Return To Club Z
The club breathes around me like a monster.
Heavy bass for a heartbeat, red light for blood, smoke curling like it’s alive. Club Z doesn’t change—same velvet shadows, same stench of liquor and lust, same desperate eyes looking for someone to own them.
I shouldn’t be here.
Not tonight.
Not after the way I left her in the kitchen, plate snatched, shaking for me, hating me for it and loving me all the same.
But here I am anyway, drinking rot-gold whiskey and pretending the air doesn’t taste like her skin.
“Dean Walker,” a voice purrs beside me. Too smooth. Too polished.
I turn, and she’s there—sleek black dress, lips painted the colour of blood. She’s been watching me all night; I felt it. The way predators recognise predators.
“You’ve been gone too long.” She drags a manicured nail down the rim of my glass. “This place missed you.”
I should ignore her. I should get up, walk out. Instead, I let her circle me like she thinks she can catch me.
“You look like you need reminding,” she says, leaning in, perfume heavy and sweet, not like Brooklyn. “What it feels like to take without asking.”
Her hand slides toward my thigh.
And for a flicker, I let her.
For a flicker, I imagine what it would be like to bury myself in someone who isn’t forbidden, who isn’t Kate’s best friend, who won’t destroy me when it all comes crashing down.
But then.
Her laugh is wrong.
Her perfume is wrong.
Her touch is wrong.
Because she isn’t her.
Brooklyn’s face slams through my skull like a bullet, the way she looked at me in my kitchen, eyes glazed, voice broken when she whispered please.
My hand closes around the woman’s wrist before she reaches higher. Hard. Too hard. She flinches, eyes going wide.
“Not tonight,” I growl. My voice doesn’t sound human.
I shove her hand away, stand, and the chair scrapes back like a warning shot. The men at the bar watch, but no one says a word. They know better.
I stalk out of Club Z, rage in my throat, guilt in my veins, her name pounding through my head like a curse.
Brooklyn.
Brooklyn.
Brooklyn.
The cold night air slams into me when I push out of Club Z. I want it to strip me clean, burn her perfume off my skin, but it doesn’t. Nothing does. The bass still thunders in my chest, the woman’s laugh still scratches at my skull.
I round the corner—And stop.
Brooklyn.
She’s leaning against the brick wall like her knees gave out, shoulders heaving, mascara bleeding down her cheeks in black rivers. Her hands clench her dress, her knuckles white. She looks at me like I put the knife in her chest and twisted.
“Brooklyn.”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks, jagged as broken glass. “Don’t you dare.”
I take a step, but she recoils like I’m the fire and she’s finally realised I’ll burn her alive.
“You told me…” Her throat works around the words, tears spilling faster. “You told me you didn’t want anyone else. That this—whatever the hell this is—wasn’t just…” She chokes on the word, spits it out anyway. “Sex.”
Her breath hitches, sharp and shallow. “And then I see you—” Her voice splinters. “With her. Letting her touch you.”
My hands flex at my sides, aching to grab her, drag her back where she belongs, force her to look only at me. But I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me like I gutted her.
“It wasn’t—” My voice is low, raw. “It wasn’t what you think.”
“Then what was it, Dean?” She laughs, ugly and wet. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like temptation.”
Her words hit harder than any fist I’ve ever taken. She’s not wrong. I let it happen for a breath too long. I faltered.
But I can’t let her think anyone could take her place.
I move closer, and she tries to push past me, but I cage her in against the wall before she can. My palms slam against the brick, my body a barrier she can’t slip through.
Her chest rises and falls fast, fury and hurt twisting together on her face. I want to rip it away. I want to rip the entire world away until it’s just her and me.
“You think I wanted her?” My voice is a snarl, inches from her ear. “You think anyone else could ever do to me what you do?”
Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t answer.
“You break me, Brooklyn,” I growl, teeth scraping the shell of her ear. “And I’d burn down this whole filthy city before I let another woman touch what’s mine.”
The bass still thunders from inside, muffled by brick, but it’s nothing compared to the sound of her sobs. It’s jagged, unsteady, like it’s sawing through her ribs just to claw its way out.
She shoves at me, fists small and sharp against my chest. “Move.”
“No.”
“Dean—” her voice cracks in half, “let me go.”
My jaw grinds so hard it hurts. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
That makes her flinch. Her chin jerks up, wet lashes clumped with black streaks. “I know,” she spits, voice shaking. “I shouldn’t have followed you. I shouldn’t have seen it. But maybe it’s better I did.”
My chest caves like she just put a hole through it. “Don’t.”
She laughs, bitter and broken, shoving me again like she’s trying to push the whole night off her skin.
“No, Dean. Maybe it’s best. Because I don’t want to be like that.
I don’t want to stand in the shadows while you let other women—” her voice chokes, tears flooding down again— “while you let them put their hands on you.”
I slam a hand against the wall by her head, making her flinch but not run. I bare my teeth, and my lungs burn. “You think I chose her? You think I’d ever choose anyone but you?”
Her lips tremble, but she shakes her head, slow and defiant, like she’s trying to break free even while she’s falling apart.
“You already did, Dean. Even if it was just for a second. And I can’t—” her voice fractures, raw and honest— “I can’t be the girl who waits around hoping you’ll pick me over your vices. I can’t.”
The words sink deep, poison threading through my veins. She thinks she saw enough to know me. She thinks she gets to decide when I falter and when I fight.
And yet she’s wrong.
I lean in until my breath fans her damp cheek, until her sobs shake through my chest as much as hers. My voice comes out low, rough, bitten through with anger.
“You didn’t walk into that club. You don’t know what I did. What I didn’t.”
Her tears drip onto her collarbone, sliding into the neckline of her dress. She whispers, voice splintering, “I saw enough.”
My hands fist against the brick. Enough. She thinks she saw enough.
“Brooklyn.” Her name rips out of me like a warning, like a curse. “You don’t get to walk away from me. Not over her. Not over anything. I’m not giving you that choice.”
Her palms slam into my chest again, but this time she’s not just shoving me back—she’s unravelling right there in the alley, voice ripping out of her throat so loud it drowns the bass.
“I can’t do this! I can’t fucking do this!” she screams, tears streaming, chest heaving. “I thought—God, I thought maybe you wanted me. But you don’t. You never did. I was just—just a distraction to you, wasn’t I?”
“Brooklyn—”
“No!” Her sob chokes, her fists trembling as she beats them against me once, twice, before curling them into her own hair like she’s holding her head together.
“You said you didn’t want a relationship.
You said this wasn’t what you do! And I was so fucking stupid I still let you—let you touch me, ruin me, break me—”
Her words splinter as her knees almost buckle, voice cracking wide open. “And now I’m the one who’s drowning. I’m the one who’s in love with a man who doesn’t even want me. So I’m done, Dean. I’m done. I’m leaving.”
That word detonates inside me. Leaving.
Before she can step away, I snap. My hand shoots up, clamping around her jaw, my fingers digging into her tear-wet cheeks as I pin her back against the wall.
“You think you get to fucking leave me?” My voice is a snarl, feral and shaking, close enough that my breath shudders against her lips. “You think after everything, after letting me inside you, inside your head, you get to just walk away?”
Her wide, tear-glossed eyes lock on mine, trembling but refusing to close.
“No, baby girl,” I growl, pressing harder, forcing her to feel the unshakable rage, the obsession burning through my grip. “You don’t get to walk. You don’t get to choose. I own you now. Every breath, every thought, every filthy sound you make is mine.”
Her sob hitches, a sound caught between fear and something far darker.
“You think I don’t want you?” My forehead presses to hers, voice dropping to a violent whisper.
“I didn’t want this. I fought it. But it’s too late now.
You’re in my blood. You’re in my fucking bones.
You’re the one thing I can’t put down, and if you ever try to leave—” my lips brush hers, threatening, desperate, brutal— “I’ll burn the entire world down just to drag you back. ”
She trembles in my grip, her tears sliding hot over my fingers. My chest heaves, my heart pounding against hers like it’s already chosen for both of us.
Her breath breaks against my mouth, trembling lips wet under my grip. The fight drains out of her all at once, like her body can’t hold it anymore. The tears keep coming, silent now, sliding down her chin and over my knuckles.
“I hate you,” she whispers, but it’s wrecked, collapsing, not even close to hate. Her eyes squeeze shut, shoulders shuddering as she shakes her head against my hand. “I hate you because I still want you. Because I can’t stop wanting you.”
She pounds her fists against my chest. “I fucking hate you.” Tears crawl down her face and I just want to wrap her inside my arms and never let her go. “I fucking hate you…’ she gasps. “I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to feel…this. I don’t fucking hate you, I love you.”
The words scrape out of her throat like glass. “Even after what I saw, even knowing what you are—I still want you. And it’s killing me. Because I don’t belong here, Dean. I don’t belong in your world.”
For a second, the whole alley goes silent. The bass from the club dulls to a hum, the city noise fades into nothing. Just her. Just me. Her broken confession ripping me in half.
I lean in, tightening my hold on her jaw until her lips part on a shaky gasp. My voice is a gravelled snarl, low enough to vibrate against her teeth.
“You think you don’t belong here? Baby girl—you’re the only fucking thing that belongs to me.”
Her sob breaks on a sharp inhale, eyes flying open, glassy and desperate.
“You want the truth?” I hiss, crushing my body against hers, every inch of me pressed so deep she can feel my heart hammering in my ribs. “I don’t give a damn about anything but you, hate me. I’ll be right there with you. Because you’re mine. And I’ll never fucking let you go.”
Her breath trembles, her hands twitching helplessly between us, like she wants to push me away and cling to me at the same time.
“You don’t get to say you don’t fit,” I bite out, dragging my thumb across her tear-slick bottom lip, forcing it down so her mouth stays open under mine.
“Because I’ll make you fit. I’ll carve out every part of this life that doesn’t want you and bleed it dry until the only thing left standing is me and you. ”
Her sob shatters into a whimper, her nails digging into my shirt, clutching instead of pushing now.
“Say it,” I order, breath ragged, my forehead pressed hard against hers. “Say you’re mine. Right here, right now. Or I swear I’ll remind you until you can’t even breathe without the taste of me in your lungs.”
Her lips tremble under my thumb, the smallest sound spilling past them—a wrecked, whisper-shattered, “I’m yours.”
And it feels like the universe just fell into place.
Her whisper still hangs between us, fragile and trembling. I’m yours.
It ignites me.
The grip I have on her jaw shifts, dragging her face up as my mouth crashes down on hers—rough, unrelenting, nothing tender about it.
Her tears salt my tongue, her lips parting with a broken sound that I swallow whole.
She’s crying and kissing me at the same time, and it’s the most beautiful, fucked-up thing I’ve ever tasted.
I shove her back into the brick wall, caging her in with my body, my palm splayed against her throat—not choking, just holding, reminding her who owns the air she’s trying to breathe.
“You don’t walk away after that,” I growl against her lips, teeth scraping the swollen curve of her mouth. “You don’t get to tell me you’re mine and then think you can run. I’ll fuck the thought of leaving out of your body right here if I have to.”
Her sobs break into shaky gasps as my hands drag down, finding the hem of her skirt, yanking it up rough enough to tear the seams. Her thighs tremble, but when I spread them with my knee, she doesn’t fight—she clutches at me, nails carving into my shoulders through the fabric.
“You came here to test me?” I rasp, grinding her hips into the wall, pinning her in place while my fingers shove her underwear aside. “To see if I’d fall for another warm body? Brooklyn, look at me.”
Her eyes lift, wide and wet, lashes clumped from tears.
“I could’ve had any of them,” I snarl, pressing two fingers into her wet pussy, sharp and punishing. She gasps, biting her lip, but the sound escapes anyway. “But none of them are you. And I’d rather die with your name on my tongue than live a thousand nights inside anyone else.”
Her body jerks under the pressure of my hand, her sobs catching, torn between fury and need.
I press harder, curling my fingers until her knees buckle, until she’s hanging off my arm, forehead slamming back against the brick.
“You don’t fit in my world?” I taunt, my lips brushing her ear, my breath hot and feral. “Baby girl, you are my world. And I’ll prove it until you never fucking doubt it again.”
Her cry splits into the night as I take her, rough and reckless, her skirt bunched at her waist, my hand locked at her throat, holding her still as I drive the truth into her body the way words never could.
Every thrust is a vow. Every broken sob she gives me is another chain I wrap around her. And when she claws my back and whispers Dean like it’s both a curse and a prayer, I know—this isn’t just cement. This is branding.
By the time I spill inside her, dragging her mouth to mine so the whole alley echoes with the sound of her breaking, she’s mine in every way that matters.
And I’m never letting her go.