Chapter 25
ANASTASIA
This day is charged with too many memories I’d rather forget. Shina couldn’t come out with us tonight, but Ro promised me a fun night. I need a drink, and to feel the music move through me. We’re hitting up Club Noir again, since I didn’t get to dance last time I was there, and Ro wasn’t with me.
When we get out the ride, there’s a line out the door leading to get inside.
We don’t bother with that and stroll to the front.
It’s a different bouncer from the first time so he doesn’t recognize me.
I give him my best fuck me eyes, “Anastasia Díaz,” I tell him.
I reserved us a table with Sergio’s Black Amex.
He was never a father to me, but I’ll gladly throw away his money.
He looks us up and down, then at his list before moving to the side and letting us in.
The clubs packed and thriving tonight. “Thank you so much for coming with me.”
“Are you kidding? Like I’d let you spend your birthday alone!”
A few minutes pass before a girl comes up to our table to get our drink order, “Hey, what can I get started for you?”
“Bring us a bottle of 1942, please.”
She quickly comes back with our bottle and two glasses. I waste no time to pour us a drink. Its electric night and the bass flows through the air around us. Me N you by YDG, plays on the speakers.
The bass thumps so hard through Club Noir’s walls it feels like my heartbeat is syncing to it.
The air is thick with perfume, sweat, and electricity.
Like the whole room is vibrating on the edge of something dangerous.
Ro and I have our own table tucked against the velvet wall, a bottle of 1942 sitting proudly in the center with two glasses half-full.
I raise mine, grinning. “To surviving another year!” I laugh, the tequila burning its way down. Ro smirks, clinking her glass against mine. “Barely.”
The music is loud, electric, pulling people out onto the dance floor like moths to neon. Ro is already swaying in her seat, hair loose and wild. I excuse myself, weaving through the crowd toward the bathroom.
That’s when I see him. Some guy in a leather jacket, standing half in the shadows, his hand slipping a little baggie into another man’s palm. My steps falter. My chest tightens, not with fear, but with want. The kind of want that feels like scratching an itch that has been buried for months.
Before I know it, I’m walking toward him. He looks me over, wary at first, then relaxed when I press cash into his hand. A quick exchange, small plastic burning in my palm, and I tuck it away like a secret.
By the time I get back to Ro, the first wave is already hitting me.
Warmth licking at my skin, sound stretching and twisting until every beat feels like it’s running through my veins.
Ro glances at me, her eyes narrowing for half a second, but she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she grabs my hand and tugs me toward the dance floor.
The lights paint everything electric blue and pink. We move together, laughing, spinning, letting the rhythm take over. My body feels weightless, untouchable.
That’s when he appears. Some random guy slides up behind me, his hands finding my hips like he’d been invited.
Normally, I’d shove him off. Tonight, I let it happen.
His touch is rougher than I like, and his hands wander.
All I can think about is how they aren’t his hands on me, but the high blurs the edges, makes it feel like maybe this was what I want.
The music swallows my protests before they even form.
I close my eyes and lean into the sound, into the heat. Then suddenly the guy is gone. Or rather, I am. Strong arms hook around my waist, hauling me off the floor. The ground tilts, and the next thing I know, I’m being tossed over someone’s shoulder like I weigh nothing.
I blink through the haze, my voice muffled by the thump of the bass. “What the hell—? Ro! Where’s Ro?”
“Don’t worry about it.” The voice was low, hard, familiar enough to slice through the fog clouding my head.
My eyes flutter open just in time to see Roman cutting through the crowd, giving a short nod like everything is already handled. My stomach twists. And then we’re outside, the night air slapping me back to reality, a black car waiting.
Eryx
The phone buzzes against the desk, Caine’s name flashing across the screen. I almost don’t answer.
“She’s at Noir,” he says the moment I pick up. “Stacie just called. Said Stassi’s there with Ro. Drinking, dancing, and—” he hesitates, “—some shit went down. She scored from someone. I’m already going through the footage and taking care of that problem.”
The glass in my hand cracks before I realize how hard I’m gripping it. I’d asked him to keep me updated if she ever showed up there.
“I’m on my way.”
The drive blurs. My mind is already at the club, already picturing how she must be feeling. Fragile, reckless, letting herself slip somewhere she doesn’t belong.
When I walk in, the music slams into me like a wall, but I cut through the crowd with one purpose. It doesn’t take long to find her.
Center of the floor. Lights flashing across her flushed face, a guy’s hands crawling over her like he owns her.
Something in me snaps.
I don’t think. I just move. My hand clamps down on her waist, and before the bastard even registers what’s happening, I rip her away from him. She struggles for half a second, laughing, thinking it’s a game. Until I hoist her up and over my shoulder. My hand firm on her thigh.
The guy shouts something behind me, but one look from Roman shuts him up. He’s already here. Of course he is. That was the point.
“Eryx—Ro!” Her voice is muffled, slurred, half-panicked, half-high.
“She’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Roman appears at my side, his expression unreadable as always. He gives me a nod, already moving to tie up the loose ends, to make sure Ro is safe, that no one breathes a word.
I carry Stassi through the doors and out into the night, her fists lightly thump against my back in protest that hold no real weight. She smells like tequila and sweat and danger, and she has no idea how close she came to something worse.
I don’t stop until she was in the car, the door slamming shut behind us. My hands grip the wheel tight, the engine growling to life.
“Where are we going?” She asks. Her voice soft, almost childlike now that the high has her in its teeth.
Somewhere safe. Somewhere she can’t destroy herself.
I don’t answer. I just drive.
I keep my eyes on the road, the city lights slicing across her face in sharp flashes. Her question hangs in the air between us. Where are we going?
She leans her head against the window, pupils blown wide, lips parted in a dazed smile like she’s floating somewhere I can’t reach.
“You shouldn’t be there,” I finally say. My voice coming out rougher than I intend.
She laughs, soft and lazy. “It’s my birthday. Where else should I be?”
I grip the wheel tighter. “Anywhere but there. Anywhere but with some stranger touching you.”
Her head tips toward me, a dreamy grin tugging at her mouth. “Jealous?”
I shoot her a look, sharp enough to cut through the haze she’s wrapped in. But she doesn’t flinch. If anything, the challenge in her half-lidded eyes dares me to answer.
“I don’t get jealous,” I say. But the words come out hollow. She feels it too. I can see it in the way she smirks before slumping back into her seat.
The silence that follows is filled with the hum of the engine, the faint echo of the club still buzzing in her veins. She hums along to some imaginary rhythm, fingers drumming against her thigh. Every movement is careless, unguarded.
“You’re high,” I mutter.
“Mmm,” she breathes, not even denying it. “Feels good.”
I glance at her again, jaw tight. The heat curling in my chest is a mix of anger and something darker. Something that scares me more than I’ll admit.
Because I don’t want to strangle her for putting herself in danger. I want to pull over, drag her into my lap, and remind her that if she needs to lose herself, she can do it with me. Only me.
I force myself to keep driving.
Her head lolls back, eyes slipping shut, but then she whispers, barely audible over the road noise. “You always come for me.”
The words hit harder than they should.
I don’t respond. If I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back.
Instead, I press harder on the accelerator, carrying her away from the wreckage she almost made of herself.
I don’t stop driving until the city fades into quieter streets, where the chaos of the club feels a world away. Stassi hasn’t said much. Just soft hums, lazy laughter, and once, my name, drawn out like a sigh. Each sound scrapes against my control.
She smells of tequila, and her familiar vanilla scent. The sharp bite of it cutting through the leather-and-gunpowder scent that usually clings to my car.
“Stay awake, Vorona,” I murmur.
She makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “M’awake,” she slurs. Not even bothering to open her eyes.
I don’t trust her stomach, not with that much poison in it. So I pull into the glowing red-and-yellow lights of a greasy burger joint. She stirs when the car slows.
“Food?” she asks, suddenly alert like a child promised candy.
“Yeah. Stay here.”
She pouts when I step out, but when I come back a few minutes later with a paper bag dripping grease, her entire face lights up. I slide back into the driver’s seat, set the bag between us, and she dives in with clumsy fingers.
“Fries,” She beams at me like I’ve given her diamonds.
I can’t help it—I laugh. “Eat slow, or you’ll make a mess of my car.”
“Too late.” She bites into a burger, sauce smearing at the corner of her mouth. I reach over, thumb brushing it away before I can think better of it. Her lips part under the touch, and for a second, I almost forget she’s half-drunk, half-high, and I shouldn’t let myself look at her like this.
She chews, swallows, then leans her head on the seat, satisfied. “You’re nice when you wanna be.”
I snort, grabbing a fry for myself. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“How did you know I don’t like pickles?”
“Because I know you. Eat.”
We eat like that, the car filling with the smell of salt and grease, her quiet hums of approval making something tight in my chest loosen. When she finally slumps back against the seat, empty wrapper in her lap, I gather the trash, tuck it away, and start the car again.
When I finally pull into the garage beneath my building, she stirs, blinking as though she’s only just realized where we are.
“This…isn’t my dorm,” she says, words thick, drawn out.
“No,” I answer, cutting the engine. “It’s my apartment.”
Her brows knit, but before she can argue, I’m out of the car and at her door. She wobbles when I help her out, her balance shot, the high still running hot in her veins. She leans into me instinctively, her weight warm against my side.
“Upstairs,” I tell her.
The elevator ride is quiet, except for the faint hitch of her breath. She’s staring at me, like she’s trying to read something in my face, but she’s too far gone to find it. When the doors slide open, I guide her down the hall to my apartment.
Inside, the space is clean, old exposed brick, and floor to ceiling windows. It’s for me and my brothers. Where we can let go of everything and leave the weight of our lives at the door.
She stumbles toward the couch and flops down, laughing when her heels slip off. “You kidnapped me,” she teases. Her voice sing-song, like the seriousness of it doesn’t land.
I crouch in front of her, bracing my hands on my knees. My gaze locks on hers. “I pulled you out before something happened you couldn’t take back.”
Her smile falters for the first time tonight. She shifts, suddenly smaller, curling her legs beneath her. “I was just having fun,” she murmurs, almost defensive.
“Fun doesn’t end with you high and some stranger’s hands on you.” My voice is low, sharper than I intend, but I don’t look away.
Her eyes glisten under the dim light, wide and searching. “Why do you care so much?”
The question cuts through me. She asks it like it’s nothing. Like she doesn’t know the answer is written in every move I make, every time I show up before the world can devour her.
I drag in a breath, push back the urge to tell her exactly why.
“Because someone has to,” I say instead.
She leans back, biting her lip, watching me as though she knows I’m holding something back. The silence between us hums, thick and electric, and I know if I stay crouched here any longer, I’ll do something I can’t take back.
I stand, putting space between us, even though every part of me resists it.
“Come on follow me.” I lead her to my room and hand her one of my shirts.
Her lips curve in a small, tired smile. She strips out of her dress and heels, not a care in the world that I’m still in the room with her. She’s teasing me. Taunting me.
“You like what you see? Did you wish it was your hands that were all over me tonight?”
She steps closer, her lips brushing against mine, then presses them against me. Kisses me slowly and desperate. But there’s something else beneath it. My hands grip her waist and she brings then down over her ass.
“Go ahead. Why don’t you take what you want?” She whispers.
I take a step back. “Get some rest, Nastasya. You’ll feel it in the morning.” I turn to leave, but she her words stop me at the door.
“You always come for me,” she whispers again, softer this time, like it’s a secret she’s giving away.
And just like before, I don’t answer. Because if I do, I won’t stop.