“You’ll be even better once you drink that!” she grins back at me.
No, I’ll be drunk once I drink that. I like to have fun as much as the next girl. But I’m not a huge party animal. Mostly it’s because of dance. I can say with full authority that the worst hangover in the world is the one with Madame Kuzmina glaring down her nose at you asking why your pirouettes are so off today.
But the other reason is that I just don’t enjoy being out of control like that.
Neither Naomi nor Milena is a big drinker either, for the same dance-related reasons. I mean, we all work our asses off, day in and day out, to stay at the very top of our game physically. Getting drunk, which is literally ingesting poison, isn’t usually on our to-do list.
But it is on the docket tonight.
Naomi’s already got the rosy cheeks and glassy eyes that come from drinking in loud, energetic clubs with music pounding and people dancing. Milena turns to clink her glass to ours, and she’s looking like she’s having an even better time.
Hey, I’d probably be as drunk as her right now too if I just found out I wasn’t being married off to a troll like Anton Chernoff.
I wince as the tequila burns down my throat, warming my stomach and making my blood pump a little wilder and hotter.
“Yes!” Milena crows, slamming her empty glass down on the bar. She turns to survey the crowd of clubbers grinding and gyrating in the pulsing, neon light.
“Okay, first things first, we need to find some cute boys and show them how shitty of dancers these other bitches are.”
“Meeeow!” Naomi laughs. “Careful everyone, Milena’s got her claws out!”
“Russians and tequila are a fiery combination,” Milena giggles, flipping her long blonde ponytail. “Shoulda stuck with vodka if you wanted me docile.”
I grin. I’m having fun, and the tequila is melting away the stresses of life. The music throbs and pulses, and the pull of it makes me want to close my eyes and just dance.
At the same time, there’s the pull of something else. Something dangerous and volatile. Something that feels like a shadow lurking just beyond my peripheral vision, its claws slowly reaching out to me.
I fish out my phone and open the site again. The chat window still shows our last exchange, with the icon by his username still darkened.
RaisedByWolves: Either use the safe word, in which case this ends here and now, permanently. Or else you WILL be seeing me tonight.
BrokenBee: I’m sorry. I have to go
My pulse skips.
I didn’t use the safe word.
I just said “I’m sorry, I have to go.” I want to tell myself it was just an oversight, a technicality. I mean, I did make it clear that I wasn’t going to make our rendezvous tonight. But it’s not the same thing as using the safe word. And I know why I deliberately didn’t use it.
Use the safe word, in which case this ends here and now, permanently.
I didn’t use it because I know that when he said “this ends”, he meant “forever”. Not “for the evening” or “until next time”.
Using the safe word with whoever my mystery partner is shuts this whole thing down entirely. And there go my chances of exploring the aching need, however dark and depraved, that I can’t stop feeling deep in my core.
It’s like staring into the black mouth of a cave and being both terrified of what might be inside but also equally scared to walk away without ever exploring it.
That’s why I didn’t use the safe word.
“C’mon!” I jolt back to reality, shoving the phone into my bag as Naomi and Milena drag me out into the mass of writhing, dancing bodies. We push our way closer to the DJ booth, creating a little room for ourselves as we start to dance.
I mean, we might be bunheads, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get down and dirty with some thumping club music.
Soon enough, we’re attracting attention from more than a few guys. Three of the bolder ones move into our little dance circle, each of them wordlessly pairing up with one of us. A guy with blonde hair pulls close to Naomi. Another guy with tanned Latin skin and gorgeous long hair starts dancing with Milena.
The one that slips close to me momentarily takes my breath away because of his sheer size.
For a split second, I freeze. My eyes snap up to his face, my pulse thudding as the thought crosses my mind that he’s the same man from the alley the other day. The one who’s been in my head ever since. The one who inspired me to sneak onto Dante’s website and match with the ultra-dominant RaisedByWolves, whom I’m standing up right now.
When the young guy in front of me grins nervously, though, the illusion shatters.
It’s not him. The man in the alley might have been wearing a mask, but the raw power, confidence, and darkness that emanated from him like smoke is nothing like the clearly nervous energy this guy has.
“I’m Matt!” he screams in my face.
“Bianca!” I yell back.
“We’re celebrating!”
“Yeah?!” I reply.
I’m not focusing on Matt. My mind is still on the leering mask and the hand around my throat. The throb of danger and malice teasing through my core.
“Yeah! We all just got hired at Ironclad Holdings!”
“Oh,” I shout without enthusiasm. “That’s…cool.”
“It’s a hedge fund!” he explains in a loud voice over the music.
