I know I’m driving like a madman ever since I received the dreaded call from Vivienne, just as I’d climbed into my car.
But I need to get to Cece. Right now. She’s too exposed. Too vulnerable under the watchful eyes of people who want yet another thing from her to discredit her standing.
I slam my hand on the steering wheel. Fuck, I should’ve asked Sebastian to get some discreet security on her. Blackthorn is too big for these assignments, but he definitely could have gotten a contact of his to keep an eye on her. Then she wouldn’t have been able to sneak out, ditching Astor’s security guards planted outside my apartment building.
Hell, I should’ve anticipated something like this could happen.
And now, my brief conversation with Vi is a pulsing clang in my head.
“Where are you? Is she with you?” she’d said the second I picked up. Her frantic and panicked voice nearly gave me a stroke.
“No, I’m headed her way. She’s in—”
“She’s gone fucking viral, Levi,” she snapped, cutting me off. “A video of her dancing in some club called The Vault is all over my feed. Where the fuck are you?”
Shit. This can’t be good. “I… I’m literally in my car, Vi. I’ll call you when we’re home.”
I had hung up then. Didn’t even check my phone to see if things were worse than my own imagination.
Every cell in my body was urging me to get to her before there could be more fodder for those vultures to tear her apart. So I took off, my car screeching out the private garage and joining the agonizingly slow-moving traffic.
I had no idea what would greet me the second I entered the second-grade nightclub in the heart of Gastown. My impatience and sheer panic had me slapping my ID in the bouncer’s hand.
Thankfully, he’d been polite enough to not shove me away before I even got inside.
And now I’m here. Standing in the middle of a crowded floor with my wide eyes wildly scanning the room. Neon blue and red lights shower the heads of countless people.
But none of them are her.
Did she leave? Is she bar hopping somewhere?
I quickly check her location again, and breathe a sighs of relief when it pings at my own location.
Then I move quickly, sweaty bodies slamming intome as I make my way deeper into the chaos.
The songs are barely hitting my ears, but when they do, it’s like I’ve transported myself to the early 2000s.
At first, I don’t see her. Because I’m looking for a tall, lean woman with a shaggy mop of a short pixie cut. But when a bright shock of a messy, purple bob catches my attention, I nearly dismiss it before doing a double—triple—take.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She’s dancing wildly against the beats of a song I vaguely recognize. Her hips sway, unrestrained. She’s throwing her arms over her head, in an elegant yet near-seductive wave that makes my throat dry.
The strands of her purple wig glowing and flicking with every move.
Christ.Purple.
She’s wearing, and somehow absolutely owning, the color.
Not many people have their phones out. But I know someone definitely recorded her a while ago—probably posting it on social media with an insane story that’s meant to make things look worse than they are.
For a good few minutes, evenIhad thought this would end up in a gossip outlet with taint attached to her name. And I was terrified for her.
But—fuck—here she is. Completely unreserved. And looking downright gorgeous while doing it.
I didn’t even know she owned a leather skirt. But here it is, the neon lights shimmering over the material that ends enticingly close to her mid-thigh.
I feel dizzy for a second before making my way to her. She hasn’t seen me yet. But I notice a slimy bastard angling behind her just as she starts to slowlyremove her crop-fur coat to the beat of the music.
