Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I push the button on the elevator, my eyes drifting up to the corner of the room where a camera is staring back down at me. The doors open and we all pile into the small space. Once the doors close, Val turns to face me.
“Ruby. I’m serious. Right now is not the time to play, especially since Mikhail is on his way back from Russia. Why can’t you just drink in the penthouse?” I ignore his talking, especially when it comes to talking about Mik and Russia. Alcohol has warmed my blood, and all I can feel is the electricity in my veins. I’ve had to watch him dance around Sloane twice with his tongue down her throat.
“What is this place?” Jade asks, the doors parting open. I make my way through to the main bar. People are scattered around the place, music playing softly. It has an intimate vibe to it. There are more lounges than I would have expected, with it being a bar, but whatever.
Betty hooks her arm with mine, dragging me away from the group, just as Jade looks up at the signage, pausing. Her mouth drops open, all color leaving her face as she steps backward.
“Jade!” I call out from over my shoulder, but it’s too late. Betty’s grip is unmatched.
Chuckling into the side of Betty’s neck, “I’m taking someone home tonight since Mik is on his way home and no doubt I won’t be allowed out until the wedding.”
“We’re going to talk about that wedding later, but yes, I agree. We’re both taking someone home tonight, so can we please ditch the bitch?”
We follow the path behind the bar until we see an escalator. “Weird.” We step on, catching the live sex show on either side. “Holy fuck… it’s a fucking sex club?” Nothing happens in Chicago without me saying so, so the fact that this club managed to sneak undetected already annoys the shit out of me.
“Okay, this is my vibe!” Betty dances. “We need a drink. Let’s go to the bar here before touring the place.” We get off the escalator and fall deep into the busy dance floor around the bar that’s toward the back of the room this time. There’s a mixture of people. Some suits, some young.
Betty shoves a glass of—I don’t know—into my chest and we continue around, passing private rooms with moaning and the sound of skin slapping together.
“I feel like it’s getting worse. Let’s go up!” Betty points to the sky as our heels tap onto the escalator. We move through level three when we see there’s a level four.
“This annoys me. How did they manage to open this fucking bar without me knowing about it? It would take months, if not years, to plan this kind of thing!” As soon as we hit level four, the music shifts to a smooth beat. I swallow my entire drink and drag Betty into the room. This time the walls are beige white, the leather couches white and scattered booths fill the area. There’s a small group of people dancing in the center of the room and I drag Betty toward them, my mind spinning from the alcohol and intoxicating sound of Lithe. I can worry about who’s running this place later. Right now, I want to get lost. Forget. Everything and everyone.
Betty has refilled our drinks at least five times, and this time Lithe’s “Wish They Seen My Face” plays. I love his music and I allow his familiar sound to entrance me. Going out and not being approached by men isn’t unusual for me. For the most part, people know who I am, and if they don’t, someone they’re with knows who I am. No one approaches me—I go to them.
I open my eyes to a young guy dressed in a pretty button-up and jeans, his drink resting against his bottom lip.
Smirking, I take a step toward him. Yes. You are coming home with me.
A hand slams over my lower belly, unmoving, and I look down to see tanned skin with tattoos leading up his arm. Fuck. My heart rate picks up as he slams me backward and I collide with his chest.
He drags his nose down the curve of my neck. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I continue dancing against him, the smirk on my face too smug. I don’t even bother to ask what he’s doing here. Obviously, that’s who Jade saw earlier when she stopped walking in. She may bow and abide by the rules her old man lays out for her, but I’m no biker’s woman. I’m the reason a biker doesn’t want one.
Spinning around in his grip, I tilt my head up at him and force my spit down my throat when I see what he’s wearing. Gone is Wicked; standing in front of me is an Amante royalty in all his glory.