Chapter 6
AbrAM
“Is this man bothering you ladies?” My voice is flat and accent neutral. No hint of the Russian bite that usually sharpens my words. I don’t want to be recognized. Not yet.
Jenna turns to me, unmistakable, even behind the mask.
She’s even more stunning here than she is in my office.
The red hair, the tight little dress hugging those damn curves.
Her friend’s beautiful too—tall, model-thin—but Jenna burns like a flare in the dark.
She looks up at me, mouth parted slightly, her expression flickering between surprise and sultry.
The man beside her stiffens. “Who the fuck are you?”
He shrugs my hand off his shoulder and squares up to me. He’s taller than I expected, but he’s sloppy. His pupils are blown wide, posture unsteady. He reeks of cheap cologne and beer.
“She’s with me,” he says. “Back the fuck off. I’ve got dibs.”
Jenna snaps before I have to. “Nobody has dibs on me.”
There’s that fire. Real heat, not just a show put on to appear brave. Her voice cuts through clean and sharp, like a woman who’s had enough bullshit for one night.
I want to smile, but the prick doesn’t let up. He scoffs, gesturing at Jenna like she’s something on a clearance rack. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. No one has dibs because no one wants them.”
The blood in my veins goes molten. I breathe in through my nose, slow and steady. The club isn’t for violence. It's for pleasure. But every part of me wants to break this man’s wrist just for touching her.
Instead, I lift a hand and snap my fingers once. Two bouncers materialize out of the shadows. Big, silent, efficient.
“Escort him out,” I say. “And his friend.”
“No, man, this is bullshit.”
The bouncers don’t move, waiting for my final word. “Escort them out,” I repeat firmly.”
The mouthy one’s nostrils flare. His neck flushes an ugly shade of drunk-red, and he turns to me with a sneer. “Why don’t you escort me out, fucker?”
I tilt my head, studying him like a puzzle.
He’s rail-thin, all bark, and probably thinks he’s tougher than he really is because no one’s ever shown him otherwise.
I could drop him in two seconds flat, but I’ve been in enough fights to know better.
Even the ones you expect to be easy can go sideways.
A bad fall. A cracked skull on the edge of a table.
One mistake and you’re knee-deep in lawsuits and blood.
Not worth it. Not for trash like him.
“Last chance,” I tell him. “Walk out. While you still can.”
He’s past listening. He swings his fist sloppily at me—a wide, drunken arc—all shoulder and no control.
I pivot, smooth as oil, his momentum working against him.
A quick sidestep and his ribs are exposed.
I drive my fist into his gut with brutal efficiency.
A muted grunt escapes him as all the air is driven out of his lungs.
He crumples forward, gasping like a fish on a dock.
No one on the main floor notices. Good. That’s exactly how I like it.
I grab his shoulder and place my mouth near his ear. “You’ve got two choices,” I murmur. “Walk out or be wheeled out.”
His buddy’s frozen in place but not stupid. After a few seconds, he steps in and pulls his friend upright, steadying him as the fool wheezes and gurgles, still trying to catch his breath.
“We’re going,” the friend mutters. “We’re going.”
“Smart man,” I say, brushing invisible dust from my sleeve.
They stagger away under the bouncers’ silent escort, the stupid one still hunched over, still wheezing. I watch until they disappear into the hallway.
Only then do I turn back to her.
She stands nearby, those wide, startled eyes fixed on me. Her lips are slightly parted, as if she’s forgotten how to close them. I let my shoulders ease, just a fraction.
“You alright?” I ask, my voice low and with the American accent.
She nods once. “Yeah. I think so.”
She’s breathless and a little flushed. The color in her cheeks does something dangerous to me. Makes me want to see what else I can coax out of her.
Her friend moves beside her, arm sliding around her waist protectively. She looks at me like she’s trying to place me.
She won’t.
I offer, “Drinks. On the house. Least I can do.”
The friend smiles politely. “That’s kind of you, but we’re okay.”
Jenna doesn’t agree. “Actually, I’d love a drink. Thank you.”
I smile beneath the edge of my mask, just enough for her to see it in my eyes. “Coming right up.”
A quick snap of my fingers and the bartender nods.
I should leave. I should walk away now, while I still have control. But I don’t. I stay.
She’s watching me intently, trying to read the man behind the mask. I lean in, close enough to smell her perfume—light, feminine, and subtle. “Men like that,” I murmur near her ear, “don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
She shivers once. She tries to hide it with a sip of her drink, but I catch it.
“I need to go, um, freshen myself up,” the friend says. “You guys get comfortable.” She hurries away before either of us can say anything.
I take a seat. Jenna eases herself into the booth next to me. The silence stretches as we get used to being close to one another. No touching. No flirting. Just presence. I’ve found women melt faster under stillness than under pressure.
She looks at me, eyes flicking over my mask, then to my dyed beard. “Do I get your name?”
I pause. “You don’t. That’s part of the fun.”
I spot a slight smile below the mask before she says, “I get it. Still feels weird, though. Names are the most basic information you get from someone when you first meet them. Before, you know…”
I raise an eyebrow. “You know what?”
Her eyes flash. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m doing anything like that tonight. Sorry. Still just trying to figure out exactly how to handle myself here.”
I chuckle. “You’re doing fine.”
Her curves shift as she turns slightly toward me. My cock twitches. My fingers want her waist. My mouth wants her throat. But I behave.
“Oh, am I?”
I nod. “You are. And, what’s more, I like the way you carry yourself.”
She huffs a small, surprised breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I murmur, “you walk like someone who doesn’t know how beautiful she is.”
She frowns and looks down, smiling shyly like she doesn’t believe me. That’s alright. By the end of the night, she will.
I lean back slightly. “You’re not used to compliments, are you?”
She shrugs. “Not the sincere kind.”
“Then let me be clear. You’re stunning. More than that, you’re arresting.”
Her eyes flick to mine, wary now. “Arresting, huh? Careful. That almost sounded poetic.”
“I’m not the poetic type,” I reply. “But I am the kind of man who says exactly what he means. The type of man who goes after exactly what he wants.”
“And what is it you want?” she asks.
I tilt my head, allowing her to feel the heat of my attention like a hand sliding over her skin. “I want to know what makes you sigh,” I say finally. “What makes you curse. What makes you lose that tight grip on your composure.”
Her lips part slightly. A flush creeps up her throat, delicate and pink. “I don’t even know your name,” she says. It’s not a protest, it’s armor, thin and trembling.
I smile. Slow. Dangerous. “You don’t need it. Not tonight.”
She raises a brow. “Oh, so now you think you can tell me what I need?”
I lean in. “More than that. I want to show you what you need.”
She exhales shakily, a sound that betrays just how off-kilter she feels. But she doesn’t move away. She doesn’t shut me down. Instead, she lifts her chin and meets my gaze.
“Are you always like this?”
“Only when I see something I want.”
Another beat. Then her lips twitch, the sass I love reasserting itself. “And you always get what you want?”
“Usually,” I admit, eyes dropping to her mouth.
She bites her lip, trying not to smile. Like she can’t quite believe this is happening. I can see the battle behind her eyes—logic versus lust, good sense versus curiosity.
And she’s losing.
She turns a little more toward me. Not much, just enough so her thigh brushes mine.
And fuck, I feel it everywhere.
Her friend returns a moment later. She’s cool and composed, but her eyes flick quickly between us, clocking the tension.
Jenna’s gaze flicks to her like she’s been jolted awake.
Relief blooms in her expression, but there’s something else layered beneath it.
Disappointment, maybe. Like she didn’t want the moment to end.
“Hey,” her friend says, a hint of mischief in her voice. “I just met a very hot guy who asked me to join him.” She lifts a brow at Jenna. “Unless you want me to stay?”
It’s not really a question. Even I can hear the undercurrent—this is her out. The moment of truth. If she says yes, the night ends here. A polite thank you and a smile, and she’ll be off with her chaperone, safe and untouched.
But if she says no…
Jenna looks between us. Takes a breath. “No,” she says softly. “You go have fun.”
Her friend beams, eyes turning back to me with a knowing glint. She didn’t meet anyone. That was for Jenna’s benefit. She gives her a quick hug, whispers something in her ear, then disappears into the crowd.
Once again we’re alone.
I rise from my seat and extend my hand. “Join me upstairs? My booth is private, we’ll be a little more secluded.”
She hesitates before placing her fingers in mine. “Yeah. Sure.”
Her hand is small. Soft and warm. Mine swallows it whole.
When she stands, a slow, volcanic surge of desire pushes heat through my limbs. Her dress clings to her body in all the right places, hugging her curves like a lover’s touch. Her cleavage teases just above the neckline, her hips sway as she moves, and the scent of her wraps around me like silk.
My cock stirs to life, thickening with each beat of my pulse.
She doesn’t notice. Or, if she does, she pretends not to.
I smile, grateful again for the mask.
Anonymous fun—that’s what this place is about. What she came here for. What I came here for.
Except she’s Jenna Ridley.
My assistant. My temptation. The line I swore I’d never cross.
And here she is, stepping willingly yet unknowingly into the fire.
I lead her through the club and up the stairs to my private booth overlooking the floor. The crowd parts around us without a word. Staff and patrons know better than to interfere. I hold her hand for as long as I can, fingers brushing against the throbbing pulse in her delicate wrist.
She doesn’t pull away.
When we reach the booth, I let her slip inside first. She pauses as she takes in the view—the plush velvet, the candlelight glowing low and gold. I watch her closely, watch the way her mouth parts with a soft exhale. She’s nervous. Excited.
Perfect.
I slide in beside her. Not touching. Not yet.
Anticipation weighs heavily between us.
She has no idea who I am. But I know exactly who she is.
And I’m going to make damn sure she never forgets what it feels like to be wanted.
Desired.
Ruined.
Mine.