make his features even more ruinous as I narrow my eyes at him and straighten my stance, hoping he hasn’t noticed my peaked nipples or the goose bumps that cover my body.
“Your knowledge of mythology is impressive for a man who lurks in women’s dressing rooms and touches them without even giving them your name…” I trail off, cocking my head to the side. He leans in farther, placing both hands on the counter behind me, caging me in.
“Surely if you’re in this room, you’ve already been told the rules here. And that means you already know exactly who I am.”
Cocky motherfucker.
“Not a clue,” I lie, feeling pressed to show him that I won’t be intimidated by him and that I will not be fucked with.