When the hell did this happen?
There’s a line at the door, maybe two dozen people waiting for entry. I’m not about to go to the end of it. A burly man is guarding the door—bouncer, I assume. A grumpy guy at the front of the line gives me a look as I approach him.
“Oh, come on,” he says, the stench of bad cologne hanging around him like a cloud. “If you’re twenty-one, then I’m a poodle. Get to the back of the line, little girl.”
I hide my nerves with a raised eyebrow, striding confidently up to the bouncer. “I’m RedFox.” I’m not vain—not exactly. I just come from a world that understands exactly what it takes to achieve a certain level of beauty. I’m thin but curvy. My tits are big and real. My eyes are a deep, emerald green that I know how to flirt with. My hair is a shiny, almost metallic kind of red that people pay a lot of money to replicate. Tonight, I’m wearing a dress that shows off my cleavage and legs. Stacked sandals give me another four inches of height, and I left my long hair down, grazing midway down my back.
I don’t need to be on the list to get into this place.
The bouncer shrewdly holds my gaze as he pulls a clipboard from behind him. It only takes one flick of his eyes for his expression to neutralize. “Welcome to Underworld, Miss Fox.” I follow the sweep of his arm into the door, shooting the surly cologne man a smirk from over my shoulder.
God, I love rich guys.
Inside, it’s both dark and bright. There’s still pulsing music—that hasn’t changed—but it’s less frantic. The club is crowded, but it’s still early. There’s an energy in the air, like it’s still charging, lights jumping around like smoky lasers.
HotWetCox hadn’t told me where to find him—or how to find him—but I know he’ll find me. Red dress. Short. So horny that my back molars ache from grinding. I decide my best bet is the bar, so I weave between a group of rowdy college students to make my way there.
I choose a spot far away from the action and don’t bother sitting. I lean my elbows on the bar top and give the woman behind the counter a cool nod.
“Some club soda, please?” I’ve never had drunk sex worth writing home about. As I wait, accepting the soda with a small thanks, I wonder where this HotWetCox is going to take me. I’m starting to not even care. The static under my skin is getting beyond unbearable. I’d take it in a dirty club bathroom at this point.
I don’t have to wonder for long.
Two masculine hands come down on the bar, belonging to the two arms bracketing me from behind. I inhale against the large, ominous presence of him, his biceps brushing my shoulders. I can just barely feel the tip of a nose skimming my hair.
I shiver.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” a low voice rumbles into my ear, making me freeze. “You’re going to take that staircase to the left, walk to the back of the lounge, and go into the office there. You’re going to pull your panties off, bend over, and hike that dress up your hips.” He leans into me, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “Then I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll be limping out of here. Any problem with that, Red?”
My wide, horrified eyes jump to his hands, one long forefinger tapping against the wood. My heart is suddenly vibrating more than anything else, because I know.
I know that voice.
Heston Wilcox has me caged in, but I’m not a dumb little Freshman anymore. I reach into my purse, wrapping my hand around the can of pepper spray my dad had insisted I attach to my key ring, and then I whirl around, striking out. My palm meets a solid wall of chest, shoving him back. He barely even moves.
At least, not until he really sees me.
Heston’s face shutters and then hardens, body jerking away. “You cannot be fucking serious.”
I brandish the pepper spray canister, my keys jangling loudly as I raise it. “Step back, or so fucking help me—”
His nostrils flare wide, jaw ticking. “What the fuck is this?” He swipes out and snatches the pepper spray, key ring and all, in one swift, effortless move. “Did my brother put you up to this?”
I flinch away, both at the quick motion and the way he advances on me, red-hot fury in his eyes. “You’re HotWetCox,” I realize, disgust roiling in my gut.
“Let me guess. You’re recording with your phone,” he says, tossing my keys carelessly onto the bar. “Think you can catch me fucking with you so you can turn me in again? Not going to happen.” I’m still trying to process the man in front of me. He looks the same—devastatingly hot—but he also looks tired, a little ragged around the edges. There are dark marks under his eyes and his shirt is uncharacteristically rumpled. He gives me a scathing look, lip curling back. “Like I’d ever go for the bitch who sold me out.”
Some of that horror holding me prisoner melts away, leaving only the hard exterior of my hatred for him. I snatch my keys from the bar without breaking his gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d rather shove a rusty fork into my eye than be bait for you.”
He laughs, but it’s flat and barbed, completely lacking in humor. That cold, mean glint in his eyes makes my spine want to jump out of my body and flee. “No, of course not. It’s far more believable that you’re whoring yourself out on the internet, Little Red Riding Cocks.”
Bristling, I sneer back. “Shouldn’t you be taking a fat one from behind, in prison?”
He moves faster than my eyes can process it, a big palm seizing the column of my neck. I gasp, jerking away, but I just knock into the bar, unable to run. His eyes burn into mine, teeth clenched. “You think this is joke, Haynes? You think it’s funny that you ruined my fucking life?”
I stare up at him, wide-eyed. The Heston I know is ruthless, cold, and mean. But outside of the rough sex, he isn’t the violent kind. That trait fell to the other Wilcox brother. But this Heston is ragged and frayed, something else altogether, and it means he’s unpredictable. I can tell because I’d know that wild thing sparking in his eyes anywhere. It’s probably sparking in mine as we speak.
It’s the byproduct of deprivation.
“Go ahead.” I swallow, knowing that he feels it against his palm. “Leave a mark on me, Heston. I’ll have you thrown back in jail so fast, you won’t even have time to close your AcadaNeeds account.”
His jaw goes sharper, and he lurches back, snatching his hand away like my throat is fire. “You weren’t worth it then, and you’re not worth it now.” He tilts his head, smirking cruelly. “You can run back to your bitches and tell them I don’t take public access pussy. If they want to trap me, they’re going to have to find someone who isn’t the community cum dumpster.”
The glass of club soda is right by my hand and it’s more reflex than anything, the way I fling the contents in his face. Distantly, I can hear jeers and laughter coming from the loft above, but mostly I just hear the rush of my charged pulse as I watch him blink the moisture from his eyes. I slam the glass on the counter and don’t give that ember of fury in his eyes long enough to fully combust.
I don’t run, but it’s a close thing.
Even outside, gulping in hard lungfuls of the cool night air, my heart still feels jumpy and off kilter. I press my fingers to my pulse as I dart to my car, willing it to calm. It’s like at some point my heart had arranged itself to the throb of the music inside, and now it doesn’t know its own rhythm.