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“Are you ready for tonight? Did you spend my money wisely?”
“Uh-huh. I got a cocktail dress like you asked. There’s money left over, I’ll bring it later.”
“Keep it,” he says.
“No. That’s okay…”
“I said,keep it, Penelope.”
Gritting my teeth, I bite back the response I want to say, and smile into the mouthpiece. For the most part I can convince myself that I’m just an employee of Jeb’s and nothing more, but on occasions like this I can’t hide the fact that I’m his property just like the rest of the Skins are. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll send a car to pick you up from Rocks at eight. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be.”
He clicks off and I jam my phone into my bag and take the stairs two at a time. I’ve got a couple hours to sort my head out and to make myself look presentable. I just wish there’s a pill I could take to make me forget what’s to come, because whatever Jeb has planned, it won’t be good.
* * *
Feelinguncomfortable and out of my comfort zone, I stand a little further along from the entrance of Rocks trying to avoid the occasional glances from Tommy, the bouncer. He’s in his late thirties, built, and covered head to toe in tattoos, but despite his reputation, is a good guy. At least he’s always been nice to me. I can’t say the same for the countless number of people he’s manhandled out of the club over the years and given a beating when the need arises.
Fortunately for me, there are only a few eager beavers lining up and Tommy ushers them through without so much as a glance. All of them were under sixteen, let alone eighteen.
Pulling at the hem of my off-the-shoulder, figure hugging, mid-thigh, black, cocktail dress, I wait for my lift to arrive. My hair is styled in soft waves that took me over an hour to perfect. Add to that a dash of mascara and cherry-red lipstick and pair it with killer, red, stiletto heels and I look nothing short of slutty. I’m the perfect dolly-bird, and I fucking hate it.
Eight o’clock on the dot, a black limousine with tinted windows and shiny silver hubcaps pulls up. Jeb couldn’t be anymore ostentatious if he tried. Internally I roll my eyes, externally I plaster on a fake smile and steel myself for the evening ahead, wondering whether this is the time I’ll pay off my debt and will be free to live.
The back passenger door opens, and picking up my overnight bag, I slide into the limousine as ladylike as I can, given my restrictive outfit. Expecting to see Jeb sitting next to the mini fridge, I’m shocked to come face-to-face with Zayn.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out, pulling the door shut behind me. I place my overnight bag on the floor, trying to hide the surprise in my voice as I slide along the seat
“Jeb is otherwise engaged. He’s going to meet us at the venue. I’m your…chaperone,” Zayn replies, his eyes roving over my outfit. I see a flicker of surprise followed swiftly by disgust and I try not to react. Screw him. He doesn’t know why I’m doing this.
Clasped between his middle finger and thumb is a crystal glass filled a quarter of a way up with a deep amber liquid. He lifts it to his lips and takes a mouthful leaving a bead of liquid on his bottom lip. I watch with a pounding heart as his tongue snakes out between his lips, licking at the droplet in such a way that my skin warms.
“I see your tastes have changed,” I comment, unable to help myself.
Zayn was always a beer drinker and a Mary-J smoker, avoiding the hard liqueur that Xeno and Dax used to indulge in. He was also a jean, t-shirt and trainer wearing hip-hop dancer too, but right now he looks every inch the gangster with his perfectly fitted black suit and stark white shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the smattering of chest hair I used to love so much.
“Drink?” he asks me, ignoring my comment and looking at me with dark eyes that swallow me up. There’s a cool kind of calm about him and when he checks his gold Rolex watch on his wrist for the time, I realise this is a side to him I’ve never seen before. Zayn was never this closed-off, this guarded.
I swallow hard. I can deal with Zayn as an angrier version of the kid I used to know charging around a dance studio, but this, not so much. His mannerisms are more like his uncle than I’d like. In fact, they’re build is horrifyingly similar now that I think about it. I don’t want to see Zayn as a younger version of Jeb, but the way he’s looking at me now is testing my ability to ignore the fact they’re related.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I respond tightly.
He raises a brow, but doesn’t question it. Knocking back the remains of his drink, Zayn deposits the glass on the tray with the decanter and pours me a generous shot into a clean glass.
“Here,” he says, placing the glass on a small side table that’s nearer to him than me before leaning back and watching me approach from his spot on the leather seat opposite.
Manoeuvring in a moving vehicle isn’t easy at the best of times, but in the outfit I’m wearing, almost impossible. But, just like the bad-bitch that I am, I do it without face-planting on the floor at his feet, and fold myself elegantly into the seat that runs perpendicular to his. I’m itching to pull the hem of my dress down, but that would signify that I’m not as comfortable or as confident as I’m making out to be. So, I don’t.
“Nice outfit,” he muses coldly, his gaze sliding up from my curved foot to my knee and the expanse of my thigh.
“I could say the same for you,” I retort back, flinching at the way he studies me. Sipping on my drink, brandy as it turns out, I wait for Zayn to speak up. When he doesn’t, I fill the silence with my own question.
“What are you up to Zayn? What has Jeb got you involved in now?”
Zayn chuckles darkly, meeting my gaze with his cold stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
