Chapter Three - Zoe #2
Maria’s already chatting with Jenni, who’s laughing at something she’s saying, but I can’t focus on them.
I take a sip from my glass, the burn of alcohol spreading through me, but my mind isn’t on the food, or the drink, or the people.
My gaze keeps drifting through the crowd, searching, as though I’m hoping to see him again.
I don’t know why I keep looking. I know it’s foolish, irrational even, but my eyes keep scanning the room, my heart picking up speed every time someone new crosses my line of sight.
Soon, Maria slips away from the table with Volkov, her face lit up in that way she gets when she’s excited. I watch them head toward the stairs, Volkov’s hand on her back as he leads her up. She glances over her shoulder at me with a quick smile, and then she’s gone.
I can’t stop myself. My eyes shift back to the room, searching, searching for him.
I tell myself to stop. To relax. To enjoy the night.
The table soon gets overwhelming, and I decide to go out for some fresh air.
I need to give myself a pep talk in private, because my obsession with a man I don’t even know is not normal.
“Zoe, where are you off to?” Jenni takes my arm as I rise.
“Fresh air,” I answer, leaning forward to shout in her ear. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods and lets me through.
I’m almost at the door when a sudden prickling sensation rises on the back of my neck. I freeze. Only one man’s gaze makes my body react like this. Only one man.
I turn, and there he is.
He’s sitting in a booth, all the way across the room, but it feels like he’s right there next to me.
His dark eyes lock on to mine from across the space, cold and intense, and I feel a jolt in my chest, a rush of panic that floods through me like ice water.
I should look away. I should ignore it, pretend I didn’t see him, pretend that his gaze isn’t drilling into me, making my pulse spike.
But I can’t.
I don’t move, frozen under the weight of his stare, feeling like I’m pinned to the spot. My heart slams in my chest, so loud in my ears that I think I might suffocate from the noise of it.
Panic seizes me, and I can’t stay here, not under the intensity of his gaze. I force myself to take a step back, then another, and soon I’m moving through the door and into the alley behind the club, away from the crowds and the noise. Alone.
I lean against the cool brick wall, my breath shaky, trying to calm myself, but it’s no use. I berate myself in the silence.
What the hell was I doing? Why did I rush out like that?
He’s the one I’ve been waiting for all night. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t shake from my mind. And now that I’ve finally seen him again, I run? Like some terrified schoolgirl?
I run my hands over my face, trying to push the frustration and confusion away. It’s stupid. He’s a stranger. I don’t even know him. But there’s something about the way he makes me feel—something that both terrifies and excites me all at once.
I don’t even know his name!
In the next second, the atmosphere in the alley changes again.
It happens so quickly, so silently, that I almost don’t realize it until it’s late.
One moment, I’m alone, my back pressed against the brick wall, trying to catch my breath.
The next, his presence is there, heavy and consuming, filling up the space between us with a force that makes my chest tighten.
He hasn’t said a word, but I feel his eyes on me, and I feel it all—the intensity, the silence, the electricity that crackles between us.
I can’t breathe.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up, and before I know it, I’m standing frozen, my gaze locked on him. His eyes—dark, cold, unfeeling—hold me in place, and I can’t move, not even when my instincts scream at me to run.
He doesn’t ask for my name. Doesn’t need to. The way he looks at me is enough, as if everything he needs to know is written in the way I stand, the way I breathe, the way I’m reacting to him. It’s not a question—it’s a command.
Up close, he’s handsome—not in the way of a gentleman, but in an icy way that has me trembling down to my feet. He’s tall, as I already figured from the last time. So tall, I have to tilt my neck back to look at him.
His gaze is a steely blue, and as it locks on to mine, I hold my breath.
And then, without another word, his lips barely move when he says, “Follow me.”
I don’t even think. I don’t even hesitate.
I’m already moving before the words have fully sunk in, my feet carrying me forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
I don’t know what’s happening, why I’m doing this, but all I can think about is the heat that pulses between us, the tension in the air, the way I’m pulled toward him as if there’s no other choice.
He turns, his broad shoulders cutting through the darkness, and without looking back, he starts walking. I follow. It’s automatic. The desire to obey, to get closer to him, is stronger than anything I’ve felt in a long time.
Whatever happens tonight, I may regret it in the morning, but for now, I will bask in the pleasure.