AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“In six months’ time, you will marry Igor Mikhailov of the Russian Bratva.”
3
Rose
I study my reflection in the glass partition of the car. My hair is down in full, thick waves around my shoulders. I’m wearing only a little mascara and eye shadow, just enough to enhance the green of my eyes. I tug at the short hemline of my favorite little white dress that falls off one shoulder and molds to my curves in the most delicious of ways. Not bad for a rushed job.
My phone beeps, and I click on the text message thread with my best friend.
Evelyn: Are you there yet?
Me: Pulling up now.
Evelyn: And you’re wearing that little white number, right? Because I LOVE that dress on you. You’re banging hot when you wear it.
Evelyn’s words make me smile even though they are unbecoming of a lady. Her family is practically English royalty, which makes Evelyn an actual lady by title, but it makes no difference to her. She’s as wild as the Irish countryside we both love, and there’s no changing her.
Leaving her behind was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I moved to a foreign country at twelve years old. We met on the first day of school. I was hiding in the bathroom, wanting nothing to do with anyone, when she found me and took me under her wing. The rest, as they say, is history. She knows all my secrets, even the ones she’s taken part in encouraging, and is as close to me as my actual sister.
I never had to tell Evelyn about my family and our ties to the Irish mob. When your uncle practically owns the city, the truth isn’t much of a secret. Thankfully, Evelyn didn’t let my family history stop her from being friends with me.
I click on the post she originally sent, and an image fills the phone screen. A social media influencer I follow stands outside a club called Sinners. Her bright blue hair shines in the club’s neon lights as she poses with some friends. In the caption, she says the club is celebrating the owner’s birthday and offering your first drink free.
After the bombshell dropped at dinner earlier this week, I needed out of the house. I had to get out. Not even a week back and I already want to escape to Ireland.
The car’s speaker system turns on, and the driver’s voice comes through. “We’re here, Miss O’Leary.”
I instruct him to drop me off at the corner of the street Sinners is on. Of course, none of this has been cleared by my dad. The only way I could leave without his approval at all is because he was locked away in a meeting. Sure, there’ll be hell to pay for my actions, but what more can he do to me? He’s already sold me to the Russians by arranging a marriage to that perverted old man, and nothing can be worse than a future tied to that bastard. I still remember how he acted at my mom’s funeral. I was twelve, a child, and he looked at me like I was some kind of prize to be won. If Dad thinks I’m going to lie down and accept my fate, he can think again. I will strike a match and burn everything down before I succumb to my father’s wishes. And something tells me the first match will be lit tonight.
The music in the club hits me the moment I walk in. It vibrates through my body and fills me with electric energy. The shadows in the dark club are broken only by the occasional beam of neon lights, but the focus is on the dance floor placed in the center of the main floor. I lean against the black iron railing and watch the mesmerizing scene unfold below. A mass of bodies moves in unison with the music and the lights. Their quick movements make it seem like time is being sliced into pieces. The erotic and enticing sight sends a shiver down my spine, and I feelthe sudden need to join them.
The bar is busy when I approach, but I still grab the attention of one of the bartenders and order a cranberry whiskey. With my drink in hand, I find a spot close to the dance floor and lean against a stone pillar.
My gaze roams the couples on the dance floor until a pair catches my eye. Every stroke of the man’s hands over the woman’s body is confident and possessive. It’s clear in the way she surrenders to him, giving him every ounce of trust she has, that she feels safe in his arms.
I enjoy observing people. I like to create these little stories about their lives in my head and watch it play out in my mind like a movie in real time. Like this couple. Maybe she’s the daughter of his boss or his best friend’s little sister, or maybe she’s a stranger. The possibilities are endless, but one thing is for sure. Their love burns with a passion as hot as the fires of hell itself. The man isn’t controlling her any more than she controls him. Their relationship is a give and take, a push and pull, an attraction similar to what the moon and ocean share. They live for one another.
God, how I want that. To be craved, to be wanted…to be loved.
My hand instinctively moves down the column of my throat as the sight of them sends a rush of heat through my body. Normally, I would turn away, but the shadows in the club keep me hidden from sight, leaving me free to watch and imagine and give in to the desire they provoke in my blood.
Two drinks later, I feel confident enough to step onto the dance floor. The warmth of the crowd and the alcohol in my system merge to create a blissful state where all my worries are replaced by the music. The song shifts to a slow, deep bass beat with lyrics of desire, dominance, and complete surrender.
Something whispers to open my eyes, and I listen. My breath catches as a pair of intense hazel eyes snare me. He has the most handsome face I’ve ever seen. The dark stubble on his sun-kissed face emphasizes his sharp and well-defined jawline. His dark hair frames his chiseled face perfectly, and I long to run my fingers through it.
A girl on his lap is trying her hardest to please him, but he’s only looking at me. I don’t know why I do it, but I raise a single finger and beckon with a sly smile. An air of confidence surrounds him, a captivating presence about him that I want to explore, and something tells me he’d be happy to let me.
I practically snort when he promptly shoves the girl off his lap, ignoring her cries of protest as he rises to his full height. His eyes remain fixed on me as he says something to his companions, but he doesn’t wait for them to reply. I’m so captivated by the wet dream walking toward me that I don’t bother sparing them a look either.
Even with my heels on, he towers over me, his height at least a foot taller than my five-four frame. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, baring the sinewy muscles of his arms. I trace the path upward, lingering on his broad chest that begs to be touched. This man knows how to entice a woman’s sinful thoughts, drawing out her deepest, darkest desires.
The stranger stops in front of me, and without a moment of hesitation, he reaches out, wraps his hand around my waist, and pulls me flush against his hard chest. I gasp at the dominating movement and silently approve.
When I raise my face to his, he lifts his other hand to trace the side of my cheek with the back of his fingers. His touch is gentle despite his size, and I turn toward him, chasing the feeling. His eyes flash with a heated emotion that leaves me clenching my thighs in response. A shiver runs down my spine as he explores further, tracing a path down my neck to my collarbone and back up to the nape of my neck before burying his fingers in my hair.
Up close, his eyes are even more overwhelming. The intensity in his gold gaze is so strong. It feels like I’m standing too close to a blazing fire. And if I’m not careful, I’m likely to burn.
“Who are you?” His deep voice is smooth, like melted chocolate. “What’s your name?”
