10. Luna #2
She bends at the waist, giving us a full view of her ass, and then shoots a glance over her shoulder. “Can you see my thong?”
Raven doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course we can.”
I laugh, smirking. “It’s practically glowing in the dark.”
Amani claps her hands together. “Perfect. I’m ready then!”
We are out the door in seconds, our laughter still echoing in the hallway.
The car ride over is filled with excitement, the anticipation building with every passing minute.
Music plays, drinks are passed around, and Amani can’t stop talking about how she’s going to own the dance floor.
Raven is quieter, focused, her eyes already scanning the streets as we near the club.
But me? I’m ready for whatever chaos comes next.
The club is exactly what I expected—an oasis of lights, music, and people craving something more. As we are ushered past the velvet ropes, the stares follow us like a wave. It isn’t just the fact that we’re beautiful—no, we own the space. And everyone can feel it.
That’s when the host approaches us. He’s tall, dressed in an all-black suit, his shaggy brown hair making him look a little untamed in the best way possible.
His tanned skin and striking green eyes are the kind of combination you can’t ignore, and his Italian accent only adds to his undeniable charm.
“Welcome, ladies. My name is Sal. If you need anything, please feel free to let one of my workers know,” he says with a smile, looking us over with interest. “I hope you have a good time tonight.”
Amani flashes him one of her signature smiles. “We plan to.”
With that, we make our way to the VIP section. The drinks are flowing, the music is thumping, and everyone’s stares feel like invitations to play.
Amani is already dancing, her body moving like it was made for the beat. Raven has that focused, almost bored expression, but I can tell she’s just waiting for the right moment to let loose.
Amani doesn’t waste time. “You ready to hit the floor, Luna?” she asks, pulling at my arm.
“I was born ready,” I shoot back, grinning as I follow her and Raven toward the main dance floor.
It isn’t long before Amani starts dragging Raven toward a couple of decent-looking guys. I roll my eyes as they get sandwiched between them, already laughing like they’ve known them for years.
I’m still too busy soaking in the music, the crowd, and that pulse in the air when I feel it.
A damn hand.
On my waist.
Whoever he is better get used to doing things with no thumbs.
I spin around, ready to let loose some verbal carnage?—
But my words die in my throat when I see him.
Standing there like sin in a tailored suit, wearing that signature cocky smirk like he invented arrogance.
Dracula.
“I told you I’d be seeing you real soon,” he says, his voice low and rough, a dangerous rasp that slides over my skin like warm honey laced with venom.
My pulse kicks up.
I cross my arms, trying to play it cool. "Did you set this up?"
He shrugs like the devil on casual Friday. "I know the owner. He owed me a favor."
Fucking mafia men.
I’ll add this guy, Sal, to my hit list right after I get rid of this six-foot-five walking red flag.
I roll my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of the smile tugging at my lips.
"Well," I say with a sarcastic bite, "I hope you like dancing alone."
I turn on my heel, ready to make my dramatic exit—but his hand catches mine, pulling me gently but firmly back.
I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat as he steps in close, heat radiating off him.
“Don’t leave yet,” he murmurs, voice deep and velvet-soft. "Just stay. One dance with me. You can go back to pretending to hate me later."
I smirk. “I usually charge fifty bucks for a private dance, but for you? That’ll be two hundred. Cash.”
Because if I’m going to let this man ruin my emotional stability, I might as well get paid for it.
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Does being an assassin not pay enough these days?”
Without breaking eye contact, he pulls out three crisp hundred-dollar bills from his coat pocket as if this were entirely normal Bratva behavior.
“Just the tip,” he says, handing them to me. “I’ll give you more later on based on your performance.”
I blink.
Oh, he’s serious.
I take the cash without missing a beat and stuff it right into the front of my dress, letting the bills peek out.
His eyes drop there for a split second—and yeah, I catch that twitch in his jaw.
I narrow my eyes, but damn it, the man knows exactly how to slide under my skin.
“Fine,” I say, turning to face him fully. “One dance. But if you step on my foot, I already have blade number three with your initials engraved, waiting for you.”
He smirks, unbothered. “Giving me presents already, Lisichka?”
He pulls me in, his hand resting just at the curve of my lower back, the other catching my fingers as the bass drops.
There’s no room for space between us. The rhythm wraps around us like a promise we’re both trying to outrun.
There’s nothing subtle about the way he touches me.
There is nothing innocent in the way we dance. Every movement is friction and temptation; every sway is a provocation.
His lips brush my ear, barely a whisper. “You feel that?”
I lean in, voice sultry and amused. “Hard to miss. You might want to keep it under control before we cause a scene.”
His laugh is low, hungry, almost feral. “You keep dancing like that, I’ll forget we’re in public—and I’ll fuck you against the nearest wall.”
A bolt of heat flashes through me, my breath catching in my throat. My thighs clench on instinct.
I tsks. “That’ll cost you extra.”
His eyes gleam with something wicked, something primal. “You’re playing with fire, Lisichka.”
I grin, voice dripping with challenge. “Good. I’d hate for you to get bored.”
Without another word, he grabs my wrist and steers me off the dance floor straight out the club’s back door.
The cool night air hits my skin as we step into the alley. The music fades behind us—just a low, distant thump now. Out here, it’s quiet. Intimate. And all I can feel is him. His heat. His tension. His focus, locked entirely on me.
“I’m getting real tired of this cat-and-mouse game,” Vladimir says, voice low and lethal. “Aren’t you?”
I lift my chin, giving him my best bratty smirk. “Funny. I didn’t realize we were still playing. Thought you accepted you were the mouse.”
His eyes flare, dark and hungry.
In one swift move, his hands slide to my hips, yanking me flush against him. “No?” he murmurs, voice like velvet laced with danger. “Then maybe you should show this mouse how much you enjoy the chase.”
The air between us crackles—heavy, charged.
Dangerous.
Reckless.