Page 63 of Brutal Heir

“Like hell.”

“Rory, I’m not asking.”

Lance darts by, a glass in one hand and a martini shaker in the other. My hand snakes out, wrapping around his arm. “I need you to watch her for a minute. Do not let her out of your sight. And for fuck’s sake, donottouch her.”

Rory spears me with a piercing glare, her hands slamming onto her hips. “You can’t make me stay with him.”

I loom over her, narrowing my eyes, but she doesn’t flinch. “No, I can’t. But I can threaten to fire him if you so much as move an inch beyond this bar.”

“You’re such anarse.”

“I know, and more importantly, so do you.” I smirk before sliding past and slipping into the storage room behind her.

The moment I’m inside with the door closed tight behind me, Vincent flicks on the light. The harsh halogen bulbs illuminate the space, and I blink quickly to allow my pupils to focus after the dimly lit club. Once they’ve adjusted, I follow the trail of bloodstains until they land on the body.

And then my stomach drops.

Because I recognize the heels first. And I know exactly who they belong to.

CHAPTER 26

THE GEMINI HEIR

Rory

The muffled shouts over the thumping bass only heighten my irritation as I stand at the corner of the bar watching Lance juggle bottles of liquor and fine crystal tumblers. If I wasn’t so annoyed at Alessandro right now, I’d actually be enjoying the show. The man is a fine bartender. But after that dance with Alessandro… to be brushed off like this is absolutely infuriating.

“This is complete bollocks,” I hiss.

I lean against the back bar, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. Lance pretends not to notice the storm cloud brewing on my face as he grabs another martini glass, the third one in under a minute.

The club is insanely packed.

“Fun night, huh?” he offers, not quite meeting my eyes.

I grunt. “Thrilling.”

He wisely falls silent.

Alessandro Rossi is a walking contradiction. One second, he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters in his world, and the next he’s tossing me at the nearest bartender like I’m some damsel who needs minding. And fine, Imight’vebeen trembling like a bloody leaf after that encounter at his physical therapy office last week, but that was different. That was real trauma. This? This is just insulting.

I glance toward the door he disappeared through with Vincent. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. The look in the manager’s eyes had nothing to do with VIP drama or even someone skimming cash from the tip jar. This was something big. Alessandro could have let me come. He knows I can handle myself, scars and all.

But the real issue, the one I’m trying not to obsess over, is that almost-kiss.

Because for a second, back on that dancefloor, nothing else existed. Just the music and Alessandro’s breath and the way he looked at me like I was the answer to every prayer he’d never said out loud. And damn it, I leaned in too. Iwantedit. Still want it.

God, what is wrong with me?

I’m supposed to be helping him recover, not imagining his damned lips on mine or obsessing over the way his hand felt on my waist like it belonged there.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Lance’s eyes flick my way as he pours another whiskey for a masked guest.

“I’m good,” I mutter. “Unless you’ve got something that can erase memories.”

He snorts. “If I did, I’d be a billionaire.”

I force a smile, but my eyes are already back on that closed door.