Page 25 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

SPENCER

T he thump thump thump of the large bass beats against my chest, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixes with alcohol and stale smoke.

The club lights flash and dance around the floor, adding to the nightlife vibe.

It’s packed in here, but I shouldn’t be surprised—it’s a Friday night in New York City.

Sipping my drink, I move side to side on my stool as I pull down the hem of the dress Rio picked out. The bar top is crowded with people waiting to put in their order for drinks.

I was awoken from my sex-induced nap with food and an invitation—that I wasn’t allowed to refuse—to a night out at a club with my guys.

Although, there was a small argument over the intelligence behind the decision.

My suggestion that going out may help bring Anthony and Pierce out of hiding almost shut down the whole plan.

But Rio swiftly ended the discussion by saying that they all needed to take their girlfriend on a proper date.

Rio pulled out a dress I didn’t know existed from the back of my closet and pushed me to try it on for them.

It’s a miracle I was able to do my makeup and hair without Dahlia and Alma’s help.

And when I came out all dolled up, I think I almost had a repeat performance of our shower escapades.

I dashed out the door and was promised that I would pay for teasing them later.

I was dancing with Rio and Zane for a while, but needed a break so Asher helped me to the bar to order a drink.

Asher stands behind my stool as I rest my feet and sip my rosemary vodka tonic. I lean my head back against his chest, and he wraps an arm around me. The music is too loud for a normal conversation, so we speak with light touches and flirty glances.

I’m jostled when a man pushes his way past the waiting line to get to the bartender fixing drinks across from me.

Leaning too far to the right, I almost fall off the stool.

I brace for the impact, but it never comes.

Asher’s quick reflexes have him reacting without thought and he rights me on the stool.

“Hey! I want a drink!” The pushy man’s whiny voice can barely be heard over the music.

Ew.

The bartender’s expression indicates he recognizes the man, and he stops in the middle of making a margarita to quickly whip up a martini with extra olives.

The man has a baby face and gelled blond hair. His clothes scream rich yacht club and “I live off of Daddy’s money.” He looks like he just turned twenty-one yesterday.

Asher glares at the man as he leans against the bar and takes a big gulp of his drink. I tap Asher’s hand and shake my head. Asher reigns in his anger as his jaw tenses, and he places his hands on my shoulders.

The man turns to me. He looks me up and down with calculation in his eyes, completely ignoring Asher’s hands on me.

Fucking hell. I’m going to need a shower.

“How much?” he asks with a creepy half-smile.

Asher’s grip on my shoulders tightens.

“Excuse me?” I furrow my eyebrows.

“For the night. How much?” He looks me up and down again, his eyes snagging on my cleavage. “With that dress and those legs . . . five thousand.”

Is this bitch asking for what I think he’s asking for?

Asher’s hands begin to quiver.

My jaw drops at this fucker’s proposition. He must have had a gallon of audacity with his morning coffee.

The man places his sweaty palm on my knee and leans close. “I may even let you come, too,” he adds with a wink.

Is that supposed to sweeten this bullshit deal?

I place my hand on Asher’s, reassuring him that I’ve got this, but I know he’s ready to explode.

The man’s thumb strokes the inside of my knee.

Giving him a fake smile, I grab his wrist and pull it to an unnatural angle. He drops his martini on the floor and the glass breaks as he shouts in pain.

His other hand rears back to slap my face. I dodge and twist his wrist further, so he has no choice but to fall against the bar. He tries to push up, but I push down with my upper body.

The only action he’s going to get tonight is my boobs against his back because I’ll fucking castrate this prick.

“What the fuck!”

I bring my mouth to his ear. “Touch me again, and I’ll fucking kill you. Slowly.” I give him one more shove, then let go and sit back down on my stool. Waving my hand in the air, I ignore the gawking bystanders and shout at the bartender. “We need another drink over here!”

The man is panting as he stands. His chin raises, and his eyes seem to bulge. “No cunt is worth your brand of crazy.”

In a flash, the man is on the floor with three scary-looking fuckers surrounding him. A few people gasp and back away. Some don’t even notice what’s going on.

Those are my men.

Zane places his foot on the man’s chest. “You’re lucky. She was going to let you walk away with nothing more than a few strained muscles.”

Rio crouches down and shakes his head. “But you had to go and touch what isn’t yours.”

“That makes you a dead man.” Asher’s voice is cold.

My pussy turns into fucking Niagara Falls.

Is that supposed to be sexy? Because, oh my hell, it is.

Rio digs into the man’s pocket, pulls out his wallet, and takes a picture of his ID. He hands the wallet back, and the man snatches it from Rio’s grasp. “Enjoy your hands while you still have them.”

The man scrambles on his ass away from us. “You don’t know who you’re messing with!”

Rio fakes contemplation and places a finger on his chin. “Hmm. Interesting. But we don’t give a fuck.” Then shrugs his shoulders.

“We’ll give you a head start. Use it wisely,” Asher adds.

The man finally gives in to his fight-or-flight response—he chooses flight.

I bite my lip when they all turn to me. Their anger turns to lust when they take in my flushed, needy complexion.

“Come on, Mama. Let’s go.” Rio takes my hand in his and leads us out of the club. Night has settled in, but it’s impossible to tell with all the lights of the city.

As we walk to the car, I tilt my head to the side as a question pops into my head. “What happened to the guy from Moonlit?”

Zane’s confused expression fails to convince me he doesn’t remember. Rio frowns and shrugs a shoulder.

“What guy?” Asher questions.

Rio gives Asher the information he wants. “There was another guy who put his hands on our girlfriend?—”

“Before I was your girlfriend,” I interject.

“Angel, you were always ours. From the moment I saw you, I knew it.”

“The rest was just formalities.” Rio waves his hand.

“Don’t fight it, Princess. You won’t win this argument.”

I sigh and roll my eyes at their nonsense.

You know it’s true.

Ah, fuck. Yeah, I know.

“What the hell is that?” Zane squints his eyes as we approach his car.

They all draw their weapons when I finally see the manilla envelope on Zane’s windshield. Asher reaches the envelope first and opens it while Zane and Rio scan up and down the street.

Asher pulls out multiple photos and a written note. “Fuck!” he shouts, making me jump.

Rio leans in, and all the blood drains from his face. Zane peeks at the images and swallows.

“What is it?” I finally question.

Asher silently hands me everything.

“Oh my God!” I gasp and cover my mouth. The pictures are of Carmen—she’s tied with duct tape to a chair. Her face is stained with tear streaks and her eyes are staring right at me, begging for help. I flip through the photos until I get to the note.

The whore for my Flower. Tomorrow at Euphoria 10 p.m.. Come alone.

Anthony is never going to stop. I’ve always known that. I thought I could run and hide, hoping the problem would go away, but he’s not going to stop.

Not until I put a bullet between his eyes.