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Zara laughed, linking her arm through mine as we walked. “With your killer dance moves? It’s practically guaranteed. And even if we don’t meet Mr. Get-Laid-Tonight, we’re going to have a blast.”
The walk to the nightclub was blissfully short, which I was exceedingly thankful for due to the heels Zara had put me in tonight. She was always on the leading edge of fashion and had insisted on dressing me in a little red dress that hugged my every curve. It was, without a doubt, the shortest dress I’d ever worn. I had to keep pulling it down with every step.
When we passed through security and went inside, the club was pulsing with energy. Colorful vibrant lights cut through the darkness, and the rhythmic thud of the bass vibrated through the floor.
Zara and I made our way through the crowd, the excitement of the dance floor infectious as we found a spot amidst the vast sea of partygoers.
Actually, this might be fun.
We moved to the music, letting the rhythmic beats take over our bodies. The freedom of dancing felt exhilarating, and for a moment, all my worries seemed to fade away.
Just as I was getting into the groove, I felt someone press up behind me. Startled, I turned to see a guy with a little too much enthusiasm and not enough sense of personal space attempting to dance with me. He ground his hard cock into my lower back, and I froze.
Before I could react, Zara was by my side, her expression a mix of protectiveness and annoyance. “Hey, Mr. Grindy-Man, back off!” she shouted over the music, pulling me away from him. She turned to me, her eyes softening. “You okay, Morgan?”
I nodded, still shaking off the unwanted contact with a shiver. I looked around, suddenly seeing the loads of men leering in my direction, and I suddenly wanted the comfort of home, a good book, another glass of wine and my two kitties, Sherlock and Holmes, cuddled beside me in bed.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for that. I just… I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”
Zara’s face fell slightly, her concern evident. “I get it. Let’s get out of here.”
As we made our way through the dance floor and out of the nightclub, the cool night air felt like freedom. I couldn’t wait to go home.
Zara slipped her arm through mine, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry tonight turned out to be such a bust. I just wanted us to have a good time.”
I squeezed her arm, grateful for her friendship. “It’s not your fault. I’m glad we went out. It was… an experience. I had fun… with you anyway.”
“Adventure or not, we’ll find you a Mr. I-can-commit-and-I-actually-have-a-big-dick before you know it,” Zara winked.
I literally groaned out loud.
“I hate you,” I muttered, not really meaning it, but saying it anyway.
“No, you don’t. You already told me you loved me. No take back-sies,” she quipped, and I shook my head.
She was absolutely right.
CHAPTER 2
Hunter Blackwater
This was fucking bullshit. I didn’t have time for this.
Right now, I should be overseeing the final testing phase of our latest nanotech prototype, a project that could revolutionize medical diagnostics, instead of bailing my uncle out of prison yet again, but here I was, walking through the sterile, echoing corridors of a men’s prison. It was a world apart from the cutting-edge labs and sleek boardrooms I was accustomed to.
I was only here because I fucking had to be.
The visitor’s section was as bleak as the last time I’d had to do this. The row of partitions was sad, with peeling grey paint on the walls and dreary off-white-colored phones. Sitting there on the other side of the glass partition was Uncle Vincent.
Right now, his face was the last one I fucking wanted to see.
Our relationship was nothing short of turbulent. Every time he came back into my life, I needed to clean up his mess. Over and over again, but I told myself that this was the last time.
I remembered the first time like it was yesterday.
He’d been running an illegal gambling operation. According to him, it was supposed to be foolproof, or so he’d said, but when he got busted by an undercover cop, I’d found myself scrambling to control the damage before it ruined my company name. It was a fucking disaster, and it hadn’t stopped there.
Next came the money laundering fiasco, with its tangled web of offshore accounts and criminal tax evasion charges. It had taken everything I’d had to get it thrown out on a technicality.
