Chapter 5
Cassandra
“Excuse me,” I mutter, slipping through a group of gathered men to make my way toward the bathroom sign at the end of the dark hallway.
I pass a long series of mahogany doors with shiny gold handles and meticulously detailed engravings before finding the right place.
The bathroom is a revelation: clean and elegant, like something from a mansion, complete with tasteful furnishings and a crisp white fainting couch beside the entrance.
My second overwhelmed giggle of the night escapes before I can catch it.
This is a far cry from squatting over nasty toilets in smoky, spray-painted stalls.
This place represents a side of New York that people like me were never supposed to see, like tasting expensive, aged wine before you can afford to dislike the eight-dollar bottles from the grocery store’s bottom shelf.
After finishing up, I step back into the hallway. The sudden transition from bright bathroom lights to dim corridor lighting assaults my vision. My eyes squeeze shut as I reach for the wall, but my grip falters and my body sways.
My eyes snap open just as I slam into something solid—wait, not a wall, but a hard body. I reverberate backward, arms splaying out as I brace for impact with the floor.
The collision never comes.
Instead, my fingertips brush a silky material, and a large arm slides behind my waist, catching me. My gaze drags up from the dark fabric to the base of a strong neck, black lines teasing tattoos beneath the fabric.
When I lift my eyes higher, every drop of blood in my veins turns to ice.
Deep blue eyes stare back at me. Familiar. Haunting.
“Little Menace,” he says, voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest.
I forget how to breathe.
I’m frozen, still as prey in a rifle’s scope, while my brain scrambles to process the impossible. The figure from that nightmarish night months ago stands before me, alive and whole, his shirt clutched in my trembling fingers. That strange endearment falling from his full lips.
“How are you enjoying my club?” The question carries a hint of amusement that shakes me from my stupor.
“This is your club?” I search his face for deception. “As in...it belongs to you?”
Over the months, his features blurred in my memory—lines were less sharp, and his presence was less commanding. He’d become more phantom than man. Seeing him now, inches away, makes it impossible to deny the fascinating blend of strength and beauty carved into his face.
He’d seemed smaller in my memories, too, crumpled and vulnerable on cold asphalt. The man before me is anything but diminished. His massive frame dwarfs mine, looming like a statue carved from shadows.
“One of my clubs,” he replies, that easy smile still playing at his lips. His fingers tense against my back, a reminder that he’s still supporting me.
It’s disorienting seeing him so composed. Clean black suit, well-groomed stubble, everything polar opposite to his condition that night. He breathes deeply, and I realize I’ve never seen him without blood choking his words.
“You are one difficult woman to find.”
He waits, as if expecting some sarcastic response, but I’m drowning in the impossibility of it all. My eyes drift to his chest. To the smooth expanse of fabric covering the spot where I’d watched blood pour from his lungs on that frozen night.
Before I can stop myself, my fingers lift to brush the top button of his shirt.
He shudders.
The cocky smile falters, replaced by something unreadable and raw. I snatch my hand back, heat flooding my cheeks.
Jesus, why did I do that?
I take several quick steps back, untangling myself from his arms. Distance helps clear my head, sharpening my survival instincts. You’re a witness, Cassandra. Witnesses aren’t supposed to get caught.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I rush out in a single breath, fear flickering to life in my chest. “And I don’t plan to. Ever.”
“Okay,” he says simply, too casual.
But I know better. I saw something that night. Something a man like him can’t afford to have spread around.
The hallway, I realize with growing unease, is empty now. The people who’d been lingering here before have vanished.
He’s isolated me without my noticing.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Menace.” His voice gentles, noting my tension.
The reassurance doesn’t help.
I need to leave. Grab Sophia and get home before he changes his mind. The only thing keeping me rooted is the surprising sincerity in his tone.
“I’m serious. You won’t come to any harm here.” His gaze refocuses on mine, softening in a way that’s almost disarming. “Besides, I owe you my life. The least I can do is buy you a drink.”
His hand drifts to where my fingers had touched, brushing against the phantom wound only we know exists. Something hopeful flickers in his expression, and I don’t know what to make of it.
“No thanks...” I trail off, realizing I don’t even know his name. The owner of the gun hidden beneath my bed stands less than a foot away, and I don’t know his name.
“Mikhail,” he provides, extending his palm in a mockery of introduction—as if we hadn’t sat together in that bloody alley, arguing about ambulances and dying bodies.
I shake my head at the absurdity.
“Cassandra.” I grasp his offered hand, returning the surreal gesture.
Instead of releasing him like a normal person would, I find myself holding on, basking in the warmth and strength of his grip. The moment stretches between us, charged with something I can’t name.
“My friend—I...” Self-awareness floods through me. “I have to go.”
I slip free and spin on my heel, his low chuckle following me down the hallway like a ghost.
When I reach the bar where Soph still sits, enrapturing her latest conquest with coy smiles, the fear twisting in my stomach has transformed into something more confusing. Adrenaline still courses through me from the encounter, making everything feel dreamlike.
Mikhail.
Finally, a name for the specter haunting every dark corner I’ve passed these last months. But as I replay our conversation, fear isn’t the primary emotion surfacing. He’s undeniably attractive—that sculpted jaw, those piercing eyes echoing the thought I’d had when we first met.
A criminal with pretty eyes.
Though, now I’m not sure what kind of criminal he could be. And I have no idea what to make of what he told me.
I brush Sophia’s shoulder to announce my return, then reach for her drink and drain it in one gulp. She cuts off mid-sentence, mouth agape as her eyebrows shoot up.
“You good, Cass?” Genuine concern colors her voice as she gives me a once-over.
“Yeah, just thirsty.” I force a smile.
Sophia gets so few opportunities to relax. I won’t ruin her night out with my complications, even if I do think she deserves better than the selfish prick she’s settled for.
I slide onto the barstool, resting my elbows on the glossy obsidian surface.
Despite Mikhail’s nonchalant front, I can’t shake my skepticism.
The man was shot. That has to mess with someone.
But the way he promised I’d be safe, the seriousness in his gaze when he mentioned owing me his life.
..he’d have to be an incredible actor to fake that authenticity.
Unwillingly, my mind drifts back to his angular face and imposing frame. A gorgeous man like that is probably used to getting whatever he wants. A face like that was never meant for the right side of the law.
Half an hour passes in a blur. Soph entertains the same drooling guy while he finds increasingly obvious excuses to move closer. I nurse my drink, spiraling through thoughts and feelings triggered by my earlier encounter.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Sophia:
Hey girl! Feel free to say no, but Scott asked me back to his place. Would it be okay if we met up at my sister’s later?
Cass:
Yeah, of course! I was gonna head out soon anyway. For the record, you could do so much better than Scott, even for a fling.
Sophia:
I know, I know, but can’t blame a girl for taking what’s available. He’s really not so bad when you get to know him!
I set my phone down and lifted a skeptical brow.
“Stop that, it’s true!” She laughs, playfully smacking my arm before wrapping me in a hug and pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“I’ll be tracking you. Tell the little shit to behave himself.”
She laughs and heads over to her conquest, whispering something that makes him beam. I watch them leave arm in arm, Sophia blowing me a kiss over her shoulder.
Now what? I check the time, sighing. At least one of us will have a good night. I’m not the best company right now anyway. My mind keeps drifting back to that dark hallway, replaying every word exchanged with Mikhail like it’s some code that will unlock its secrets after enough repetition.
My neck aches from staring down at my empty glass. I rub my shoulder and stretch, wondering if it’s embarrassingly early to call it a night.
A sudden touch on my back makes me jump.
I glance over my shoulder, some treacherous part of me hoping for piercing blue eyes. Instead, I meet unfamiliar, dull brown ones with an expectant smile. Sharp disappointment cuts through me.
I look away, flicking my straw at the melting ice in my glass.
“Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?”
Refusal sits ready on my tongue. I have no reason to stay since Sophia’s gone, and I’m not in the mood for small talk. But...I glance up at the beautiful room bathed in streams of light.
I’ll probably never find myself back here again. There’s something appealing about staying as long as possible before this night becomes just another fading memory. My desire to linger has nothing to do with a certain gorgeous club owner’s unexpected reappearance.
That would be pathetic.
“Sure. I’m Cassandra.” I offer the newcomer my most welcoming smile. His features seem muted compared to the man trapped in my thoughts. I shake his clammy hand, feeling none of the electricity I’d experienced with Mikhail.