“Yeah,” Marissa hums, bopping her head.
“Yes, it’s our lucky night,” Heather says.
“It is, so let’s get in, grab some drinks, and dance,” I say, ignoring the angry looks of the girls in line.
Oh well, it’s not my fault that we were selected to go inside. I don’t know the criteria, but I don’t care.
“Sounds like a plan,” Heather giggles, walking next to me.
I look at Marissa; she’s walking in front, eager to get inside.
“Chica, you got to slow down,” I scoff, poking her shoulder.
“Dang, you two are walking so damn slow,” Marissia hisses, looking over her shoulder, rolling her eyes.
“Hot girls for Fuego club,” the bouncer hums, smiling and extending his arm for us to enter.
“Thanks,” I murmur, nodding.
“Oh yeah, let’s have fun,” Marissa yells, pumping her arms.
“Okay, let's go to the bar and get our drinks,” Heather hums, pointing at the bar.
We walk around the crowd and tables to get to the bar on the opposite side of the doors. The music is loud; the bass vibrates on the floor, and the sound waves run through my body. I’m ready to dance and have fun. I smile, toss my hair over my shoulder, and shake my shoulders to the beat.
Of course, I love it; it’s Latin music, and it’s my blood.
Marissa goes to the bar, orders her drink, and looks at us.
“I want the same,” Heather yells over the loud music.
“Get me a shot of tequila and a Margarita top shelf,” I hum.
“Oh my, do you see all of the hot guys,” Marissa says, looking around the club.
“Yeah,” Heather hums, bouncing to the beat.
“Here’s the shots,” Marissa says, handing the shots.
“Let’s toast,” Heather yells, holding the shot glass up.
“Oh yeah,” Marissa screams, nodding.
“Right. I do the first toast. I heard this girl say it. To those that see us hot, the rest can rot in hell,” I yell.
We drink up the shot and grab the lemon. I enjoy the burning liquid running down my throat.
Five
Anatoly
Fuentes gets here within five minutes; the fucker walks into the office, looking around the room. He shakes his head and glares at me, gathering his brows.
“Kravtsov, what the hell? You have my man tied up? What’s going on,” Fuente growls, standing tall, and lifts his chin.
“Denis, take Jose to the storage room so I can talk to Fuentes,” I order, looking at Fuentes.
Denis grabs Jose, pulls him out of the office, and closes the door.
