Fight Dirty (Black Rose Kisses 1)

I’m also not about to thank them, so instead I just tell them we’re leaving at eight. Then I dash upstairs to shower and change into a short, curve-hugging dress after I text Scarlett to let her know.

For the first time since they abducted me, we all pile into the car. Rory takes shotgun this time, leaving me in the back with Levi while Sloan drives. Rory chatters the way Rory always seems to, and the other two respond, leaving me alone for a change.

I tell them the name of the club, and it’s no surprise that they already know how to get there. They know the city inside and out, it seems.

Sapphire is one of those clubs that gets especially packed on a Friday night. It’s close enough to both the community college and the main university that college students can get there by bus or car to blow off steam after a long week. The drink specials and the fact that the DJ isn’t terrible make it a popular spot, and the place is already loud and chaotic when we get there and manage to find a place to park.

Scarlett’s waiting outside once we walk up, and she throws her arms around me as soon as she sees me. She looks good in a tight red dress, low cut enough that it shows a good bit of her cleavage, with a hem that barely hides the tops of her thighs. She’s wearing matching heels that lift her to being just an inch or so taller than me, and she takes advantage of it to see over my shoulder when she squeezes me tight and starts eyeing up the guys.

I just roll my eyes, but have to admit they do look super hot.

I’ve never seen them dressed nicely before, since usually they’re in jeans and t-shirts or gym clothes when they’re around the house. But they all put in some effort to go out, even though they really didn’t have to. Honestly, all three of them could have shown up in paper sacks, and they still probably would have been the best looking men in the place.

Rory’s shirt is tight enough to show off his pecs, and the sleeves are short, so his tattoos are on display. His hair is artfully tousled, making it look like he might have just rolled out of bed and come to dance, which of course is designed to make people think about him in bed. The asshole.

Levi’s dressed casually as usual, though his jeans are a bit tighter than ones I’ve seen before, and the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt are rolled up, showing off strong forearms. His natural hotness is enough to make the outfit look better than it would have on anyone else, and there are already people eyeing him as they walk past us into the club.

Of the three of them, Sloan seems the least pleased to be out, even though he’s dressed the nicest. His button-down shirt almost matches the color of his storm cloud eyes, and the sleeves are rolled up like Levi’s. His jeans are dark, unsurprisingly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear a bright color before. It doesn’t really matter since monochrome works for him, and his male model status is untouched.

Scarlett’s eyes look like they’re nearly falling out of her head as she looks them over, and I grab her arm and drag her inside. I already know the three of them are probably the most gorgeous guys present, and unfortunately, so do they. We definitely don’t need Scarlett drooling over them to drive the point home.

The point of going out tonight is to cut loose a bit and think about something other than the three of them and how frustrating they are. To stop worrying about my dad nonstop and get out of my head a little. In fact, I resolve that until we leave, I’m not going to think about my three keepers at all. Instead, I’m going to do my damnedest to enjoy myself.

I nod with determination, and we split up from there. The guys head for the bar, and Scarlett and I watch as they order drinks from the obviously interested bartender. None of them seem to give her the time of day though, and they take their drinks and move to stand at the perimeter of the large space, avoiding the main section of the club where people are dancing.

They stand together, serious-faced as they talk, and for a second, I consider trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s probably Black Rose business, and it could be important, but with the music and the crush of people, there’s no way I’d be able to hear anything anyway. So maybe, for tonight, I’ll just forget about it.

I deserve a break, after all, and there’s no telling when the next time I get to come out will be.

Scarlett still has a hold on my hand, and I let her lead me over to the bar. She has to practically lean all the way over it to flag down the bartender, but manages to put our drink orders in, voice raised to be heard above the thumping music.

I bob my head while we wait, already feeling the tension from the week starting to bleed out of me. With the guys out of sight and the prospect of a night of dancing and cutt

ing loose ahead of me, my mood is better than it’s been since all of this started.

Scarlett plasters herself to my side, already working her hips in time to the music.

“God, I can’t believe you get to live with those three,” she says, her gaze finding them where they’re leaning against the wall, giving off clear “fuck off and don’t bother us” vibes while they talk.

“You say that like it’s some kind of prize.” I snort. “I don’t get to live with them. I have to. I don’t have a choice. And I don’t want to talk about them tonight, okay? I just want to blow off some steam.”

She leans over and presses a messy kiss to my cheek and then squeezes my shoulder as two shots are pushed our way by the bartender. “You got it, hot stuff.”

When she pulls back, her blue eyes are serious. I know she can tell how fucked up I am about all of this, and she can probably see how badly I need to get out of my own head. She puts on a wide grin as she picks up both shot glasses and hands one to me. “Bottoms up!”

I follow her lead and knock back the shot, feeling the burn of the tequila as it blazes its way down my throat. In just a matter of seconds, the warmth of it fills me, and I feel myself getting more relaxed. Thank goodness for Scarlett and her fake ID, not that this place makes a habit of carding.

“Okay,” Scarlett says, setting her glass down on the polished wood of the bar and putting her hands on her hips. “Dancing. Let’s do this.”

I laugh, and we make our way to the dance floor, weaving through the throngs of people with the same idea. There’s not much space that isn’t already occupied by other bodies, gyrating and grinding to the low, sensuous beats, but we manage to find a little section to claim for ourselves and just go for it.

Dancing is always fun for me. It’s almost as physical as fighting, and there’s something so freeing about shutting my brain off and just letting the rhythm take over. Scarlett and I have done this at least a couple times a month since we were old enough to get into places like this, and we dance together for a few songs, arms overhead and hips swaying to the beat.

The crowd grows and shrinks and moves around us as people come to join or leave occasionally to flood the bar between songs. In the gaps between people, I can just make out the sight of Levi, Rory, and Sloan, standing in the same spot and looking like they’re having an absolutely terrible time.

None of them are smiling, and Sloan looks particularly surly, but I don’t care. It’s my first night of freedom, the first time I’ve felt truly free since this whole mess started, and I’m not going to let his continuing bad mood ruin my night.

I turn so that my back is to them and start working it to the next song that comes on, a remix of a song that was popular half a decade ago. It’s old, but it gets the crowd hyped all the same.