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SCARLETT

I f I slip and break my neck while climbing up a rickety fire escape to sneak into a Chicago nightclub … well, at least it’ll be a fitting death.

About twenty minutes ago, I got kicked out of this club for coming to the defense of a girl who was being harassed by a jerk who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I called him out, at which point he called me a bitch and told me to mind my own business.

So, I threw my drink in his face.

And I was the one who got kicked out! Not him!

Now, this begs an obvious question. Why in the world would I want to get back into this place?

Because my phone and my friend are still inside, and she has no idea I got booted out.

I came out to the club with my friend Demi, the one I’m staying with in Chicago. She’s still inside, unaware that I’m out here. And she has my phone in her purse.

The asshole bouncer at the front door wouldn’t let me back in just to find her so we could leave together; he wouldn’t even help me get a message to her so she could come out to me. He just stood there with his stupid cue-ball bald head and his big, beefy forearms folded over his big, beefy chest and glared at me with a smug expression on his face, clearly on some petty power trip.

Instead of sitting on the sidewalk and waiting for Demi to come out—and considering last time I saw her in there, she had just started flirting with a cute guy, so who knows how long that’ll be—I decided to try to find a way to sneak in.

The club spans two stories inside, with a more laid-back bar area on the first floor and the second floor hosting the DJ and the dancefloor. When we walked up the stairway, I noticed a window in the second-floor hallway.

So, I decided to check out the alley behind the block and see if there was any way to reach it. Sure enough, a rickety old fire escape leads right to it.

That’s where I find myself now. I’m going to climb up this fire escape, hopefully shimmy open the window, break in, find my friend, and, sweetest of all, I’m going to beam the most pettily triumphant grin I can summon when I pass that big, stupid bouncer while walking back out the front door.

The satisfaction I imagine feeling at that moment fuels me to haul myself up the next rung of this death trap.

Tonight might be a clusterfuck, but I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that a clusterfuck of a night is preferable to a boring one.

Though I reserve the right to reconsider that judgment if I do end up falling and breaking my neck.

I lift my left foot onto the next unsteady rung and go to push on it to haul myself up that much closer to the platform underneath the window, but my foot slips. My hands curl harder around the cold metal as a flash of panic races through me.

“Shit,” I bite out.

Steadying my breath, I return my foot to the ladder rung. But then I hear something that has me freeze.

“Guess it was meant to be.”

The mellow drawl sounds from the asphalt below me. For a split second, a new rush of panic pulses through my body as I imagine the police have stumbled on this scene that can’t look anything but criminal, and that I’m about to be booked for attempted breaking and entering.

But it only lasts that split second, because it doesn’t take any longer for me to recognize that voice.

A tingling sensation dances at the base of my spine, and even in this predicament, I can’t help but feel my lips tilt.

“Oh, hello, Lane,” I reply, my voice breezy and chipper; all the while, I’m on the verge of plummeting to my death, or at least my injury. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Are you doing anything illegal up there? Should I call the police?”

“Yes, I am doing something illegal. But no, you shouldn’t call the police.”

I can hear a thoughtful hum rumble from his throat. “I don’t know. What if you’re breaking into someone’s house to murder them?”

I huff out a laugh. “I’m not doing anything that illegal! Do I seem capable of murder to you?”

Another low hum. I can feel his gaze sizing me up. “Yes,” he answers.

“Well I’m not!”

Now it’s a low chuckle that rumbles from his chest. The vibrations travel up to my ear and roll through me, settling low in my core.

“Wait,” he says. “Are you trying to get into Vortex? The nightclub?”

“I am,” I answer. “I was kicked out because?—”

I try to start climbing again while I tell Lane my story, but the fabric of my dress snags onto something on the metal fire escape rigging. As I push up with my foot, the side of my dress that’s stuck pulls me back. The off-balance movement has my foot sliding off the rung, which only further tilts my equilibrium and makes me lose my grip.

Suddenly, my legs are flailing, my vision is tilting, and my dress pulls loose from what it’s snagged on—only thanks to the weight of my body tumbling backward as I fall to the ground.

It all happens too fast for me to even feel panic or fear. All I can do is tense my body, clench my jaw, and wait for the inevitable impact …

That doesn’t come.

Instead of falling smack onto the hard asphalt below, I drop into a mass that’s firm but comfortable. I keep my eyes shut for a couple beats, wondering if maybe it’s a trick my brain’s playing on me, a way to process the trauma of the fall. But when my lids flutter open, my stomach leaps into my throat.

Lane is holding me aloft, cradling me in his arms like I weigh no more than a pillow.

The realization is like a light switch flipping on inside my body. Heat ripples through me, a thrill shooting up and down my spine as my stomach flips. A warm, tight feeling coils low and deep in my center.

He’s wearing a t-shirt, and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of the back of my bare thighs pressing skin-to-skin against the dense cords of muscle wrapping around his forearm.

It’s a good thing my arms are crossed over my chest, because the feeling that’s pulsing through me has my nipples pebbled so tight and sharp that I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed through the fabric of both my bra and my dress.

For the first time in several seconds, I remember to breathe. When I pull in a breath through my nose, it’s suffused with a clean, woodsy scent that only discombobulates my brain that much more.

I’m not used to being bowled over and rendered speechless by a man. But then again, I’m also not used to falling two stories into the strong, sturdy arms of one and opening my eyes to the sight of an angular face, shining green eyes, and curling blonde hair like I’m gazing at right now.

“Thanks,” I manage to breathe the word, regaining some of my senses. “I’m … I’m okay. You can put me down.”

A grin splits on his face. “Can I? Sure. But should I?”

His flirty, teasing voice is matched by a playful glimmer in those green eyes. Even in the dimness of this city alleyway, I’m close enough to spot flecks of gold dancing in Lane’s emerald irises.

There’s a part of my brain that’s telling me to go along with this, stay folded up in Lane’s arms and let him march me wherever he wants to go and do to me whatever he wants to do.

But I still need to get my phone from Demi. And I don’t want to admit defeat to the douchebag of a bouncer who I’ve now cast as my sworn nemesis.

“Yes. Because I still have to get inside.”

Lane gently sets me down on my feet and draws himself up, quirking an eyebrow. “So, you got kicked out, huh?”

I sigh and give him the story. After telling him what transpired, his brows are pinched and his lips curled with distaste. “This place sounds scummy,” he grouses. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Twenty,” I answer.

His brow arches questioningly. “Then how did you get into a nightclub?”

I blow out a laugh. “Fake ID, duh.”

“ Duh ,” Lane mimics, rolling his eyes. “Of course you have one.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. Guess I’m too square.”

I regard him wryly. “I’ll say. Using the word square doesn’t help.”

Lane’s gaze ticks up to the window I was just trying to reach. “By the way, how do you know it wasn’t locked?”

My lips press together. Shit, I hadn’t even considered that. I was so single-minded in my determination to get inside that I didn’t envision such an obvious roadblock.

Lane chuckles at my lack of response. Then he just shrugs and says coolly, “Let’s find out.”

My mouth pops open as he scales the fire escape effortlessly, like a chimpanzee on a jungle gym. His movements are lithe and quick, the muscles in his shoulders and arms easily propelling him up the rungs until he arrives at the landing underneath the window in a fraction of the time it would have taken me even if I hadn’t fallen.

He stealthily peeks inside to make sure the coast is clear before testing the window … which doesn’t budge.

In no time, his athletic movements have him back on the ground next to me. “Nope, locked,” he answers casually.

I throw up my hands in frustration. “Well, now what?”

Lane shrugs. “We can just wait outside until your friend comes out.”

I try to ignore the tug in my chest at Lane’s use of the word we , like he’s willing to just throw his whole night away to wait with me on the sidewalk.

I scrunch my lips. “That sounds like admitting defeat.”

“It is admitting defeat. You lost.”

I narrow my eyes at Lane while my brow lowers. “Not yet.”

“Well, if you have any ideas, I’m all ears,” Lane says, bemused.

Then, a scheme flashes to life in my brain. “Maybe I do.”