Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Those two still make zero sense to me. You know, Callan said Cutter never talks about Claire. Doesn’t text or call her.”
“What do you mean?” I raise my voice as we join a crush of people waiting for drinks.
“I don’t know. We were talking about how we can’t bear to spend the night away from each other, and Callan said it was weird how Cutter never goes home to Claire.”
“Wait.” I stop her when we finally reach the bar through the packed bodies. “Are you telling me my brother admitted he doesn’t like spending time away from you?”
Slapping my arm, she squirms. “Shut up.”
“He’s a bitch in private, huh?” I tease, and she flips me the bird. “Let’s not talk about Cutter tonight,” I tell her, and she winces.
“Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly.
“Stop saying sorry and buy me a drink.” I jerk my chin toward the bar.
“Deal.”
When the bartender makes it over to us, Rogue orders two beers.
“What kind?”
“Any,” we say in unison.
“It’s nice in here, but I feel completely out of place.” She winces, turning back to look out over the club.
My gaze roams over her, and I snort. “Are you fucking kidding? You look like this place was built for you.” In a red silk dress that ties around her neck then skims her ass, completely backless, before flowing down to her knees like water, she looks like a million bucks.
Two black bottles get placed on the bar with no labels. “Forty-four dollars and ninety cents.”
“What did you say?” Rogue gapes.
Slipping my credit card across the bar, I grab one of the bottles and place it in her hand. “Drink.”
“She better have distilled the barley grain herself. Are they kidding with those prices?”
“Barley grain?” I chuckle, swiping up my own beer.
“Yeah, beer has like four ingredients. They’re robbing us.”
“They need to pay for all the gold,” I quip, nodding toward the wall melting before our eyes.
Surveying the space, she says, “I wonder what something like this costs.”
“It’s the Carnells’ club. They have more money than God.” Memories of meeting Nicolas Carnell and taking him to the clubhouse filter through my mind. He was reported missing the same week. Rumor has it he got himself in trouble with some street gang. The guy was reckless and out of control and it cost him his life. Look at everything he could have had. What makes it worse is the drugs you get from inside these clubs are ten times better than anything watered down in the streets.
“I know that name.”
“One is a senator. The rest own casinos and fancy clubs like this one.”
“Andrew Carnell.” She taps a finger against her temple. “I met him once.”
“The senator’s son,” I inform her.
“Wait”—she holds up a finger—“I think Callan mentioned the Carnells before too.”
“Yeah, the club does business with them.” Not that he’d talk to her about club business…would he?
Her phone buzzes in her purse, making her smile. “If that’s my brother sending cock pics, tell him I said ‘ew.’”
“We’re not that bad.” She bites her lip then unlocks the screen and frowns, turning the phone away so I can’t see the message, but I already saw who it was from: Monster.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” Her throat bobs.
“Is it Callan?” My heart kicks over, waiting to see if she’ll lie.
“No.” She smiles, stuffing it back into her purse. “Come on, let’s dance.”
Blowing out a breath, I nod my head. Good enough.
Taking my hand, she guides me through the bodies, avoiding the table where we left Claire. The dancefloor glows like a beacon. Swinging her hips, she encourages me to move with her, and I allow the beat of the music to move through my body like a second pulse. Limbs loosen and stress flees until all I am is rhythm, a slave to the music.
A sheen of sweat coats our skin as we move through song after song. “I need a drink,” I eventually call out over the noise when my throat dries out and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
“Okay. I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
Slipping through the crowd, I pass the table of men who were eye-fucking Rogue and me earlier, stopping when one grabs my ass. “Hey, baby, you wanna party with us?”
Baby? Gag. Sidling up to him, I stroke my finger down his clean-shaven cheek and slip my other hand into his pocket “Only if I get to top.”
Wide brown eyes almost bug out of his face. “You can go on top for sure, beautiful.” The white tan line from where his wedding ring usually sits glares up at me from his hand.
“Not ride on top, baby—top, as in, I fuck you.” I pull my phone from inside my boot and open the photos, scrolling to the picture of me holding Monster’s dildo from a night Rogue and I were messing around.