Tempted

I hate that she is the bartender on duty, but at the same time, I need to show her that she didn’t hurt me. As much as it’s a lie, I don’t want her to see my pain, and it’s a bonus by doing that, I’m also taking the edge off.

I also need to pretend I don’t care about anything.

Turning back around, I stare at her as she moves back in front of Reese and me with two newly filled shot glasses.

My own lips spread across my face. Still fake, but I don’t care. It’s the illusion I need to portray.

I take the glass, and this time when I shoot it, it goes down smooth. The euphoric feeling hits me again.

We stand there a few minutes, taking shot after shot.

Each one makes me looser. Each one working its magic.

With the sixth drink, it finally works. My head is no longer spinning with the images of Drew and Monica. Now, it’s replaced with a feeling I haven’t felt for a long time, one only present in my once favorite vice. It feels like I’m floating. Like my head is no longer a part of my body.

I’m light, and nothing can possibly bother me right now. It’s as if I’m living in a dream world.

I welcome it.

My eyes close, and then when I open them, I throw my head back and start to laugh when I see the way Monica looks at me.

But it doesn’t matter how she stares. This laughter is not a fake one for the crowds. No, this is a real one.

It makes me laugh harder.

I must be drunker than I thought because I can’t stop. Not even when from the far corner of the room, I can see into the club’s main part, and I can see him.

He hasn’t spotted me yet, but he’s speaking adamantly to someone. My angle isn’t ideal, but then when he looks toward the VIP section where I’m currently drinking, I know he must have been speaking to Carter.

Traitor.

I need to get out of here unless I want him to see me here, which I don’t. I have no desire to ever speak to him.

Nor do I want that bastard to see the pain I’m in.

My hand reaches out, and I grab Reese. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Reese follows my gaze. He must notice what has me pissed because his face splits into a wide smile as he looks in the direction of where Drew is watching us.

“Let’s go,” I say, pulling his attention back to me.

“Where?” he asks.

“Anywhere.” I stand from the barstool and start to walk away, pulling him along with me.

It feels like I’m floating out of my body. I stumble forward, my feet having a hard time keeping me steady, but Reese grabs me tighter and does the steadying for me. He pulls me into the curtained alcove out of Drew’s sight line.

42

Drew

As my feet hit the last step, I look around frantically for Bailey. I thought maybe I could find her upstairs in one of the offices, but my search came up fruitless. She’s probably long gone, having walked in on what she did.

“Fuck!” I yell, drawing the attention of a few customers in earshot. “Sorry.” I wave it off, continuing my search, hoping like hell I’m wrong, and she’s still here. I grab my phone and try to call her, but it goes to voicemail.

Fuck.

Where is she?

The first place I head is to the door that leads to the front of the club.

I find Tony standing there. His arms are crossed at his chest, and he’s shaking his head at some dude. Obviously, he doesn’t deem him worthy of my club.

When he sees me, he turns and gives the poor fool his back. He’s been discarded.

“What’s up, boss?” he asks.

“Have you seen Bailey?”

“Not since she arrived a while back. I thought she was looking for you.”

“She didn’t leave?” I say, ignoring his comment.

Bailey did look for me, and Monica . . .

Doesn’t matter. I need to find her, and I need to explain.

If she didn’t leave out the front door, she probably went out the back. I start to stalk in that direction when I feel two hands shove me before it registers that Carter is in my face looking like he wants to pummel me.

“What the fuck did you do to her, man?” Carter screams at me.

“Whoa, you better get your hands off me if you still want a job.”

“Fuck your job. I told you not to hurt her, Drew.” His hands fly to the top of his head, worry etching lines in his forehead. “The way she looked . . . it was almost like . . . fuck, man! Tell me you didn’t. Tell me I’m wrong and you didn’t fuck that slut, Monica.”