Page 38

Good. I’m coming.

The line at Gilt’s around the block. The bouncer sees me coming and unhooks the rope without a word. Inside, it’s a fucking zoo. Saturday night. Bodies everywhere. Bass so loud it rattles my teeth. Gold lights spinning across the ceiling.

I find her in two seconds. I’d find her in a stadium. I’d find her with my eyes closed.

She’s on the dance floor. And she’s wearing red.

Cheap, tight, strapless. Red as a fire truck under the lights. Her tits are pushed up and spilling over the top, bouncing every time she moves, and I can see the bite I left on the left one yesterday, peeking out over the edge. It’s painted on her waist. On that soft little belly. Stretched over her hips so tight I can see the dimples above that ass. And the ass. Fuck me, that ass. That dress is so tight it’s holding on for dear life, and it stops right underneath it, so every time she bends her knees and drops it low, I can see the bottom of her cheeks, and the backs of her big thick thighs, and the bruises I left on them.

My bruises. On my thighs. On the dance floor. In front of everybody.

Her braids are down. All the way down her back, swinging. Gold hoops. Gold heels. Glossy lips. Her arms are up in the air and her eyes are closed and she’s rolling her hips slow to the beat like she’s alone in her bedroom.

She’s so fucking beautiful my chest hurts.

And there’s a man behind her.

Young. Tall. Built like he plays something for money. White teeth, tight shirt, sneakers that cost more than her car. His hands are on her hips. Both of them. His dick’s pressed up against her ass. He leans down and says something in her ear.

She laughs.

The noise in the club goes away. Everything goes away. All I can see is his hands on her.

I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill him, and every man in here who watched him do it, and I’m gonna burn this whole fucking club to the ground with the Morettis inside it, and then I’m gonna fuck her on the ashes.

Tasha’s at a table off the dance floor, sucking something pink through a straw. She sees me first. Her eyes go huge. She very slowly puts her drink down, grabs the girl next to her, and pulls out her phone and starts filming.

The crowd’s packed, but it moves. People see my face and get the fuck out of the way. One guy doesn’t move fast enough. I put him into a pillar and keep walking.

Enzo steps out of the VIP section right into my path with his hands up.

“Maksimov. Come on. Not again. Don Dario’s gonna…”

“Move, or they carry you out.”

He looks at my face. He moves.

I hit the dance floor. She still doesn’t see me. Her eyes are still closed. And now the athlete’s hands are moving. Sliding down off her hips. on her thighs. on my bruises. on the bare skin under that little red dress.

I grab his wrist.

He looks up, pissed. Then he sees who’s holding him. The pissed goes away real fast.

“Whoa. Hey, man. I’m just…”

I snap it.

It goes like a breadstick. I feel the bones crunch under my fingers and it feels so fucking good I almost do the other one. He screams, high and loud, right over the bass, and every head in the place turns. People scatter. I let go and he drops to his knees cradling his arm, and I put my foot on his chest and shove him over on his back on the floor.

He’s lucky. He’s got another wrist. He’s got two legs. He’s got a whole neck.

Dylan’s eyes fly open. She spins around.

She looks at the athlete on the floor. She looks up at me.

Her face does everything at once. Shock. Fear. Then fury. Pure fucking fury, her glossy lips pulling back off her teeth, her chest heaving, her tits about to pop out the top of that dress.

And her nipples. Her nipples are standing straight up under that thin red fabric, hard as fucking diamonds.