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The guns.
The drugs.
The infidelity.
After about six months, I finally was able to end things with my Italian ex-boyfriend. I had tried to break it off multiple times before then, but Stefano Ricci didn’t take ‘no’ for
an answer. At first, he just kind of acted like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just break things off. But then, he started to get angry. One time, he even handcuffed me to his bed for an entire day, and not in the kinky way. I finally threatened to call the police on him. I was desperate, and it was a last resort. I hadn’t told him about my connection to Graham or vice versa. For one, I didn’t know shit about the mafia, but something told me it would be a conflict of interest. Mostly, though, I just didn’t want to bother Dahl with it. She had her hands full, and I didn’t want to scare her.
When I pulled the police card, Stefano was enraged. I had never seen him that furious before. Later on, I found out the hard way you don’t threaten a mobster with the police. He trashed my apartment. Broke anything and everything he could get his hands on, then slapped me twice, awarding me with three deep gashes on my face for my ‘willingness to betray him’. But apparently, my threat worked because aside from the incessant phone calls that I suspect were his, I haven’t heard from him since. That was about five months ago.
“Graham insisted.” She shrugged, prying her blonde locks out of Leena’s little fist.
“Graham did no such thing.” We turned around as her hot ass husband strolled into the room, one eyebrow raised, calling her on her fib. Jesus. Fuck. Next to his brother, Cole, he was the sexiest man I’d ever seen.
“Dolly persuaded me with sexual favors.”
“Earmuffs!” Dahlia covered Leena’s ears, and Emerson immediately clapped her hands over her own, giggling. These kids knew the drill. Graham’s dirty mouth hadn’t changed just because they had babies. Graham smiled one of his rare smiles and kissed each of his girls on the forehead before bending over and grabbing Dahl by the back of her neck and attacking her mouth.
“Oooookay, kids,” I drawled out as I stood up and reached for Leena. “Daddy’s being all caveman with Mommy again. Em, will you show Auntie Jade your new big girl bed?” Emerson squealed excitedly and bolted off to her room. Just as I was about to turn down the hall, Graham’s voice stopped me.
“Jade?” I looked at him over my shoulder, Leena on my hip.
“You get one chance. Don’t fuck it up.”
I stood in front of the mirror in the employee bathroom of Hot N’ Bothered and smoothed out my long, dark, sleek hair, then applied ColourPop in the shade Creeper to my lips. My green eyes seemed even greener against the heavy black coating my lashes. I tugged on the scrap of fabric posing as a skirt, trying, in vain, to cover my ass. My “uniform” was ridiculous. It was a black and yellow silky push-up bra that had my tits up to my chin and matching teeny tiny skirt with black garters underneath. My borrowed black Prada pumps completed the look. So, ridiculous, yes, but ridiculously hot; even I had to admit it. I took one last look and a deep breath before I decided to face the music.
It was early, but I still had to fight my way through the crowd to get to the bar. Graham’s clubs never had a lull in activity. Neon pink lights assaulted my vision as Rihanna’s “S&M”—the Britney remix, of course—blasted from every corner of the building. The last time I had been there was when Graham busted Dahl and me sneaking in. I huffed out a laugh, thinking to myself how much had changed since then. For one, I was actually legally allowed to be here now. One thing was the same, though. I definitely wouldn’t be getting laid that night either. When I finally made my way to the bar, Quinn, a gorgeous redhead with almost silver eyes and a perfect naturally cherry red pout, was waiting for me. She was so beautiful that even I wanted to make out with her. And I was like, ninety-nine percent straight. Okay, like ninety percent. I mean, have you seen Ruby Rose?
“No time for small talk, chica. Take these drinks to the corner booth in the VIP section. You’ll learn as you go.” Quinn popped her fruity pink gum in my face, shoved a tray full of drinks my way, and patted my ass in dismissal. We had met at my orientation earlier that week, and I instantly liked her. It was too soon to tell, but I was pretty sure she could be the third member of our wolf pack.
I wish I could tell you that I was one of those girls who walked effortlessly in a pair of six-inch heels, but even after years of practice, I still didn’t have it down. Balancing the tray didn’t make it any easier to stay on my feet either. I mouthed a silent prayer that I wouldn’t face plant on my first night all the way up the steps to the VIP area. When I made it in one piece, I breathed a sigh of relief and sashayed over to the corner booth. Confident that I had the hang of it, I approached the table of six rowdy men. I reminded myself to smile, because I’d been told that I had a serious case of resting bitch face, and that probably wouldn’t have gotten me any tips.
“No fucking way! Slaughterhouse has this shit in the bag,” Drunky Numero Uno shouted as he towered over Drunky Number Two. “I don’t know, man. The Executioner is making a comeback.” He shrugged, obviously not as passionate about the subject as his friend.
I interrupted their alcohol-induced arguing over what I presumed was some fight and set the glasses down between them. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” I asked them as pleasantly as possible.
“Yeah,” Drunky Number One slurred. “How about your number?” Jesus. I tried so hard to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. I guess I had better get used to it, working in a place like this. I smiled stiffly.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Then I turned around and left before my real, natural response fell from my mouth.
“Not so fast, sweetheart! We’re just playing with you. Don’t mind my friend. He’s just had a little too much to drink and can’t control himself when it comes to a beautiful woman like you.” A hand darted out to grab my skirt, and I whirled around to defend myself, but my feet got tangled up in each other. I felt myself falling in slow motion.
This was the best first day, ever, I thought to myself sarcastically, right before I felt huge, warm hands wrap around my waist from behind and haul me up against a body that felt like stone. I didn’t feel the need to fight him off, oddly enough. “Careful, Butterfly,” he mouthed into my hair.
I froze. That voice. His voice. I hadn’t heard that voice since a few months ago when he tried to get me to go home with him. And before that, it had been years. His hands turned me around to face him. Tall, maybe six three-six four and big as a fucking house. Eyes the color of whiskey framed by thick, straight eyebrows that were drawn together, and nostrils that flared in barely contained rage. His hair was slightly shorter than it was before, but still long enough to rock his man bun. Cole fucking Savage. The beast of a man who had starred in every single one of my fantasies for the past four years. Cole wasn’t even looking at me. No, his rage was directed at the belligerent group behind me.
“Get the fuck out of my club. If I catch you here again, or around my girl, you won’t have any fucking hands to jack off with,” Cole gritted out through clenched teeth. His hands were still clamped firmly around my waist, and I’m not going to lie—they felt good.
I expected a fight, but when my gaze shifted to the men, I found all six of them standing there slack-jawed. Cole still kept his hands on me, even as they were seconds from saluting him.
“Dude, that’s fucking Slaughterhouse Savage,” one of the men breathed in awe as he nudged the one who tried to grab me. My brain worked overtime to connect the dots. Cole was Slaughterhouse? I knew that he was a fighter. I had even been to one of his fights, but I didn’t know anything about that world. I was just there to hang out with Dahl. But the way these guys talked about him made it seem like he was a big deal. Cole Savage was a big deal, both literally and figuratively, but I didn’t know the general population thought so, too.
“My bad, man. I didn’t know she was yours.” He held his hands up in defense. “No disrespect.” I could practically feel Cole’s temper rising.
“Get. The FUCK. Out. Of. My. Club,” Cole growled on a shout, not unlike The Beast from The Beauty and The Beast when he first gets pissed off with Belle.
The drunks seemed to sober up immediately, re
