Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
“ T rigger, you order that bottle or just flirt with the waitress for twenty minutes again?” Ryder throws a peanut at him across the table.
Trigger catches it in his mouth, grinning. “Multitasking, asshole. I’m not a savage.”
Hunter snorts into his glass, slouching deeper into the corner booth. “You’re literally the definition of a savage. Didn’t you piss in the alley last week instead of going inside?”
Trigger shrugs. “It was an emergency.”
Ryder lifts his beer and toasts mockingly. “To emergencies.”
We’re sitting in a back booth of Club Palma’s VIP lounge. Low lighting, high end whiskey, and too much cologne clings to the air. The beat of the music pulses through the floors, the crowd below us already sweating under the strobes.
It’s supposed to be a relaxed night. No deals. No blood. Just drinks, noise, and the guys. Trigger remains sober and Max doesn’t come out for these nights. Not unless there’s business, and this isn’t that. This is just a break. Just a reach for some normalcy.
If there’s such a thing .
Hunter eyes me over his glass. “You good? You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m always quiet,” I mutter, taking a sip of my drink.
“Yeah, but tonight you’re extra broody. Like Batman if he lost his favorite batarang,” Trigger adds.
I give him a look that shuts him up fast.
“Gonna hit the head,” I say, pushing away from the table before one of them tries to psychoanalyze me.
The hallway off the lounge is dim, quieter, a welcome break from the throb of bass and the haze of perfume and sweat hanging over the dance floor.
It smells faintly of pine cleaner and vodka—sterile but sharp, the kind of scent that cuts through the fog in your head.
My boots echo against the tile as I head toward the bathroom, jaw tight, fingers twitching at my sides.
I need a minute to clear my fucking head.
Maybe splash some water on my face. Shake off whatever this is—the tension that’s been crawling under my skin since last night. Since her .
Cassie .
Her voice still echoes in my mind. The sharp bite of it.
That look in her eyes, the one that said she hated me even as her body begged to be closer.
The way she trembled when I leaned in, when my chest brushed hers, when I watched her cheeks go red like I’d reached right inside and flicked a switch she didn’t want turned on.
And then, she pushed me away. Told me off like I was nothing.
I should’ve walked away then and there, called her bluff, burned the bridge and moved the fuck on.
But I didn’t. Because some twisted part of me liked watching her unravel.
She’s fire under pressure—tense, stubborn, sexy as hell when she’s pissed. But I also saw something else flash in her eyes last night when she thought I wasn’t looking. Something raw. Something like...want .
I lean over the sink and grip the edge, my knuckles whitening.
I’ve known a lot of women. None of them have ever gotten under my skin the way she does. None of them ever made me second-guess shit. With Cassie, it’s like walking a tightrope. One second we’re at each other’s throats, the next I’m thinking about what she tastes like when she moans my name.
I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face, the sting jolting me back into the present.
This isn’t about last night. It’s not. It shouldn’t be.
I cling onto that thought as I leave the restrooms, heading back towards the guys when I catch the flicker of red.
I almost don’t look.
Almost .
But something pulls my gaze.
What the fuck is she doing here?
She’s out there, in my club, laughing like she doesn’t have a care in the goddamn world.
Her head is tilted back, that golden hair catching the colored lights, and she’s got that open-mouth laugh—the one I’ve only seen a handful of times. And she’s not alone. Some douchebag is leaning in, hand cupping her shoulder like he thinks it belongs there.
Too fucking close.
My blood goes cold. Then hot. Then something in between, something feral.
I step deeper into the shadows, watching from the dark like some predator scoping out a threat.
And that’s exactly what he is.
Cassie’s friend—Lexie, loud-mouthed and protective—swoops in and drags her away before Pretty Boy can press his luck. They vanish into the crowd, swallowed by bass and smoke and moving bodies.
But not from me. I see everything.
Cassie’s on the dance floor now, dress clinging to her like sin. Red. Tight. Fucking illegal. She throws her hands up, her hips rolling to the beat, and her hair swings wild around her shoulders.
“Hey, man!” Hunter calls out, clapping my back. “What’re you doing out here?”
I shift my gaze to Hunter, who’s lounging against the balcony rail, a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he scans the crowd below like a king surveying his kingdom.
The soft glow of the lights throws shadows across his jaw, but there’s no mistaking the smug satisfaction on his face.
This place, the pulsing crowd, the money flowing like top-shelf whiskey, it’s all part of his empire. And he’s damn proud of it.
“Just came to listen to the music,” I lie, trying to sound casual.
Hunter doesn’t even blink. He shoots me a sideways look, sees right through the bullshit, and smirks knowingly.
“She’s here?” he asks, voice raised above the thrum of bass. It’s not really a question. It’s a statement dressed up like one.
I exhale through my nose, leaning forward against the railing. There’s no point denying it.
Of course, he knows.
Hunter scans the crowd below, his sharp eyes sweeping until they land on her. “Thought she had a boyfriend?” he quizzes, too damn loud for my liking.
The comment makes my jaw clench. I grunt something noncommittal in response and focus my attention back on Cassie.
She’s lost in the music, her body swaying with the beat, her laughter floating through the club like smoke.
There’s a light in her eyes I haven’t seen before, something free and untouchable.
She looks so...fucking happy. Like the weight she carries during the day has finally slipped off her shoulders.
And I hate it.
I hate that she’s here .
I hate that she looks so goddamn happy.
I hate that I’m not the one making her feel that way.
And I really fucking hate how it makes me feel. Jealous. Like I’m on the outside looking in.
We stand there for ten minutes, maybe more, just watching. Hunter’s attention eventually shifts to a brunette in a skin-tight dress near the DJ booth. His smirk returns, and without a word, he’s off—slipping down the stairs, no doubt to claim his prize for the night.
But me? I stay put.
Because no matter how hard I try, my eyes keep finding Cassie. Now she’s leaning in close to her friend, their faces inches apart as they laugh and gesture animatedly. It’s a picture of a life I don’t belong in.
And yet, I can’t look away.
All of a sudden, she turns. Those green eyes lift to meet mine, and for a second, I swear my heart forgets how to beat.
If I thought she looked incredible from behind, seeing her from the front knocks the air clean out of my lungs.
She’s radiant; flushed with heat, skin glistening with sweat that catches in the strobe lights like dew on silk.
Her eyes sparkle, wild and electric, and I’m fucking dumbstruck.
My pants tighten uncomfortably, and I curse under my breath, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
Then she smiles, bright, easy, and devastating, lifting a hand to wave at me. Just like that, I’m yanked out of my stupor.
I raise two fingers in a lazy half-salute, unsure why the hell I did that, but it earns me another smile before she turns back around, slipping her hand into her friend’s.
The music pounds harder. The lights strobe faster. But none of it matters.
All I see is Cassie; her body moving like sin, like temptation, like she was made to ruin me. And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it .
Now, more than ever, I want her.
No woman has ever gotten to me like this; crawling beneath my skin, staking claim to thoughts I shouldn’t be having. Cassie isn’t just a passing craving. She’s a need, sharp and hot and impossible to ignore. And right now, I want her under me, her name on my lips, consequences be damned.
But first, I need a drink. A stiff one. Something to cool the fire before I do something reckless.
I push off the railing and make my way to the bar, signaling the bartender with a nod. He doesn’t ask—just pours a neat whiskey and slides it my way. I knock it back in one gulp, feel it burn down my throat, and motion for another.
And another.
By the time I’m four deep, the haze has started to set in—just enough to take the edge off, not enough to silence the storm in my chest. Hands slip around my waist, light but firm, and I freeze. Not because I’m startled, but because I know exactly who it is.
Her scent hits me first—coconut and chocolate, with the faintest trace of that floral perfume she always wears. It’s subtle, but it punches the air from my lungs. No one else smells like that. No one else makes my heart stutter in my chest the way she does.
Fuck .
Slowly, I peel her hands off my waist and turn to face her, but when I meet those sweet, innocent green eyes—glazed over and drinking me in—I still feel the jolt like it’s the first time.
She looks at me like she can’t quite believe I’m real, like I’ve just stepped out of a daydream and into her night.
Cassie slides onto the stool beside me, still staring, unblinking, like I might vanish if she looks away.
“You want a picture?” I ask, dryly. It comes out more like a reflex than a tease.
She tilts her head, eyes gleaming under the club lights, and her tongue flicks slowly across her lips. My eyes drop instantly. Fuck . She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, downing the last of my drink just as the bartender sets another down in front of me.
“I’m out with my friend,” she answers, her tone breezy.