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DeLuca had called once she’d fallen asleep in my arms. I spoke quietly into the phone. “Meet me at Club Zero in an hour, you can bring that girl of yours,” he’d said. I had almost hung up on him and called Jackson. I’d wanted to tell him to call the whole thing off—that I wanted out. It didn’t seem important at that moment—not after learning about Madison’s life.
The case, the need to ruin someone, the revenge—it seemed so trivial, so insignificant.
Instead, I’d told DeLuca it wasn’t a good night. I’d said that my girlfriend wasn’t feeling well. “Madison?” he’d asked after a beat. “Is she sick?” The concern in his voice seemed genuine, and I’d wondered for a moment who the fuck Nate DeLuca was. Who he really was. As a person. And why he’d chosen the life of organized crime over anything else. “No. Not physically,” I’d told him.
He’d agreed and asked if we could meet the next night. To say that I was surprised was an understatement. For the first time since I’d met him, I wondered if he were crazy.
Legit, certifiable, bipolar-type crazy.
“Sure,” I’d said, not wanting to push my luck.
I’d spent the rest of the night deep in my own thoughts. Thoughts of Madison, of me, of us together. I’d even thought about Jackson and DeLuca, and the case. And then I’d done something I’d never let myself do—I’d thought about Christine and how much I missed her. How it’d be so easy to pick up the phone and call her. How it would feel to hear her voice. And then I’d thought about the guilt and the shame that came with all of it, and I just couldn’t.
I couldn’t take it back.
I couldn’t make it right.
And I sure as hell couldn’t face her.
***
“So where are we going?” Madison asks, her eyes scanning the numerous dresses she has laid out on my bed.
“Just a club a few blocks from here. We’ll catch a cab. It’s cold out.”
Her gaze moves to mine. “I’ve never been to a club before.”
“Really? Never?”
She shrugs, and then looks back down at her clothes. “Who are we meeting?”
“Just a friend.” I finish slipping on my shoes and kiss her temple. “Just pick one, babe, you look hot in anything.”
She smiles. “You choose.”
I pick the closest one and hand it to her. “Don’t take too long or we’re going to be late.”
She comes out of the bedroom an hour later and I almost kick myself for not checking her clothes properly. Bright red. Strapless. Hugs every single curve. Barely covers her ass. “Maybe you should change.”
“Ky!” she almost yells. “It took me forever to get ready and you chose this—”
“I’m kidding!” I’m not. “Let’s go before I strip that dress off of you with my teeth.”
She raises an eyebrow in challenge.
“Don’t tempt me, Maddy.”
She giggles the entire cab ride to the club while watching me squirm in my seat. The way she’s dressed—the way she looks at me—the way her fucking hand slowly creeps up my thigh...she loves the power. Thrives on it.
Me? I’m just doing everything I can to not take her right here and now. “If I get into a fight with an asshole that looks at you the wrong way, or looks at you period—call Jackson. He’ll bail me out.”
She laughs, but I’m dead serious. I even make her save Jackson’s number in her phone.
Ky: I’m at Zero.
DeLuca: Got caught up, I’ll be there in ten.
I get carded at the door. The bouncer takes one look at Madison and lets her through.
We walk through a narrow hallway to get to the club doors. “The walls are vibrating,” she says, her hand pressed against the wall.
The music intensifies tenfold when we step into the club. She stops in her tracks and winces, covering her ears and plastering her face to my chest.
I hold her head in my hands and tilt it back, my eyes scanning her face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s too loud!” She presses her hands firmer against her ears. “It hurts!”
My eyes narrow as I take in her state. She looks like she’s in genuine pain. I want to leave, but I already told DeLuca I was here. “Can you deal with it for fifteen minutes?”
“I think so,” she shouts.
“Let’s get a drink, okay? It might help.”
She nods.
I use my chest to block one of her ears and my hand to cover her other one. At the bar, I order two shots of whiskey and hand one to her. We stay in the same position while we down them.
“You okay, babe?”
Her face scrunches in discomfort. I press both my hands to her ears and she covers them. She nods in answer. “You’re so damn cute,” I tell her. She responds by getting on her toes and kissing me quickly. She tastes like whiskey. After a moment, her hands loosen, and she pulls away. “Another one,” I mouth. She smiles, knowing exactly what I want. She kisses me again, her hands now on my chest. Mine remain on her ears, hopefully blocking out enough of the music. She slowly relaxes and leans into me, letting me drown in the taste of her. There’s a moment of silence while the songs change, but she doesn’t notice. She keeps her lips on mine, curled into a smile as we try to maintain the flow of our kiss—the same flow we’re now so accustomed to. Her arms wrap around my waist, bringing me closer to her.
