Lailah (The Styclar Saga) (32 page)

His lips were now pressing against my neck, leaving only the smallest gap to allow his words to travel to my ear. I began melting quicker than an ice cream left out in the sun. But just before I fell completely out of my cone my phone vibrated. I raced for it, a perfectly timed interruption. Shuffling around in the clutch, I lifted the phone out to see Gabriel’s name appear on the screen. Jonah placed his hand on mine, pushing the phone down.

“He’s not right for you, Cessie.”

Despite the feeling in the pit of my stomach that yearned, it irritated me that he would make such an assumption.

I shot him a displeased look, and he seemed offended. “Have fun,” he said abruptly.

I grabbed for his arm as he glided away from me and he turned back with a quizzical expression.

“Don’t. Well, please, don’t drink from her.” I pretended it was because I was a good person, saving her from him, but it was hard to convince myself of this lie. The very thought of him drinking from a girl that attractive made me ache deep inside, somewhere I couldn’t identify. And it was a sensation that screamed to me that
I was
jealous, even though I didn’t want to hear it.

He thought on my request before replying. “What does it matter to you?”

“Just please, promise me.”

He considered me a while before nodding firmly. Striding back to his seat, he gestured to the girl, who had been drifting nearby, watching our exchange over by the piano.

She swiftly took up her position on his lap, but not before sending a look of triumph in my direction.

I read the message from Gabriel:
CALL
ME
.

I flicked the text away. I would call him later. I wasn’t a puppet he could pick up and put down when he felt like it, tugging my strings however he so desired.

I was about to make my way back upstairs to find Brooke when a man took up the barstool next to me.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

I looked at him, startled. He was a good-looking guy, maybe in his early twenties, with gelled blond hair swept from his face and large green eyes and a wide smile. His shirt had a patterned lining of swirling blues and whites, nearly as white as his bleached teeth.

“Vodka,” I answered, throwing a quick glance back over my shoulder. Jonah was now receiving a lap dance; I was slightly disappointed that he hadn’t seen.

“Are you here alone?” the stranger inquired, an uneven smile forming across his lips.

I thought about it for a second before replying. “I’m here with a girlfriend, but I think she’s abandoned me for the evening.”

“Well, that’s just my good luck. I’m Bradley. Judging by the accent, am I safe in assuming you’re a Londoner?”

“Yes,” I answered, recognizing that his accent was similar to my own.

“I’m only passing … a fleeting visit; my dad owns this place. I wasn’t going to come tonight, but now I’m rather glad I did. What brings you down here? Not many women choose to spend their evening in this part of the club, unless they’re working of course.”

At first I thought his eyes were wandering to my cleavage, but I realized he was staring at my ring.

Before I had a chance to answer, he continued.

“That’s a remarkable crystal you have there,” he pondered. “May I?”

Without waiting for my agreement, he lifted it from my skin and, squinting, he rubbed it in between his fingers. I was taken aback; he was far too close for my liking. As he grazed the perfect edges of my crystal, everything felt all wrong inside.

Over Bradley’s shoulder, I glimpsed Jonah’s blank expression. He inclined his head, observing this little exchange, now ignoring the dancing girl’s efforts. So despite the sickening sensation that was rising to my throat as Bradley leaned in for a closer inspection, I placed my hand on his back and let a little laugh slip through my lips. “Sorry, I’m ticklish.…” I lied, grinning.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, returning back to my eyes.

“An old fiancé, apparently,” I said, relieved he had released it.

Losing interest in my gem, his interest pricked instead at the mention of my seemingly single status.

“Well, I’m rather glad the fiancé is past tense. Let’s dance.” He wasn’t asking.

With a wave of his hand the brunette swinging energetically around the pole stopped, and a middle-aged man took up the piano stool and started to play.

Grabbing my hand, Bradley hauled me onto the parquet floor. The light fabric of my skirt swirled and floated as he spun me away from him before pulling me back in. An incredibly beautiful rendition of Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love” sang its way through the keys of the grand piano.

Bradley twirled and dipped me like a pro. But his controlling grasp on my body felt anything but gentleman-like.

“You are certainly something,” he said, his eyes making their way unashamedly down the length of my exposed skin.

I gave him a disinterested half smile out of politeness; I didn’t want to be dancing with him. He felt cold, confident, and certain: arrogantly convinced, and wrongly so, of me tonight. I noticed a gold wedding band on his ring finger, greeting me with its chill as, uninvited, he pressed his hand down my neck.

He slapped his hands on my waist, as if I belonged to him, and forced me in closer so that we were cheek-to-cheek.

“You’re married?” I asked.

“Yes.”

That was all the excuse I needed. I pushed him away, but he grabbed my hips and pulled me in.

“You shouldn’t be dancing with me!” I glared at him.

“I can do whatever I like. Relax, enjoy yourself.”

Managing to release his hand as he spun me, I briefly glimpsed Brooke with the French boy in tow. He stood behind her, looking bemused, at the bottom of the stairway. She beamed at me, seemingly happy to catch me dancing with a wealthy-looking guy.

I shouldn’t have responded so obviously, flashing my glance straight from her to Jonah, who was engrossed entirely by the stripper, his back to Brooke. She followed my stare and I watched her wobble for a moment as she took him in. She nodded at me and, seizing the French beau by the collar, she strode back up the stairs and disappeared.

I thought for a second that I saw Jonah glance up, and I couldn’t tell if he had seen her. Bradley was behind me in seconds, scooping me back to him and throwing me into an unwanted dip. Shuffling uncomfortably out of his grip again, I twisted around, trying to find Jonah. He was gone.

As the emotional song came to a wavering end, he led me back over to the bar and commanded another vodka for me, setting himself up with a line of shots.

Jonah’s girl was perched on a stool, eyeing me as if I was something she’d trodden on. Speaking loudly in broken English to the barman, she was telling him that she was waiting for her customer to return. I could only assume that she wanted me to know Jonah was coming back.

“I need the bathroom,” I said to Bradley. “Will you excuse me?”

I broke away from him, but as I jumped off the stool, he grabbed my wrist tightly and replied, “I have the next dance.”

I made my way to the WC, weaving between the rotating bodies. I yanked the door open and found three cubicles inside, all of which were empty. I splashed water on my face to cool my cheeks and rearranged myself in the magnified mirror, smoothing the top and yanking down the stupidly short skirt.

My phone buzzed. Brooke was calling me.

“Hello?”

“Cessie, come back upstairs, they’re playing some great tunes! You’re missing out!” she shouted, though the music in the background sounded faint and distant.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Upstairs of course. Come back, I’ll meet you at the bar!”

“I’ve lost Jonah. Shouldn’t we find him?”

“Jonah? Erm, no. It’s fine, I just saw him. Listen, don’t worry, he’ll meet us later. Please come back upstairs!”

Brooke’s sudden interest in my company was strange, but I decided to play ball. I wanted to escape Bradley anyway. I might as well go and see if I could convince her to leave; I suddenly wasn’t in the mood for what this place had to offer.

And I was ready to call Gabriel.

I opened the door and as I scanned the space ahead of me, a small corridor—hidden almost out of sight—caught my attention. Written in French but with the English translation underneath, something about the
DO NOT ENTER
sign enticed me toward it.

Placing the mask back over my face, I stepped forward. Cloaked in darkness, a vast array of doors ran down the long stretch of carpet. There was no bouncer here; this was a strictly private area, where members came not wanting to be seen.

I’d passed three doors when I heard the faint moan of a woman, and I hesitated, stopping outside one of the rooms. Maybe I was emboldened by the vodka. But I gave in to a sudden urge, and I kicked the door. It swung open obediently, bouncing loudly off the wall as it hit the exposed brick.

On the opposite side of the room, the dark-haired girl was pinned against the plasterboard wall, her leg wrapped around Jonah’s hip.

He immediately released his grip, bowing his head down in my direction, but never bringing his face up to meet my eyes. He knew it was me.

The fact that he refused to meet my gaze told me he was ashamed that I had caught him with her. Though I couldn’t be sure in that moment exactly what it was I had found him doing.

If he was feeding, he had broken his promise to me. If she was in the middle of putting out, I highly doubted he’d want me to know, let alone see that either.

I reeled backward as though I had been punched square in the jaw. My insides coiling in a tight knot, I was suddenly overcome with anguish. Why? Why did he make me feel like this?

It felt as though the answer to
that
question was hidden in plain sight.

“Cessie—” Jonah began in a low voice.

My name fell to an empty doorway. I was already falling over my feet, hurrying to get away; I didn’t want to talk to him. I wanted to go home.

TWENTY-THREE

I
MARCHED SWIFTLY,
my eyes fixated on the
EXIT
sign next to the bar. I muddled through the smoke-filled air across the dance floor, but my wobbly sprint came to an abrupt halt as a hand grabbed my arm firmly.

“Now then, you still owe me a proper dance. And this time maybe don’t speak.” There was nothing polite about him, especially the way he emphasized “proper” with a dreadful undertone.

Bradley had already yanked me backward, showing no sign of releasing me. He blew a puff of smoke from a Cuban cigar that he held lazily in his right hand, and his eyes glowered expectantly. I could tell by his dilated pupils that he had consumed too many straight shots.

“Maybe another time,” I replied, attempting to loosen his grip. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I just wanted to leave.

“Come now, one dance and a drink won’t kill you—I’ve hardly gotten to know you yet!” His grip had tightened, and I began to feel flustered. He wasn’t referring to swapping childhood memories, of that I was quite sure.

As he maneuvered his chest flush with my own, I started to manufacture an argument, but I didn’t have time to propose it. A strong and protective hand found mine, and with one swift tug, I was pulled away from Bradley’s grasp.

“I’m gonna have to take this dance.” Jonah’s eyes prickled, and as Bradley began to protest, he stopped, taking in Jonah’s fierce expression.

“Oookay,” he said as he stumbled away with no objection.

Jonah took me lightly by the waist, twisting his fingers under the hem of my skirt, and stroked my hips as he began to sway me in time to the music. “Can’t go anywhere without attracting attention to yourself, can you?”

I remained silent.

“Cessie, look at me, please.”

Bowing his head down to meet mine, he pushed the twinkling sparkles to the top of my head. After a moment, I gave in and accepted his hazel eyes, which flickered with the subtlest strobes of red.

“I didn’t sleep with her.” His voice was sharp and definite.

I hadn’t wanted to ask; if I had then he would know I gave a damn.

“It’s all right. Really. I don’t pretend to understand what you need, how you go about, that is … Well, it’s not my business.” I felt like I was fumbling my words.

“It’s not difficult. What I need is the girl who’s standing right in front of me. I’d say that truly makes it your business, doesn’t it?”

He spoke in a low, seductive murmur, and I had to do everything in my power to stop my knees knocking together. Releasing my body he twirled me around before pulling me back in, placing his hands underneath my long hair and across my bare back. I inhaled sharply, grabbing for his hands and throwing them down from my jagged, bumpy scar.

“Don’t touch me there!” I snapped, exhaling abruptly.

He stood perfectly still, watching anger and embarrassment spill over my expression.

Against my will, he placed his hands back, this time running them up my scar rebelliously. My long hair draped over his strong arms, tickling his skin in return.

Whispering in my ear, he said, “There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t irresistible to me.”

A few of the other members had joined us on the dance floor. A lounge singer now accompanied the piano with a rendition of Lana Del Rey’s “Born to Die.” I crumpled a little and placed my face against Jonah’s chest.

The words of the song stung me, and I wavered, uncertain, not sure who they referred to anymore: Gabriel or Jonah.

Jonah reached for my chin and angled my face up toward him. He wasn’t meant to make me feel like this. I began to let my defenses down for just a minute, caught up in the music, in his eyes, in the moment. I struggled to stand upright; I winced, unbalanced, as the stilettos slowly killed the balls of my feet.

Sinking deeper into Jonah wasn’t helping; he’d suddenly become quicksand, and the more I struggled to fight him the faster he pulled me down. Without asking, he scooped me up in his arms and ran the length of my lower leg with his index finger, leveraging my feet out of the patent heels, gradually popping me back down to the floor, barefoot.