Page 8 of Ruthless

Tonight will mark a fresh start.

Angela nudges me and tips her chin toward the back of the club. “Don’t look now, but hottie incoming at twelve o’clock.” Her brow furrows. “Do you know him or something? Because he’s staring at you like you’re the last remaining chicken after the apocalypse.”

I snort and sip more of my drink without glancing in that direction. “Doubtful. You’re the only person I know who’d come to a club like this.”

“Well, I suggest getting to know him. I’d ride that man like we were jockeys in the Kentucky Derby.” She licks her lips with comical exaggeration. “He’s hot as hell.”

Laughing, I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of this exemplary specimen. Given the apparent disparity in our tastes, I anticipate someone a little rough around the edges. Maybe one with a nose or eyebrow ring, goatee, and neck tattoos.

When the man and I lock eyes, my stomach plummets to the floor.

I freeze as the rest of the crowd blurs.

“That can’t be him,” I whisper to myself.

But I’m lying.

Because, without a doubt, the eyes burning into me like lasers belong to Dante Argento.

My ex.

The man who ruined me when he ended our relationship in the most humiliating and painful way possible.

Angela’s face pops into my sight line. “Hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little pale all of a sudden.”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I do know that guy.”

The club spins wildly around me. I always knew that returning to New York might lead to a run-in with Dante or those men, but the chances seemed so infinitesimal that I never bothered worrying. Too many people in a big city, and we ran in completely different circles.

Pressing the glass to my suddenly heated cheek, I crane my neck in time to watch him turn his back and melt into the crowd.

A bolt of pure rage rushes through my veins. Oh, hell no. Five years ago, Dante vanished from my life without a word, and then some thugs broke into the apartment I shared with Jeremyand threatened him on Dante’s behalf, telling us to leave or else. I’ll be damned if I let him pull that same stunt again.

If nothing else, he owes me a big fat apology.

“Hang on, Angela. I’ll be right back.”

After sucking down one more gulp of vodka-cran for liquid courage, I hop off the barstool and chase after him.

Dancers envelop me as I plow my way toward the back of the club. I dodge sweaty armpits, wild elbows, and spilled drinks, popping up on my toes periodically to hunt for his dark hair.

My head whirls. Too much body heat from all the people, plus that mistake of a second drink. Once the dizzy spell passes, I spot him veering down a hallway and disappearing behind a door.

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. In all the times I envisioned meeting Dante again, I never pictured racing after his sorry ass in a techno dance club. I don’t get it. Why stare at me like that, only to turn tail and flee?

A horrifying thought penetrates the fury choking me.

What…what if Dante didn’t recognize me? Maybe he stared so hard because he was trying to place my face.

My gut clenches. Our relationship clearly meant a lot more to me than him, but to not even recall me at all?

Bullshit.

Hissing under my breath, I reach the door and barrel inside.

The dim interior catches me off guard, and I stumble. Where the hell did he go?

I risk a few more cautious steps. “Dante?” No reply, but I sense a whisper of movement in the shadows to my left. “Hello? Are you there?”