11. Raif
“You wantme to go make him take a walk?”
I almost smile as I glance up into Antonio’s face, his expression carefully neutral. Antonio has a strange turn of phrase at times. Like he’s watched one too many Godfather movies.
“Make him sleep with the fishes?”
“No, but I can take him to the ocean if you prefer.”
This time, my mouth does curl. Until my attention slides back to Lavender and her dance partner, and something unpleasant curls in my gut.
“No,” I answer without looking up this time. She’s just making a point.
The light flashes over her face, and I see the truth in that. She’s not into the asshole she’s dancing with. She looks bored. Maybe slightly embarrassed. But he is a terrible dancer. He isn’t touching her, just doing a terrible two-step shuffle. In closer proximity than I appreciate, but at least he gets to keep his fingers. For now. But it doesn’t matter how awful his moves are, Lavender won’t leave the dance floor because this is all part of the narrative.
You don’t own me.
Except when she wants me to. When I’m sucking on her clit and slow fucking her with my fingers, when she begs and pouts and promises the world…
I realize Antonio still hovers over me. I lift my hand an inch from the table, and he fades away.
Fuck this.Before I can talk myself out of this ridiculousness, I’m on my feet and heading in her direction.
Down two steps and through the crush of bodies. Her dance partner sees me before she does—before she turns in response to my hands folding around her hips. Her fingers grip over mine, her dark hair swatting my face, her expression fierce… until she realizes. I watch her face soften before she turns, her body relaxing into mine.
Fucking woman.I press my smile into her hair because this tells me all I need to know. The whole buildup to this moment was just to piss me off.
“You dance.” In profile, I see her lips shape the words since the music is too loud to really hear her.
“Only for you.” I press my answer into the soft skin below her ear, her shiver like a reverb between us. Lifting her hand, I slide it to the back of my neck as I move in time with the music. Move in time with her.
When I look across, her partner has slunk away, up by the throng.
Something is inherently intimate about dancing. The focus, the proximity. Touching fingers and swaying hips. The almost hypnotic element, a call and response; one leading, one following. And I’m definitely following the heat and sway of her body. The scent of her skin. The taste of salt on the back of her neck as I press my lips there.
The music changes, the song maybe a remix as a woman’s voice begins to croon in Arabic. Lavender takes my hands, pressing them to her stomach, her movements matching the sultry beat. She knows what she’s doing—knows what she’s doing to me. If nothing else, she can undoubtably feel the hard line of my cock against her.
“Sokkar.” I scrape her lobe with my teeth and repeat the line of the song in Arabic, then English. “Life is like sugar. Sweet and irresistible. Just like you.”
Her husky laughter resounds in my chest. “No one thinks I’m sweet.”
“Maybe you’ve just never melted for anyone else.” Like sugar on my tongue.
She turns in my arms, wrapping herself around me. Our bodies are flush as the music changes, the low refrain allowing for an exchange of words.
“I feel like you’re trying to have your wedding night in front of all these people.”
“No, princess. That experience is one I won’t share.”
“The back seat of the car?” Her laughter trills as she pulls away. “A back alley, maybe?”
I give a slow shake of my head and crook my finger. Don’t run away.
“Be right back.” Her mouth crooks. “I have to visit the little girls” room.”
I watch the horde part for her before I go back to our table. And take stock of Antonio’s stern expression.
“What is it?”
“The asshole.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the dance floor behind him.
“What about him?” I expect him to offer to beat a few things into the—though it’s Lavender’s education that I feel is more pressing—when his expression hardens.
I’ve known him long enough to know that means something.
“Leo heard his friends talking when he went to the pisser. They have GHB and were talking about spiking her on the dance floor.” Antonio makes a jabbing motion with his fist. “His idea. He brought the gear. Syringes. Pills also.”
“That fucker,” I grate out.
“I guess we’re taking the trash out after all.”
I nod. Yes. Yes, we are.
Five minutes later, we’re in the alley behind the club. A place without security cameras currently. Or much in the way of lighting.
“Look, mate. I only danced with her.” The fucker holds out his hands in belligerence rather than supplication.
“Did she tell you who I am?”
“Yeah, her old man.” This comes with an ill-timed sneer. “I guessed you got off on seeing her with other blokes.”
“You touch her?” I ask, my feet following his retreating pattern.
“We just danced.”
“You didn’t give her anything?”
“I would have.” This time, he leers, his gaze sliding left to his friends for agreement. Maybe reassurance. But they’re too busy with Antonio. They look like they’re having fun, palms spread on the Range Rover positioned for a classic pat down. I should’ve guessed as much. Antonio was once a cop in Barcelona. He just wasn’t a very good one.
“Anchas,” he growls, kicking the insides of one of their ankles. “More wide.”
“What the fuck, man?” one of them complains.
Antonio answers him with a punch to the back of his head.
“Fuck!”
“Hands on the car,” he repeats with a kick to the ankle.
“Boss.”
I glance Antonio’s way, reaching up to catch the baggy that flies through the air. Pills, syringe, and a vial containing clear liquid.
“Which one of you assholes is diabetic?” I hold the baggy aloft.
The man in front of me shakes his head, his bravado slipping. “It’s just a bit of gear. Personal use, you know?” The smart-arse shoots me an angry glance like he knows what’s coming.
He really has no idea.
“Personal?” His eyes follow the bag’s descent, and he watches as I grind that shit under my heel. “I’m offended you would take me for that idiot. Now, that’s personal.”
I glance down, and his eyes follow as I knew they would. When his head comes up, it’s met with a solid right jab to the nose. It’s always an effective start. The quicker, the better because this one thing will catch them off guard, even if your opponent is braced for trouble.
A sharp jab in the nose is disorientating and knocks a person off balance. And it’s fucking painful, which I can attest to myself. Tears. Blood. Broken cartilage. Shock. Temporary blindness, thanks to flooding tear ducts. Break his nose, and you leave your opponent shocked and crying…
…which gives me a moment to pull on the Italian leather driving gloves Leo had passed to me as I’d left the club.
He has good taste, I think as I duck from his blind swing. Then I land him a swift hit to the solar plexus. Get that sweet spot, and you’ll shut your opponent up, winding him. A few to the breadbasket and if you hit him hard enough, maybe some internal bleeding. Pull him closer, like a hug. And get him in the kidneys.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Pain. So much pain. He’ll be pissing blood for days.
My body takes over then, the animal inside rising to the fore. Pressure builds in my chest and my head, my heart racing, and my shoulders aching, biceps fatigued as I deliver punch after punch.
“Boss.”
I don’t stop. I”m on the ground now with my thighs spread over his waist.
“Boss, stop!”
I pull off a glove, reaching into my boot for my blade, when Antonio’s hand on my shoulder brings my attention back to the bloody pulp on the ground.
“Is he dead?” one of his friends half demands, his voice full of panic.
“Why?” I growl, my chest heaving. “You wanna be next?” Antonio offers me his hand, and I stagger upright. “Fucking lowlife.”
He groans as I boot him in the thigh.
“You two, fuck off,” I growl, sliding my knife away.
“Drugs are very bad for your health, boys.” Antonio waggles an admonishing finger. “Same for if we find you still in Gib tomorrow.”
“What about…?” Wide-eyed and terrified, they hesitate. Prevaricate. Should they stay, or should they go?
“He’s not dead.” I swipe my wrist over my mouth. “But he won’t be using his boyish good looks to attract any more girls. Call an ambulance,” I address Antonio with a jerk of my chin. “I’m going back inside.”
Gravel crunches as the assholes take off. The man on the ground groans. In the darkness, I notice how the gloves shine wet and dark.
Were they chestnut or burgundy before?
“Looks like I owe him a new pair.” Throwing them Antonio’s way, I begin to walk away when he clears his throat.
“What?” I ask, spinning back.
His eyes on mine, he points at the placket of his own shirt.
I look down and curse. My once white shirt is now a very different color. “Give me yours,” I demand, already slipping off my jacket.
“Boss?”
“Hurry the fuck up.”
“There he is!”
Lavender throws out her arms, and Leo stands as I approach the table.
“He promised you hadn’t bailed,” she says, pointing at Leo.
“And she didn’t believe me,” he mutters, stepping back to allow me to take my seat.
“Where’d you go?”
“Everything okay?” I murmur.
Leo nods. “She seems fine. Maybe a little buzzed.” He shrugs uncomfortably.
“Hey, don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
I turn back to find Lavender’s arms folded across her chest, a scowl on her face. “Where were you? I came back from the ladies, excited to bust a few more shapes, but you weren’t here?” She leans in, her gaze narrowed. “Neither was my previous dance partner. Funny, that.”
“He had to leave.”
Her eyes dip to my shirt. “Did he still have all his teeth?”
“What do you take me for?”
“That I’m not sure of yet.”
“Let me know when you’ve decided.”
“Oh, you know I will. I didn’t know you could dance,” she says, her words like an accusation.
I lower myself into the seat. “That doesn’t come as a surprise, given our whole relationship hasn’t yet spanned twenty-four hours.”
She tsks, slumping back in her seat. “That was your cue to tell me you’ve got moves I haven’t seen.”
“That wouldn’t be hard.”
“That’s disappointing.” She smirks.
“Behave.”
“Okay, Buzz Killington. I can’t help that I like a man who can dance. It’s much better than one who stands on the sidelines scowling for effect.”
“Do you make many men scowl, princess?”
“Oh, you know how it is,” she answers airily. “I definitely had you pegged as the brooding, scowling, I’m-too-masculine-to-get-down-and-boogie type.”
I don’t answer, not sure what to make of that when she leans in again.
“You know, I haven’t been this turned on watching a man dance since I saw Tom Holland lip-sync Umbrella.”
Words. I have no idea what she just said. Except that she was turned on.
“You didn’t watch me dance.”
“I didn’t need to.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. An unconscious action, not a come-on, I think. “I felt you dance, which was way better.”
“I can think of something even better than dancing.”
“Yeah? Well, thinking is all you’ll be doing about it tonight.”
“Understood.”
“Honestly, you could give him a run for his money.”
“Who?” My brow furrows. I can hold a rhythm. The prick she was dancing with couldn’t.
“Tom Holland. You know, the actor? You don’t happen to own a basque and a pair of leather shorts, do you?”
I ignore the snort from behind me. The one that’s then faked into a sneeze.
“Bless you.” Lavender’s gaze flicks to Leo. “Or should that be salud, amor, y dinero? Health, love, and money—that’s the blessing, right?”
“Only if I sneeze three times,” the idiot answers.
“Anda pa allá que nos vai a contagiar,” I interject, my words quick and harsh.
“Sí jefe.”
“What was that?”
“I told him to leave before he gives us the flu.”
It was a mistake, I realize, as she props her elbow to the table and her chin to her fist. “Why do you have security in the first place?”
“Why does anyone? Your brother has someone, I believe.”
“He has a driver.” Her lip curls.
“I expect he has some military training.”
“Whit is a banker. You’re…” Her expression? Fill in the blanks.
“In a line of business that’s a little more dangerous.”
“That line of business being?”
“Entertainment.”
“Well, I’m sure some people find you entertaining,” she says, leaning back with a sigh.
“Not so much you, my little liar?” And now were back to narrowed eyes again.
“I own nightclubs, mostly. A couple of casinos. Some hotels.”
“But I bet that’s not all,” she murmurs, angling her gaze toward the dance floor. “Not by a long shot.”