Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
LUKE
A week later, I walked into my South Beach nightclub and the place was once again packed to the brim with people. It was almost three in the morning, and from the looks of it, the party was just getting started.
“Hey, boss,” James greeted, standing next to me by the bar. “You just get in?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“There’s a line around the building. They’re all here for Duchess. Word must have gotten out that she’s here.”
Her music pounded through the speakers around us, vibrating through my core as we stood there. The place probably exceeded capacity and was stacked. Beautiful people getting their night started with the beat of the house music blaring above the crowds.
My eyes wandered all around the three-story building. Everything from the flashing lights to the neon strobes strumming around every corner. The plush couches and tables stacked with bottles upon bottles of Moet and other expensive alcohol. The already fucked-up people dancing their asses off with their eyes closed, and their heads leaned toward the ceiling, letting the melody of the music take over them. Drugs flowed in this place as much as the booze did.
I wasn’t here to party.
The song changed over to “Young and Beautiful” by Lana Del Rey, and out of nowhere…
Out of pure instinct.
Emotion.
I looked up and found her. She wore a tight black dress under another hole-ripped top, her hair wild and messy around her face. Her hands were on the turntables as she swayed to the music with a huge smile. It was obvious she was getting off on the energy of the crowd that was there for her.
And then… as if we were two magnets drawn to one another, she found my stare in the endless crowd. Like she felt me too.
DUCHESS
It was Friday night, and the weekends were always the best time to get fucked up. I’d lived and breathed clubs ever since I could remember.
The music.
The energy.
The people.
It was a shot of adrenaline in my veins every single time. This feeling never got old to me. If anything, the DJ booth was my happy place where all I had to do was be myself. And for a woman like me, it was everything. I’d been remixing songs long before I knew what I was actually doing.
It was my first love.
It’d forever be my first and only love.
The best part was that I always got to bring the party, which was a feeling like none other.
I played one of my favorite songs “Young and Beautiful” through the speakers as an unexplainable urge came over me, pulling me to look around the crowd. I had no idea what I was looking for until an unfamiliar feeling settled in my stomach when I locked eyes with him.
Everything faded away…
The music.
The lights.
The crowd.
It was just him and me.
I was good at reading people. Call it a gift or a curse. The expression on his face remained neutral in that broody sort of way that was obviously his M.O. I didn’t care much for his type. Hell, the truth was, I’d been around all kinds of men.
Nice guy.
Bad boy.
Broken man.
Yada, yada, yada…
In my experience, they were all cut from the same cloth.
At the end of the day, all they wanted was to fuck. It was that plain and simple, and once you realize that, it leaves little room to get hurt. I’d sworn off relationships a long time ago. Love just wasn’t in the cards for me, and I was fine with that.
It simply made things easier.
I preferred keeping people at arm’s length, which was one of the reasons I loved DJing so much. Despite meeting new and old faces on the regular, most were merely acquaintances or just party friends. Doing what I did for a living, I constantly traveled for different sets in different countries. I’d play clubs, festivals, bars, and concerts.
Anything, really. Even private parties.
I was always down for a good time. What could I say? I guess I was the kind of girl who gave off those vibes as well.
I partied with all sorts of people with different social statuses and loved every one of them. I was proud of being a bilingual Latina and essentially making the American dream happen, but Cuba was my home. I made a lot of money, and I’d never once taken it for granted.
I went back to doing what I was there for. I’d been DJing all over the world for over a decade, but dance clubs in Miami always hit different for some reason. Maybe it was the booze. Perhaps it was the drugs. Shit, maybe it was just the way people didn’t seem to give a shit and passed no judgment in this city, and I, for one, appreciated that.
The night continued without a hitch. By the time six o’clock rolled around and I was packing up my stuff, I once again felt him. Except this time, he was walking toward me.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One…
He instantly engulfed me in nothing but his whiskey, cigarette, and clean scent. I waited for him to say something to me because I didn’t feel like initiating a conversation with him. When he didn’t say a word and just stood there, I finally met his concentrated stare, focused solely on me.
His eyes told me he wanted to say so much even though nothing came out.
“Why don’t you take a picture?” I snapped, annoyed with his expression. “It’ll last you longer.” With that, I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm and held me in place.
Glaring at his grip and then at him, I warned, “You got a death wish?”
He didn’t let me go. Instead, he asked, “Whose handiwork is that?”
“Handiwork?” I repeated, not understanding his question.
His gaze shifted down to my arm he was still holding, and before I knew it, he flipped it over, showcasing the bruises I had.
Irritated with his interrogation, I bit, “What can I say? I like it rough.” I yanked my arm away.
“Is that right, darlin’?” He swept the hair away from my cheek, and I yanked that away too. “What about the bruise you’re coverin’ up with your makeup and hair?”
I scoffed out, “ Darlin’, if I wanted the third degree, I’d call my daddy.”
“If my daughter’s boyfriend was roughing her up, I’d?—”
“Do I look like the kind of girl who would let that happen?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to intimidate me. He had no clue who he was messing with.
“You got questions?” I mocked. “I got questions too.” Stepping toward him, I held my head high. “Do I look like the kind of girl who would let that happen?”
In a challenging tone, he spewed, “Do I look like the kind of man to fuck with?”
“You’re sniffing around my business, and I’m fucking with you ?”
He nodded. “I don’t take kindly to men who hit women.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t take kindly to men who don’t know how to mind their own business.”
“You workin’ here for me makes you my business.”
I stepped closer to him. “Let’s get something straight. Your PR company hired me as a subcontractor. I work for myself, and don’t you ever forget that.” I eyed him up and down. “Darlin’.”
His eyes lit up with mischief.
I smirked, shrugging to purposely fuck with him. “I owe you no explanations. In fact, consider yourself lucky I even answered you. Now, if you’d graciously back the fuck up, we can get on with our morning. I have better things to do than stand here and play show-and-tell with our tattoos.”
Without hesitation, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You have a cross necklace on your forearm that has a dagger through it, and then you have these bows on the back of your thighs.” As if pushing my buttons, he lightly skimmed his fingers along the back of my thighs before he grazed the hem of my dress to my lower abdomen. “Then you have a snake here, and...” Skimming along the left side of my stomach, he added, “A butterfly trail here.” He lightly brushed the tips of his fingers on my collarbone. “Then there’s a date here in Roman numerals,” he rasped. “But the one on your back piques my interest the most.”
If he thought I was flattered, he was highly mistaken.
“How’s that for show-and-tell?” he baited before pulling away like he’d never been in my personal space to begin with.
I smiled at him. “Was that supposed to impress me? You think you’re the first guy to ever pull those lines on me? Come on, darlin’. I’m better than that. I’m not interested in sharing sad stories, Jameson. For the next few months, I’m just here to show your guests a good time. Nothing more, nothing less. If you think I’m going to fuck you, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than your Sons of Anarchy persona to impress me. And to be completely honest, I’ve shaken the hands of men who make Jax Teller look like a Boy Scout.”
Backing away, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and gave him one last look before I turned and left.
When I reached the door of his club, I heard him shout, “Darlin’, this is far from over!”
I ignored him.
Fully aware he meant every word.