Page 4 of Stealing Cinder

I guess it is dealer's choice which comes first.

CHAPTER 2

CINDER

Alow bass rolls through my chest, syncing with my pulse as my heels click across the polished marble floor of the Gilded Key Society.

Neon light washes over my bare forearms in shifting hues of amber and violet, turning my skin a bruised rose gold as I press them flat to the bar. The marble is cold. Polished black, veined with gold that catches every flicker of color and throws it back doubled. Behind the bar, a mirror runs the full length of the wall and reflects the entire lounge into infinity. Bodies and light and shadow repeating into a room with no end.

It’s breathtaking. And for the next several minutes it helps ease the ache in my heart.

But to be honest, I’m so hurt, angry—no, livid— right now with my life and the people in it that it’s hard to focus on the beauty of the club. I press my forearms against the cool stone and let the chill ground me.

I mentally run through the rules for the night. I can’t keep the tears hitting my eyes every five minutes unless I keep my brain occupied, so I made some rules up that will keep me sane by the time the sun rises in the morning.

You see, I plan on losing my virginity tonight. It’s the one thing in my life I have one hundred percent control over, damn it. And tonight I’m throwing my V-card on the table and getting it punched.

So, I’m going with no names. No kissing. And I’ll be doing the walk of shame by sunup.

I sigh heavily. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being a little too simple and clean about the whole exchange, but I’m after a transaction I can control. I deserve that when every other aspect of my life is in chaos. I don’t mean to sound cold, but my heart is hurting too deeply to be anything other than reserved.

The bartender stops in front of me and braces both hands on the marble. Tall, long black hair spilling over tattooed shoulders, hazel eyes that take their time moving from my mouth to my eyes.

"What can I get you, gorgeous?"

"A dirty martini, please."

His grin is slow and sure. "Good taste, baby girl. Let me hook you up."

The tension in my shoulders eases. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“I’m not gonna lie. You seem hurt. Whose ass do I need to kick for putting that pain in your eyes, sweetheart?”

My heart squeezes. The playful grin lifting his lips says I might like to see him in alpha protective mode. When you’re surrounded by assholes all the time, one tends to forget there are still nice people in the world. “That’s a long story and I don’t want to darken anyone’s night.”

The sweet bartender works the shaker with inked hands, muscles shifting under the rolled sleeves of his black shirt. On any other night this man is a dream I wouldn't mind falling into. He slides the glass toward me across the marble, fingertips lingering close to mine.

“If you’re still around after my shift, I have a big shoulder and a light touch made for easing a lady’s pain.” he offers in a husky rumble that is really hard to resist.

I'm not imagining the lust in his tone.

I smile. Can't help it.

“Okay, baby girl. You let me know.” He winks and pushes off the bar when a brunette at the far end waves him over.

The glass is cold and heavy in my grip when I raise it to my lips instead of telling him I'll be waiting. The first sip is a perfect balance of sharp olive brine and saline on my tongue. It’s a clean burn that cuts through the fog sitting behind my eyes. I take another.

On one of the large screens embedded in the wall, an ad for the Gilded Key Society cycles through a montage of past performances. Bodies arching under choreographed light, mouths open, hands gripping silk sheets and headboards. All of it curated, polished, lit to sell the fantasy of sex.

Words flash across the screen: Choose your experience. Choose your partners. Choose your pleasure.

My thumb traces the rim of my glass. How lovely it would be to choose who takes your virginity. Walk into a room full of options and point. My terms. My timeline. No obligation beyond the act itself. The concept wraps warm around me in a way the cold marble can't. Control. Consent. Agency over the one thing in my life no one has managed to steal.

Everything else belongs to Francesca and her daughters now.

This is still mine.

"You look like you're about to set something on fire."