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Music is pulsing, and on entering, I see multiple giant hexagons suspended from the ceiling, trapeze artists moving fluidly around the thin frame, and notice that the colour scheme from outside is continued throughout. Oscar leans into me.
“Want to tell me what the hell is going on?” he asks, directing me to the furthest wall where the bar is situated.
“Nothing is going on,” I say defensively. Except that I have had all my locks changed, and I’m here to teach Callan Scott a damn lesson. The club isn’t exactly heaving, but there are plenty of people for us to move around before we make it to the bar. My eyes sweep left and right,and I tell myself it’s to look at the exquisite interior, much like Skyn, and I begrudgingly admit I like it. I’m trying, and possibly failing, to locate one overpowering and arrogant owner—that's if he isn’t at that place Nexo I’d heard of or arse deep in one of his pole dancers. I have no right to care about such matters, but the thought sours my soul rotten. I straighten my back, determined not to allow Callan anymore thought. This is exactly why I need to cut loose.
“I call bullshit.” Oscar’s tone is brusque, and he leans into the bar and orders himself a vodka and me a tonic. “You know Callan owns this place,” his voice lowers so only he and I are privy to our conversation, “you’re getting yourself in too deep, Zara.”
“Or perhaps I’m trying to untangle myself,” I grate out, annoyed at the warning in his tone.
“You can’t untangle yourself when you are in the thick of it?” His hands lift in frustration. “Look around you. You are in his domain, and you’re poking an angry bear,” he snaps and turns to accept our drinks, practically thrusting mine into my hand.
He’s starting to piss me off, but I grit my teeth. I brought him along and knew I would have to endure his wrath, and I hoped he would be a small barrier between Callan and myself. For once, Oscar will have no intention of leaving me, knowing Callan is so close. That’s if he is here—maybe someone else authorised our entry. I say as much to Oscar and begin to move away, back onto the dance floor.
“You're here. If he’s not here yet, he soon will be. This whole idea screams inexperience, Zara. I love you, but you haveoneexperience of dealing with men and look how that turned out. Now you’re trying to take on Callan fucking Scott. You’ve no idea who he is or what he can do,” he utters, his eyes holding mine, conveying just how concerned for me he is. The worry pulling at the corners of his eyes has me faltering in my plan. I see it then, the fear in Oscar; he is terrified. I’ve truly taken leave of my senses. Callan Scott has turned my brain to pulverised sludge. The man is, without a doubt, inhumanely terrifying and armed. I know I have been burning the candle, but exhaustion is absolutely no excuse to dance with the devil. I swallow harshly and turn away. Shit.
Around the room, hexagonal seating booths in a light purple material circle the dance floor, and overhead, the women swing and dance on their trapeze. It’s enough to make the most sober of people feel queasy, or perhaps I just feel queasy because sense has finally struck, and I’ve realised what a mental twat I’m being.
“We should go,” I whisper.
“Too late.” Oscar sighs hopelessly. I flick worried eyes to him and follow his stare to a large shadow, watching up high from behind the gauzy white curtains of the VIP area. I grab Oscar’s drink and neck it, almost heaving at the burn in my throat and the harsh thud it causes in my stomach.
“Zara!” Oscar yells, snatching his glass back, then his finger is in my face. “What the hell has got into you?” Narrowed eyes rake down me, disgusted at my behaviour. I want to blame him. I was full of confidence when I came in here until he opened his big mouth!
“You. You’re freaking me out. I had this!” I spit. “Have it,” I correct, “I’m cutting myself loose from that man no matter what it takes.” The vodka has finally hit me, and I feel a warm, weightless sensation move through my limbs.
“You need to think this through.” He takes my arm, pulling me into him as a few people have turned to look at us.
“I wake up, and he is in my apartment. I arrive home, and he is in my bedroom. I go out, and he takes me home,” I growl, watching Oscar’s eyes widen with horror.
“Z, I had no idea.” He hugs me tight, and I let him, hooping my arms to hug him back and sighing. I go lax and enjoy the feeling of being platonically physical with someone.
“I’ve changed all the locks. I just need it done now,” I whisper. I never suspected when I became close with a man, it would result in him breaking into my home, following me, and enduring hours of stares for his own pleasure.
“Okay, but we should go.” Oscar pulls back to look at me before flicking an anxious look upstairs.
“No, I need to cut myself loose. I need to tell him,” I say hurriedly, rubbing at my forehead. People move closer to us as they dance. Oscar shakes his head, sensing my resolve. He doesn't agree, and I’m sure he will remind me time and time again what a bad idea this is as the night progresses.
“That is your great plan, to turn up unannounced and anger the beast upstairs?” Oscar snorts, unimpressed. I want to remind him that had he not taken me with him that night, I possibly wouldn't be in this mess. Although I am just as at fault as he is, as I could have easily stayed in the car, but I didn’t. That was my choice, and I’m learning the consequences of those choices do not fit well into my life.
“Okay, now that you say it out loud, it sounds like an awful plan, but it’s the only one I have because the man is as stubborn as an ox, and maybe he just needs to be told. No means no,” I mutter crossly. I shake my hair as the music changes into a low pulse, and I grab Oscar’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
He happily obliges, even if I can see him sneaking glances up to the VIP area. I’m going to dance my feet off and possibly flirt shamelessly with another gorgeous guy. One who doesn’t growl and break into my home, a man that smiles and isn’t packing. Who the hell carries a gun everywhere? I shudder. I’ve become so desensitised to such things that my mind never took stock of the danger I have been in with Callan.
That one vodka has sent me into a tipsy stupor, so Oscar has kept me on tonic water since. I feel good, relaxed, and loose-limbed. Bishop Briggs comes on, and I lift my arms and move my hips in slow, hypnotic twists. Oscar sings it to me, and I twirl and bump into someone.
“Ooops, sorry.” I grin and find deep green eyes smiling down at me.
He’s tall, blonde, and fairly attractive. He leans down.
“No apology needed, beautiful, although I won't say no to a dance.” He winks. I grin and hold my hand out for him to take it. He does and pulls me into him on a twist. “I’m Liam.” He laughs as I spin and fall into his chest.
“Zara.” He’s late twenties and not much taller than me.
“I know who you are,” he says, looking away and chancing a glance at me through his lashes. He doesn’t know me, not at all. No one does, but I don’t pick him up on it.With my back to him, I begin to move. When his hands hit my hips, I can only think of one person, and it’s not the one dancing behind me. My gaze lifts instinctively, and he’s there, a wide shadow behind the curtains, staring down at us from the upper viewing area. The curtain shifts, and out he steps: tall, big, and mad. His black eyes seem to laser through me and when he leans ontothe balustrade, gripping until his knuckles turn as white as his shirt, do I realise the enormity of my mistake. Oscar suddenly appears in front of me and is dragging me out of Liam’s grip.
The tension rippling through Callan has me faltering. I fear any second he is going to catapult himself over the balcony and jump to the ground floor.
“We need to leavenow,” Oscar snaps. I nod and let him pull me free.
