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Suddenly, Zakary lunged, or tried to, only to be restrained by the two big guys. A brief flash of gratitude went over me, and the shorter guy winked, then tightened his grip as a tall, built form stepped past me, and tilted his head as he regarded my wet, seething co-worker.
The two guys holding Zakary could clearly hold their own and yet the hot air in the club seemed to cool as the man next to me stepped forward. Even the music seemed more distant as though it sensed that he needed the room, as it cowed to whatever power this man possessed. I was a woman of science and technology, and yet for a second, I swore that shadows gathered around him as he carefully and methodically gathered the front of Zakary’s shirt, twisting it to pull him close and murmur something in his ear.
I watched my twat of a co-worker go white as a sheet, his lower lip trembling, and I thought I caught a whiff of piss as Zakary stared up at the man, abject terror written all over his face. Zakary seemed to barely be able to hold himself upright and didn’t so much as flinch as the two Italian dudes hustled him away.
The man who’d threatened Zakary, who’d dumped the drink over his head—my drink, who’d distracted me, now turned and looked me over.
All of the air seemed to punch out of my lungs and my knees felt a little wobbly. Not out of fear, though maybe there was a trace of apprehension somewhere in me, some last semblance of sanity and self-preservation. Every nerve in my body seemed to go white-hot at how ridiculously even my brain seemed to purr.
It was the same exact sensation that had knocked me on my ass the last time I’d locked eyes with this man.
“Hello again,” he said in a low, smoky voice, with a rasp that went up my spine like a welcome bolt of electricity.
I tried to speak and couldn’t. Heat rushed into my face as I stared at him, taking in the golden cast of his olive skin, causing his white-blonde hair to stand out, and his green eyes to glow. His face was a beautiful symmetry of lines and a hard jaw that I wanted to bite.
A jaw that I maybe had bitten in several dirty dreams since the last time I’d seen him—standing outside of the club, lighting a cigarette, and holding off the world with icy disdain.
Or so he wanted everyone to think.
I was good at reading people immediately—it was a skill that I’d learned the hard way. And ever since then, I’d never encountered anyone that I couldn’t at least glean the basics about. But this guy, brutal and breathtaking in his gorgeousness—I couldn’t get a damn read on. Only the barest of hints that honestly told me nothing.
I swept my eyes down, recalling that last time he’d been dressed well, if far more casual. Coat, boots, and jeans. Now he wore a simple black button-up, one button undone at the neck, and rolled up to his elbows, showing off hard forearms. This was tucked into bespoke pants and finished off with a pair of understated, elegant suspenders, also black, with bronze accents. He was dressed down and yet I thought I’d never seen a man dressed so well.
Though his expression was neutral, save for the feigned bland pleasantness that someone might turn on a customer, I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes, and a twitch by the corner of his mouth.
He leaned down a little. “It’s okay if you don’t remember me.” But from the look in his eyes, he knew damn well that I did. He leaned over toward the bar and rapped on it, ordering a whiskey sour, then glancing back at me. “You good?”
All at once, his actions and Zakary’s fury came back to me. A cold, nasty feeling twisted in my stomach, and even though I could pretty much guess, I heard myself say, not ask, “What just happened.”
“You almost got roofied by America’s Top Ten Incels.”
I leaned harder into the bar, and then he was urging me around the corner of the bar, toward a shadowed alcove with tables and a chair. He helped me sit, while he remained standing, glancing out at the bar. I didn’t care, I simply focused on sucking down deep breaths. Part of me wasn’t surprised, was in fact grimly vindicated that Zakary had done such a thing, and another part of me was shaking like a leaf.
A water bottle appeared in front of me. “Sealed,” he said, and I jerked my gaze up. Those green eyes caused a bolt of heat to curl in my core. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I took it and swigged a sip, then added, “Thanks.”
“No worries,” he said with a shrug. “I distracted you—least I could do.”
I almost spluttered on the water, and I thought I saw him hide a fleeting smile. “I was trying to place you,” I half-fibbed.
“Outside theSons of Celtspeakeasy, last week,” he said. “You were wearing a silver jumpsuit that night and a kickass leather jacket. Didn’t even look cold.”
“You were smoking,” I said, feeling completely out of my depth, and taking another sip, trying to get my bearings.
“Yeah, one of my nastier vices,” he said. “One of these days, I’ll quit.” I couldn’t help giving him a dubious look, and again, his lips twitched. “It could happen—with the right incentive.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant by that. I found myself wanting to ask him a lot of questions and swallowed them down.
“Anyway, I’d say fancy meeting you here, but clearly you and your friends are doing a moonlight mob tour, right?”
I so rarely found myself at sea, and found it distinctly unfair that this beautiful man, combined with this awful day and Zakary had me completely off-kilter. All I could get out was a bewildered, “What?”
“Well, Michaelson family club tonight,Sons of Celtspeakeasy last week—I’m guessing the Bratva brothels or a Cartel card game next?”
“No,” I said. “Is that a thing?”
“Nah,” he said and gave me a small smile that made my heart do a stupid pirouette in my chest. “I made it up. But it is kind of weird. You should be careful.”
