Chapter 12 Ciarán
twelve-Ciarán
The club was packed; Miami’s finest had turned out to see me in droves, like they always did.
There were women twerking, dudes flossing.
I’d been in spaces like this a thousand times, but tonight felt different.
Probably because Jordin was here, sitting at my VIP table, sipping on her drink, waiting for me.
And still, she stood out more than any other woman in the room in her simple bandage dress, her natural hair hanging down her back.
She’d wet it and smoothed some oil through it before we left.
She didn’t have on a stitch of makeup, but she was still gorgeous.
I leaned into the mic ; the crowd was hyped as fuck from the set I just finished. My DJ was cueing up the next song.
“I got someone special in the building tonight,” I said. “Songwriter extraordinaire, Miss Jordin Black.”
Jordin’s head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto mine from across the room. She shook her head slightly, mouthing a hard "don’t do it," but I wasn’t about to let her hide. She wanted more work with bigger artist. This was the way she’d get it.
“She 's gonna kill a nigga later, but y’all give her a warm welcome,” I added, waving for her to join me on the stage. The crowd cheered, phones going up.
Jordin groaned visibly, setting her drink down and throwing me a mean mug. I grinned at her, daring her to say no to all these eyes.
After a beat, she stood, her steps slow and reluctant as she made her way to the stage. She was tipsy, swaying just a little. The crowd parted for her. I could see the men watching her. She didn’t realize how magnetic she could be.
She took the mic from me, rolling her eyes as I whispered, “You’ll thank me later.”
The DJ dropped the beat for “Next Lifetime” by Erykah Badu.
This song reminded me of us, but I just wasn’t waiting for a next lifetime.
I didn’t have it in me to wait. Jordin was right here, in my space, in my life, and every second I spent next to her made it harder to imagine her being anywhere else.
When she sang the first line, her voice soft, like silk sliding over bare skin, the energy in the club shifted.
I didn’t even have it in me to join her.
I just watched her. The way her lips brushed the mic, the little sway of her hips, the way her fingers tapped against her thick thigh to the beat—it wasn’t just her voice; it was her.
And for a second, watching her own that stage, I saw a future I know I wasn’t allowed to want.
And it scared the shit out of me. Because I wanted it and her.
Her eyes flicked to mine, grabbing hold of my own, and I swore my heart skipped a beat.
When I finally picked up my mic to join her on the hook, I kept my voice low, letting it wrap around hers like a thread pulling us together. This was the most intimate moment I’d shared with anyone, and it was happening in front of a crowd full of strangers.
When the song ended, the crowd went crazy. I leaned into her, whispering, “You. Are. Everything, baby. You know that, right?”
“Shut up.” She shook her head, smiling as she passed me the mic and headed off stage back toward the VIP area.
I watched her weave through the crowd, not caring that I was being watched.
The way I was feeling had me thinking… maybe I loved her for real.
But what the fuck did I know about love? Love, to me, had always looked like a trap. Like something you gave to people just for them to weaponize it. I didn’t even know what love was supposed to feel like , and I’d spent my whole adult life making sure nobody got too close.
Still, I was going to lean into the feeling. Into her.
When she sat down, I said my goodbyes to the crowd and ducked into the back where my manager and publicist were waiting for me in the dressing room.
They were both staring at me strangely when I entered.
“What?” I snapped.
“She’s good for you,” Tyrell said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
“Who?” I asked, playing stupid.
“Jordin,” he said, like it was obvious. “Older, stable, thick, pretty, all her own body parts , and. Regular women will eat that shit up. Y’all could be a power couple.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Jordin is off-limits for your publicity schemes. She’ll be pissed if you pull anything.”
Tyrell frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Since when do you care about boundaries? Or pissing people off, for that matter?”
I ignored him. Lila, my publicist, was nodding in agreement , though, and chimed in.
“He’s not wrong,” she said, tucking her phone into her purse. “She’s got that everyday woman appeal. Smart, talented, gorgeous. It could change the narrative around you, especially after the shit with your dad.”
I shot her a look that shut her up quick. “I said no. We done here?”
Neither of them answered, so I walked out, ready to get back to Jordin and enjoy the rest of the night.
When I stepped into the main area, I spotted her right away. She was near the bar, her arms crossed over her chest, her face tight. Some random nigga was standing too close, leaning into her space.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before I told them to, my vision turning red. By the time I got close enough to hear them, I saw him grab her arm.
I snapped.
“Let her fucking go,” I yelled over the music.
The guy turned, his grip still on her arm. He didn’t look scared. Just annoyed. That’s what was wrong with Miami niggas—they didn’t know when they’d already lost. I was going to beat his ass for touching Jordin and treating me like a bitch.
“Mind your fucking busi—
Glorilla’s voice over the speakers distorted into a dull, throbbing hum in my ears, as a red haze clouded my vision. My fist connected with his jaw before he finished his sentence. The crack was loud enough to be heard over.
I didn’t stop hitting him. My knuckles met his face again and again. He couldn’t even fight back; he settled for trying to block, but I was on him.
“Ciarán, stop!” Jordin’s voice broke through the haze.
She was pulling at my arms. Despite her voice calming me a bit and knowing everybody probably had their phone out, I couldn’t stop.
He should have never touched her. Him and anybody else, I’d kill them for touch her, and the little voice in the back of my head, the one I kept locked in a deep, dark box, whispered, Don't stop . He deserves to die. .
Suddenly I was rushed. It took two bouncers to pull me off him. My chest heaved ; my knuckles were raw and throbbing. I came back to my senses. The guy was curled up on the floor, leaking.
“Get the fuck off me!”
My guards came out of nowhere to handle it.
I grabbed Jordin’s hand, pulling her toward the exit. “Let’s fucking go.”
She didn’t argue.
Outside, my two security guards I had hired to watch her specifically were leaned up against the car. I swear I had to stop myself from taking the rest of my anger out on them. Useless motherfuckers.
“Where the fuck were you two?” I snapped, my voice echoing in the parking lot.
They opened their mouths, trying to explain, but I wasn’t hearing it.
“You’re fired,” I said, my voice cold. “Both of you. Get the fuck out of my face.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I pulled Jordin toward the car, opening the door for her before getting in myself.
The silence in the car was heavy, her fingers twisting in her lap as I gripped the wheel. A few blocks down, I pulled over, cutting the engine.
“Are you okay?” I asked, turning to face her. I didn’t like that she was upset.
She nodded, but her hands were still shaking. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “But you’re not. You’re going to end up all over social media for this. You don’t need that.”
“Fuck social media,” I said. “I don’t care about that. I care about you. He shouldn’t have had his hands on you.”
She blinked, her lips parting like she didn’t know what to say.
“You’re my priority, Jordin. Fuck everything else.”
She didn’t have a comeback. She was just staring at me like she wasn’t sure what to do with what I’d just said. Then she simply nodded and turned to look out the window.