3. Chloe
I climb the couple of steps into Caged, tilting slightly on my too-high heels. They would probably be fine if it weren’t for the few shots of vodka I did before leaving the house.
There’s a pleasant buzz flooding through my system, warming me up to the point I barely notice the chilly bite in the air outside of the club.
Once we’re inside, and the pounding of the bass hits me, along with the warmth of all the bodies swaying together in the packed nightclub, I can finally breathe.
The alcohol and the noise have done their job, quieting the incessant voices inside my head to the point I can ignore them entirely. I’m able to be present in the here and now, instead of getting lost in the darkness of the past.
I feel a hand press against my back and freeze, whipping my head around to see who is touching me. My brother, Jacob, is giving me his usual smile, but his piercing brown eyes are looking at me with a little more scrutiny now.
He leans in slightly, bending until his lips are near my ear, and I try my best not to look as stiff as I feel. “ You okay?”
I may trust my brother more than most, but I don’t like people in my personal space, unless it’s my choice. “I’m fine. Let's get a drink,” I say through my fake smile, gesturing towards the bar.
He looks at me for another moment, and I hate the way it makes me feel—exposed. I attempt to brush it off, widening my smile to the point my cheeks hurt, as I approach the bar.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel his hand drop from my back. I can still feel his looming presence beside me, following me, and I try to focus on the buzz from before.
It doesn't take long for us to reach the bar, and it’s even less time before the server abandons who he was about to serve, ignoring their complaints, and heads straight over to us.
With a polite smile, and a respectful head nod, he addresses Jacob. “Mr Santoro, it’s good to see you again. What can I get you?”
Jacob smiles at the man's polite respect, but I see him bristle slightly at the use of his surname. It reminds him too much of our dad, and that’s the last thing Jake would ever want.
“I’ll have a beer, please,” he says, before turning to me. “What about you, Clo?”
The server turns his attention to me. “Pink gin and tonic, please.”
Without another word, the man moves to the bar behind him to start making our drinks. I take a moment to look around the club, though it’s hard to pick out small details as the room is full.
I have a love-hate relationship with this club. A bit like with its owner , I think. Then I have to scold myself for thinking of that arsehole at all.
Although Marcus has been Jake’s best friend for as long as I can remember, we’ve never been friends. I have had a crush on him forever, but it’s very much one-sided. In fact, I actively try not to find him attractive, by focusing on his fucking miserable personality—but it never works. No matter how much of an arsehole he is, I can’t seem to stop myself.
So when I tell myself I’m looking around the club to see who else is here, or maybe to check out the people dancing in the cages, I know I’m just trying to bullshit my own brain.
Of course, I’m looking for him. I just don’t know if I’m pleased or not when I don’t see him.
The server grabs my attention, letting me know my drink is ready. As I turn to pick it up, I notice there are two shot glasses, filled with what looks to be vodka, next to our drinks.
I turn to my brother, my eyebrow raised in question. “I figured we could do some shots,” he replies with a shrug of his shoulders.
He grabs one of the shot glasses and raises it in the air, as though he’s going to make a toast. He looks pointedly at the one that’s meant for me, waiting until I pick it up. Once I have, his mischievous grin grows.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“I mean, we can always toast your engagement,” he states sarcastically.
I glower at him until he looks away from the heat in my stare. “I’m not sure which I want to toast more… Our arsehole dad who’s selling me off to the highest bidder, or the disgusting prick who bought me.”
A shiver ripples down my spine as I think about the meeting yesterday, when I was officially proposed to by Scott Caprillo. Though calling it a proposal seems insincere, as it’s not like I was allowed to turn him down.
I had to hold my hand out and let him slide the massive gaudy diamond onto my ring finger, before he placed a kiss on my lips, despite the fact I'd barely spoken to him prior to that meeting.
It took every ounce of strength not to scream, cry, or vomit all over his ridiculously shiny shoes. No matter how much my family warned me this day would come, there was a small part of me that hoped it never would.
I thought my family loved me too much to hurt me like this, to take my choices away.
I should have known what I want doesn’t matter. People have been taking things from me my whole life, I just hoped the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally would be different.
Jacob is, and always has been, the exception to this. Despite us arguing like all brothers and sisters do, we are good friends. We’ve been looking out for each other since we were kids.
With only a year between us, we grew up close, and being brought up in the mafia lifestyle meant there were very few people we could trust except each other.
Jake hates the responsibilities that have been thrust upon him, he never wanted to be the leader of our family. He still doesn’t want to be part of this life, and if he could get away from it, he would. So I know he despises the idea of me being used in another one of our dad’s power plays just as much as I do.
“Let’s toast to the arseholes we hate and love to dream about killing,” Jake says, dragging a laugh from my lips as he clinks his shot glass against mine.
We both pour the liquid down our throats, and I’m basking in the delicious burn, when a deep rumbling voice echoes into my ear from behind me, sending a shiver down my spine.
“You wouldn’t be toasting about me, would you?”
I don’t need to turn around to know Marcus Morelli is standing behind me, and I curse the way my body tingles for a completely different reason at his proximity. His closeness doesn’t make me freeze up the way other people do, and it takes every bit of willpower not to think about why that might be.
Jacob chuckles, reaching out to shake hands with his friend. I look up at Marcus, hating how small he makes me feel, even with these ridiculously high heels on. He’s not even looking at me, and that sets my teeth on edge more.
“Well, you are an arsehole, but I can’t say I’ve got any plans to kill you,” Jake responds.
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter under my breath.
Apparently, I wasn’t as quiet as I’d hoped when Marcus lazily flicks his gaze over to meet mine. He looks at me with those piercing blue eyes, like I’m nothing more than an annoyance to him, and my temper rages beneath the surface.
“I’d like to see you try.”
There’s a dangerous edge to his voice that should wind me up, but the deep breathy tone only makes me feel hotter. Blush spreads across my cheeks, and I really hope it’s hot enough in here for me to be able to pass it off as being overheated.
“You wouldn’t see me coming.” It’s a much quicker comeback than I was expecting, and I’m quietly pleased with myself…or I am until he opens his mouth with a retort.
He leans in close, his breath fluttering across my ear so that only I can hear. “I’d definitely watch if you were coming.”
My heart races, feeling like it’s going to beat out of my chest. A shiver ripples down my spine, and I hate how my stomach turns like I’m a teenage girl with a crush.
My mouth flops open and closed like a fish, while my brain whirls, trying to think of something to say to that.
Is he flirting with me?
Before I can come up with a response, he steps in front of me, giving me his back, in a dismissive gesture that stuns me. I’m startled, but mostly I’m angry that he can say something like that to me, and then block me out of the conversation like I’m not even here. To say this man gives me fucking whiplash is an understatement.
He’s talking to my brother like I’m not behind him, and I have to lean around him to try and be part of the conversation. Marcus steps in when Jake calls over the server to order more shots.
“I told you, I’m not getting pissed tonight. And you promised me you’d take it easy too,” Marcus says in that annoying authoritative voice he uses, sounding more than a little judgemental .
Jake’s eyes narrow at him, and I can see he’s just as annoyed by Marcus’ meddling as I am.
“I said I wouldn’t do drugs, and I’m not. I never said anything about drinking.”
“Your eyes are like fucking pinpricks, Jake. Don’t lie to me,” he seethes, but my brother just rolls his eyes at Marcus’ judgemental tone.
“I didn’t take anything in your club, like I promised. You never said anything about me taking them before I left hope. Loophole!” he cheers, and I can’t help but smile when I see Marcus gritting his teeth.
I might not like my brother doing drugs, and I happen to agree with Marcus that he needs to drastically cut back on his partying, but I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to enjoy Marcus being wound up. The tick in his jaw and the fierce look in his eyes betrays just how annoyed he is.
“Since you’re already high as a fucking kite, you definitely don’t need any more alcohol,” he snaps, grabbing the two shots of vodka that the bartender had just placed in front of Jake.
Reaching around his ridiculously bulky frame, I grab hold of the shot glasses. Jake’s gaze flicks over to me, and Marcus has to turn around so that he can glare at me. I take advantage of this movement by throwing back both shots, one after the other, before slamming the empty glasses onto the bartop.
“Thanks, I needed those,” I state with a very smug smile. Before either of them can scold me like a child, I turn away and head towards the dance floor.
I hear their shouts from behind me, but I can’t work out which one is saying what. Honestly, I don’t care either. I’ve had more than enough of people telling me what to do recently. Tonight was supposed to be about me coming out, having a bit of fun, and forgetting all about the life that’s being forced on me in just six weeks.
When you have a giant ticking clock hovering over your head, counting down until your life will change forever, it makes you so much more aware of the time you have left. It makes me want to make my own decisions while I still can.
All my life, people have been making decisions for me, telling me what to do, and simply taking it if I refuse. This is all my life will be once I’m a mafia wife. I’ll be a trophy wife, forced to obey the rules of my husband, whilst being viewed as a second-class citizen in my own life.
I have six weeks until my life changes forever, and even though I’m no different than I was yesterday when the engagement was forced on me, I want to be different. I want to make the most of the next six weeks, by making all the decisions I can, while I can. It’s a false sense of freedom, and it’s only temporary, but it’s the best I have .
So, I’m going to drink way too many shots…because I can. I’m going to stand in the middle of the dance floor, dancing like nobody's watching…because I want to.
Then I’m going to pick a guy and let him take me home, making sure I’m the one to take all the pleasure I want, not him…because that’s what I need.
I need to be the one making the decisions, choosing what I’m willing to do and when I say no.
It may only be temporary, but I’m going to make the most of it while I can.
With this mindset firm, I stand in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by lots of hot, sweaty bodies who are all losing themselves in the music, and I let go of everything that makes me behave the way people expect.
I turn off the voices in my head, and I let the music infuse through my veins. The bass thrums in time with my beating heart, like they’re one in the same. I sway my hips and throw my hands in the air, getting lost in the music.
I’m aware of the bodies around me, but I’m so deep in my own bubble, I couldn’t even pick out faces or features. It doesn’t matter who they are…I’m dancing for me.
When I feel a firm pair of hands grab onto my hips, the heat of a body crowding my back, I freeze for just a moment. Alarm bells ring in my head at the proximity, and the fact someone is touching me without my permission. I try to take some calming breaths, to push away the not-so irrational fear that is threatening to ruin my buzz.
I turn my head slightly to find a young blonde guy standing behind me, swaying his hips in time with the music as he holds on to mine. Although he has hold of me, and is standing closer than I’d like, he’s not pulling me into him the way some guys do.
I take a moment to look him over, his seemingly nice smile being the thing that prompts me to give him a chance. He’s a couple of inches taller than me— nowhere near as tall as Marcus, I think to myself, before pushing all comparisons to him from my mind.
He looks to be about my age, with floppy dirty-blonde hair that curls slightly on the ends, and green eyes that are a little dull looking. His white shirt is tight around his biceps, showing he has some large muscles on his biceps, but he’s bigger across his arms and chest than anywhere else.
He looks like he lifts weights, but focuses more on his upper body, which gives him an asymmetrical look. His top half is bigger than his bottom, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Objectively, he’s not bad looking. He’s got a cute face and a nice smile, and when he moves his hips, it’s clear he’s got rhythm. I’m also a little impressed he’s dancing at all, as not a lot of men like to dance, unless they think it’ll get a woman into bed—which could be why this guy is doing it, but there’s something in the way he moves that suggests he might enjoy it.
“I’m Sam.” He opts to shout at me rather than leaning in, so that I can hear him clearer. I’m pleased he’s not leaning more into my personal space.
“Chloe,” I reply, before pointedly looking down at where his hands are on my hips.
His eyes follow the direction of mine, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, his lips twist into a bigger smile. “I was watching you dance and couldn’t help myself. I was wondering if you’d dance with me.”
I already am, given you put your hands on my hips without my permission, I shout in my head.
Luckily, the connection between my mouth and brain is severely delayed thanks to the alcohol, and I decide not to say that aloud, since I’m trying to have fun, and be in control of my own decisions. Maybe I want to dance with him.
“I think we can have one dance,” I reply, giving him my best flirty smile, hoping like hell it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels.
I’m fucking awful at flirting.
His smile widens as his eyes darken hungrily. His grip on my hips tightens and he pulls me against him, my back pressed into his chest. I do my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach that I always get when someone gets a little too close.
I allow the alcohol and the loud thrumming bass to flow through me, loosening my tight limbs as I try to block out everything around me.
I’ve always loved to dance. There’s something completely freeing about closing off your mind, feeling the music consume you, as you move your body without thought. My hips sway in a way I normally don’t have the confidence to move them, and my whole body is looser.
As Sam’s hands glide from my hips down to my thighs and across my lower abdomen, I squeeze my eyes closed and bite the inside of my cheek to stop the intrusive thoughts from returning.
I call on the deepest parts of my imagination, trying to imagine that the hands on me belong to someone else. The first image that flashes into my head isn’t one I want to think about, but he’s been the subject of my dreams for as long as I can remember.
No matter how much of an arsehole he is to me, and how often I’m reminded that I’m not supposed to like him, or want him, I can’t help myself. There’s just something about Marcus that has always drawn me to him, even when I try not to.
I’m not completely delusional. I know the attraction is totally one-sided. I’d even go as far as to say that he hates me.
At the very least, he sees me as nothing more than his best friend’s annoying little sister, who he’s forced to look out for, even though that’s the last thing he wants to do.
He’s just too fucking gorgeous for his own good.
Thinking about Marcus seems to work, and the antsy feeling I was getting with Sam’s hands on me starts to dissipate slightly, reducing my tension just a tad.
Sam must take this change as encouragement as presses his hard length against my arse. He rolls his hips, thrusting against me in a way that’s totally inappropriate for where we are. I try desperately not to care.
Moving one of his hands from my hips, he glides it up my body, over my ribs, before reaching my breasts. Clearly not caring that we’re in the middle of a very public dance floor, he takes my breast in his hand and starts to squeeze.
I wince slightly at the firm grip. It reminds me of a clown honking a horn, and I have to bite my lip again to stop the laugh that threatens to break free.
Clearly, Sam isn’t very experienced, as he continues to squeeze my boob like it’s his very own stress ball, not at all interested in the nipple, which he doesn’t seem to realise is the part that gives me pleasure.
Luckily, once he’s had a grope of both tits, he lifts his hand onto my head. He grabs my long dark hair in one hand and flicks it over my left shoulder, so it’s all falling down the front, leaving my right shoulder bare. This was obviously his intention, as he wastes no time pressing his lips against my neck.
I freeze when his mouth makes contact with my flesh, and my racing heart combined with the bass creates a static buzzing noise in my ears. Nausea ripples through me, and I try to pull in a much needed breath.
Remember where you are!
I keep repeating the instructions over and over in my head, trying to prevent the nightmares from invading my waking mind.
Sam is none the wiser that I’ve stopped dancing, or that I’m frozen to the spot. He continues peppering kisses along my neck as he grinds his cock against my arse, his fingers digging into my hip, tight enough to bruise.
I try not to focus on the bite of his grip, or him rutting against me, but it’s no use. All I can feel is his mouth on my throat. The way he kisses, licks, and sucks on my neck, like he’s trying to leave his mark on me for all to see. I want to push him away, but I’m too frozen to move.
As he bites down on my neck, harder than I was expecting, I cry out in pain. My noise is drowned out by the sounds of the nightclub, and given all the people on the dance floor, I may as well be invisible.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous. You’re gonna look so good with my cock down your throat,” he whispers into my ear in between bites .
His breath hits me, and the smell of beer, smoke, and something almost rancid makes my stomach roll. Nausea hits me in extreme waves, and I’m starting to panic that I might vomit in the middle of this dance floor.
Normally, I concentrate on my breathing until the sickness passes, but I can’t do that this time. If I get another whiff of his revolting scent, I won’t be able to hold back.
His words, combined with the sleazy way he kisses me, makes me feel dirty, and the ants under my skin are back. I want to itch at them, scratching away until I can’t feel them anymore.
I gave up on trying to get my skin clean a long time ago, and have since just settled for keeping the ants at bay—something I’m failing at right now.
A drop of moisture hits my cheek, and I didn’t even realise a tear had escaped, until I felt it tracking down my face. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, hoping that will prevent any more from falling.
Do something, Chloe. Don’t just fucking stand there like a coward—again. Fucking fight!
My brain yells at me, trying to give me the courage I need to move, but it’s pointless. I’m too frozen with fear, lost to the nightmares of the past and the potential horrors of my future.
I try to close my mind off completely, to give in to the inevitable, when everything changes.
The hands and lips that were dominating me are gone, and without the support of Sam’s body holding me in place, I collapse to the ground. Before I can make contact with the sticky floor, strong arms grab hold of me. Once I’ve found my feet, they release me.
I quickly open my eyes, blinking under the brightness of the strobe lights. My vision focuses just in time for me to see a fist make contact with Sam’s face. Blood bursts from his nose and he hits the floor like he weighs nothing.
I lift my gaze to see Marcus standing over him, his hands balled into fists, his body practically vibrating with rage. His face is contorted into a snarl, anger dripping from him in droves.
His bodyguard, Miles, is pulling him back, whispering something into his ear that seems to help him calm down. He takes a few deep breaths, his fingers twitching as he tries to loosen his fists.
Sam is unconscious on the floor, but before he has a chance to wake up, the club security guards pick him up in a less than gentle way.
The crowd seems frozen, watching the events unfold. It’s at that moment that Marcus realises we have many eyes on us, and he seems to compose himself. Drawing his shoulders back, he runs a hand down his body, straightening out creases that are not there .
All the anger and rage I saw a moment ago is now gone, and the mask of indifference he seems to wear constantly is back in place. He looks perfectly composed, and that’s how he wants to appear. To almost everyone, he’s pulling it off, but under the gaze of someone who has been watching him for a very long time, I can see the cracks in his perfect facade.
Once Miles is sure Marcus is back in control, he releases his hold on him. Miles says something to him that I can’t hear, and their gaze flicks over to me. Marcus’ eyes darken, anger flashing in them, but unlike with Sam, I’m not scared.
He stalks towards me, closing the small distance between us before he grabs the top of my arm. His grip on me is tight enough it will probably add to the other bruises I’ll have on my skin after tonight.
I wait for my body to freeze, for my heart to race, for fear to overtake me the way it always does when a man touches me like this, but it doesn’t come. His grip feels warm, and my skin tingles in a way I never expected.
Before I can register that thought too much, Marcus begins walking away, dragging me with him. His gaze is still locked on mine as he leads me through the crowd of people, not even bothering to look where he’s going. People move for him, giving him the respect he’s earned in his own club.
People may not know the real business Marcus and Jacob are in, but they know enough to have a healthy fear of the pair. Marcus has earned it just by the dangerous vibe he exudes.
I should be terrified that he’s turning all his anger on me. I should be running a mile given the dangerous glint in his eyes. Yet I don’t—I can’t. There’s something about this man that’s almost magnetic, and I’m drawn to him—danger and all.
I can tell before we even reach our destination that I’m in so much fucking trouble, yet my body is humming with more excitement than I’ve had in a long time.
I’ve always loved pushing Marcus’ buttons, winding him up, and I think I’m about to get the perfect opportunity to do just that. No matter what punishment it may earn me.