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I don’t belong here, but maybe they will think I’m one of the dancers who hasn’t changed into her stripping attire yet.
If they looked at me at all, they would know that isn’t the truth. They would realize I’m just a broken bag of bones and flesh.
Surrender is precisely what anyone would expect a club to look like. You would never know these men are more dangerous than the average. Other than the furniture being more luxurious and talent of the dancers being better than most, I’ve stepped into numerous clubs like this along the Miami coastline.
This isn’t where I’ll find Enzo. This isn’t the deepest, darkest place of the club. This is for appearances, so if anyone like me stumbles inside, they won’t realize what they found.
I don’t think Enzo is these men’s leader, but even if he were, he’s proud enough not to bother mingling with the men at the bottom. At least he was three years ago.
The covered clothes I’m wearing feels like a mistake. The sweater and jeans are suffocating me and make it impossible to pretend to be a dancer or a waiter, which are the only role a woman has in a club like this.
But I keep walking, and no one stops me. No one asks me a question. No one even raises an eyebrow.
It’s eerie how the men continue on. I feel like a ghost. Maybe I am? Maybe I did die at sea, and I’ve come back to haunt Enzo’s ass?
I make it out of the main room and find myself in a hidden hallway darker than the main rooms. The blackness should scare me; the amount of light here only makes the wickedness harsher. It does nothing to brighten my way.
But I prefer the dark, the night. The black trapped me for years, but it taught me how to see even without the moonlight.
I walk easily, somehow feeling more at ease as I walk down hallway after hallway.
I should be stopped. I know I’m on camera, but no one stops me.
It’s like Enzo wants me to find him.
I see more light pour through at the end of a hallway, and I hear music again for the first time since I left the main room at the entrance.
This, this is where I’ll get my answers.
I stand in the shadow of the door, wishing I could see what is going on in the room without being seen myself.
I wish I could steal my answers from Enzo as easily as I stole his watch the first time I met him.
Instead of recoiling, I step forward out of the shadows and into the doorway.
Enzo.
He’s seated in a large, red chair at one corner of the room. It looks like it was made for royalty, not his traitorous ass.
His eyes meet mine the instant my body appears in the doorway, as if he knew I was walking down the hallway toward him. No one else notices me. Just him.
Rage, like I’ve never felt before, explodes like shockwaves through my body. This is the man responsible for my years of torment, pain, and suffering. This man chose to sell me to Jarod and his men. This man ensured I hated the sea forever. This man took my life and twisted it into something I’ll never be able to claim as my own. He took my freedom and exchanged it for retching pain.
This man.
This fucking gorgeous, evil man.
Last time I saw Enzo, he was a boy. Tall, his muscles strong, but young. He looked older than his age of seventeen, but now he’s all man. He’s grown into bulk muscle, hardened into a monster of beautiful veins and cords twisting through his body. A shadow of his dark hair covers his rigid chin, sharp lines form his cheeks, and slits for eyes that resemble a snake. His hair is a little longer than before, twisting into black threads weaving his victims under his spell, making it appear he’s innocent when he’s the epitome of evil.
My air is gone as he stares at me. I’ve imagined this moment for years, replaying this moment in my head and all the ways it could play out. With me slapping him, yelling at him, giving him some of his own medicine when I tortured him. I imagined so many variations of what I would do when I first saw Enzo again.
I never expected to freeze like a pussy. I’m strong and fearless. There is nothing left to fear when everything has been taken from you. But standing in front of the man responsible for my breaking is too much for my brain to process.
Enzo stands, brushing off a well-manicured hand that was tracing over the lapel of his suit jacket. A suit that melds over his sculptured muscles like a second layer of skin. I thought he looked good in his clothes before, but now he radiates confidence as he moves like nothing and no one will stop him from getting what he wants.
My eyes widen, their attention drifting from Enzo to the women lounging and dancing around him. Five women, all in various states of dress. Skin tight clothing revealing their breasts and asses, to lingerie, to completely naked. Then I see the men. Two of them wear suits like Enzo’s although they don’t fit as well. And three wear jeans and hoodies. None of the men acknowledge the women, treating them like they are inanimate furniture and decorations instead of real people. It should disgust me, but these women are treated like queens compared to the women on the yacht I’ve spent too much of my life on.
Everyone’s focus is on Enzo as he stands, still gawking at me like he doesn’t believe I’m really here. I doubt he even recognizes me. It’s been years, and I was nothing to him but a paycheck he collected when I was sold to ensure I kept our deal and stayed away. He’s probably just amazed that one of his slaves made it through his security to his door without being thrown out.
