Page 48 of Fire

Do I stand here and wait?

No. I should dance, right?

I look back at the stairs to see if I can spot Hendrix, but he’s no longer visible. I’ve never really danced solo. But I guess this is as good a time as any?

Before I can gather the courage, I feel someone’s arms wrap around me from behind and pull me close against their body. For a split second, I think it has to be Hendrix, but then I look down and the hands aren’t right. The tiny knuckle tattoos and silver rings he usually wears are absent, and the cuffs of his shirt are blue instead of black.

Oh my god, I’m being groped by a random, pervy stranger.

I freeze and then try to pull away. But this seems to embolden the guy. That, or he’s not paying enough attention to care.

Either way, he doesn’t stop, and I feel trapped.

Everything starts to blur. The music suddenly feels too loud. The lights are too bright and…

“Hey! Get your fucking hands off her!”

I turn just as Hendrix rips the guy off me. The second his hands are no longer on me, I bolt and feel like I can breathe again.

“What the hell is your problem, man? We were having a good time!” The guy is trashed. His words are slurred, and his eyes are glassy. The people around us start to notice the commotion.

I take another step toward Hendrix.

“Yeah? Does she look like someone who was having a good time?” He gestures to me as the guy’s gaze follows. “Did you even ask before you put your hands all over her?”

Drunk Guy doesn’t have an answer for that.

“Leave.” Hendrix doesn’t even spare him another glance, but the lethal edge to his voice has the guy running off into the crowd faster than I can blink. The attention we’ve attracted seems to disappear just as quickly as people begin to focus back on the music and the people around them. “Are you okay?”

He’s tentative, and his words are gentle, as if he doesn’t know whether he should touch me. I just nod. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask another question, but decides against it. It’s kind of hard to hold a conversation with the distance between us, which is probably why he holds out his hand and says, “Come with me.”

He takes my hand, and we weave through the dance floor. I assume he’s taking us back upstairs, but instead, we head in the opposite direction toward a curtained entrance where a bear of a man in a suit stands.

“Good evening, Mr. Creed.”He knows his name?“Just the two of you?”

Hendrix just nods.

“Right this way.”

I have no idea what’s going on. But I blindly follow anyway.

The big guy escorts us down a hallway. The lighting is dim, but there are expensive-looking chandeliers and artwork that likely cost more than my car. More velvet curtains adorn the space. Some are closed while others remain open, which provides my first clue about where he’s taken me.

It’s another VIP lounge. Only this one is far more intimate.

Instead of expanding the entire top floor, these spaces have been sectioned off into small rooms with walls separating them. They’re big enough to fit three or four people, maybe?

Or perhaps just two.

There are maybe eight in total, four on each side, and I can’t figure out why we keep passing empty rooms until we reach the end of the hallway. But then it dawns on me. The way he addressed Hendrix by name. The guys are being treated like royalty tonight, and he’s making sure we’re giving as much privacy as possible from the other guests.

My cheeks flame. What does he think we’re going to do in here?

Oh my god. Is that what these are for? Little pleasure dens for the club’s guests to use for a quick fuck?

Hendrix and I enter the small space. In the middle is a sleek black marble table, surrounded by supple leather club chairs and a stylish sofa.

“There is champagne chilling just over there.” The man gestures to one side of the sofa, where an ornate silver champagne bucket, complete with its own pedestal, is located. “But if you need anything else, there is a call button on the small table beside the sofa. Otherwise, you will be undisturbed.”