8. Jazz
8
JAZZ
H is kiss consumes me, a dizzying mix of fear and desire flooding my senses. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel the power behind his lips as they claim mine. A part of me screams to push him away, to run from the danger that radiates off him like a dark aura. But another part, a primal, hungry part, wants to pull him closer, to surrender to this intoxicating insanity.
"What are you doing to me?" I whisper against his mouth, a feeble protest that dies as he deepens the kiss.
His hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto his desk. The cold wood against my back is a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he steps between my legs, pressing closer.
"Whatever I want, little dove." His voice is a low growl, a sound that vibrates through me, igniting a fire in my belly.
His hands tangle in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my neck. He trails kisses down my jaw, my throat, each touch of his lips sending shivers down my spine.
I should stop him. I should push him away, slap him, do something to break this spell. But my body betrays me, arching into his touch, craving more. My fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close instead of pushing him away.
"This is crazy," I gasp, even as my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him tighter against me.
And holy fuck is he packing. It takes everything in me not to start grinding wildly against him, but he is huge and thick. Even though his pants, I can feel him, and it makes me burn hotter. I didn't think I could want him anymore, but I feel dizzy with need.
He chuckles, a dark sound that sends a thrill of fear and excitement through me. "Crazy is my specialty, Jazz." His teeth graze my earlobe, a sharp nip that makes me jolt. "You can't tell me you don't want this. I can feel it. You're trembling."
I am trembling. My whole body is alive, electric, every nerve ending sparking under his touch. I want to deny it, to tell him he's wrong, that I don't want him. But the words won't come.
Instead, I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him with a ferocity that matches his own. This time, I might just give in. This time, I might let the darkness consume me.
But then the sharp rap of knuckles against wood shatters our moment. My heart hammers against my ribs as Nerio freezes, his mouth pulled back an inch from mine.
"Fuck." The word slides between his teeth as his forehead drops to rest against mine. His fingers flex against my hips, reluctant to let go.
The knocking grows more insistent. Three quick strikes that echo through his office.
"Capo! There's a situation that needs your attention." A muffled voice carries through the door.
I untangle my legs from his waist, smoothing down my skirt with trembling hands. His eyes lock with mine, storm-gray and filled with promises of unfinished business.
"Give me a minute," Nerio barks over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his tie, and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. The transformation is immediate - from passionate lover to cold-blooded capo in seconds.
"We're not done here," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. The touch sends electricity down my spine.
"Boss, it's urgent." The voice sounds strained now, nervous.
Nerio stalks to the door, each step radiating controlled power. He yanks it open, filling the frame with his imposing presence. "What?"
I slip off his desk, willing my legs to steady beneath me as I try to collect myself. My lips still tingle from his kiss, my skin burning where he touched me.
Marco's face is tight with tension as he steps into the doorway. "The Mantiones are making moves near the south warehouse. They've got at least twenty guys."
"Those fucking idiots." Nerio's jaw clenches. He turns back to me, his eyes dark and intense. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Stay in the club. Don't leave until I send someone for you."
"I can handle myself-"
"Jazz." His voice cuts through my protest. "Please. Just this once, do what I ask."
The urgency in his tone makes my stomach twist, and I doubt he ever says please. That alone makes me want to listen to him. So I nod, and he presses a hard kiss to my mouth before striding out with Marco.
I lean against his desk, trying to steady my racing heart. Through the open door, I hear rapid footsteps and urgent voices fade down the hallway.
Twenty minutes pass in tense silence before heavy boots echo down the corridor. Two men I recognize from the club security detail appear in the doorway - Tony and Keith.
"Miss Holliday." Tony gestures to the hallway. "Boss wants you moved to his private quarters upstairs."
"Why?"
"Just following orders, ma'am." Keith's hand rests on his hip, near what I'm sure is a concealed weapon.
I grab my purse and follow them through the winding back corridors of the club. The thrum of bass from the dance floor vibrates through the walls, a stark contrast to the tension in the air.
They lead me to Nerio's upstairs sanctuary - a space I've only glimpsed before. It's all dark wood and leather, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a secret entrance that's impossible to find if you don't know where to look for it.
"We'll be right outside if you need anything," Tony says, pulling the door closed.
I sink into one of the leather chairs, my fingers tracing the smooth armrests. The city lights twinkle beyond the glass, peaceful and oblivious to whatever dangerous game is playing out in the shadows tonight.
My phone buzzes against the leather armrest, making me jump. The screen lights up with an unknown number. The message sends ice through my veins:
Pretty little club manager. Is he worth dying for?
Another buzz.
Tick tock. Choose wisely
A photo appears. It's me leaving work three days ago, heading to my car. The timestamp shows 2:53 AM.
"Shit." I stand up, pacing the length of Nerio's office. My hands shake as I dial his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.
"Miss Holliday?" Tony's voice comes through the door. "Everything okay in there?"
"Fine," I call back, but my voice cracks.
The phone buzzes again. This time it's a video. My finger hovers over the play button before I press it. The footage shows me at my favorite coffee shop this morning, laughing with the barista. Then it cuts to me watering the plants on my rooftop garden yesterday evening.
They've been watching. For days.
The phone slips from my trembling fingers, clattering onto the desk. I brace myself against the cool wood, trying to steady my breathing. The city lights blur through the windows as tears sting my eyes.
And then I watch as the messages suddenly delete themselves, leaving no trace. I grab my phone, trying to screenshot, to save something, anything - but they're gone. Only the memory remains, burning into my mind like a brand.
The chill crawling up my spine spreads through my entire body. I wrap my arms around myself, but I can't stop shaking. They're watching. Right now. Somewhere out there in the glittering cityscape, eyes are on this building. On me.
I've become a target. All because I let myself get tangled up with a capo who sets my world on fire with a single touch.