Page 41 of Twisted Prince

The air vanishes from my lungs.

My heart pounds.

Vivid memories flash behind my eyes?—

The petulant lift of her chin as she gears up for an argument.

Onyx eyes that ensnare me with smoldering heat.

I’m stunned. Frozen. My feet lead weights.

What is she doing here?

My eyes travel slowly down her slender body, consuming the sight of her with ravenous need.

Her strapless black velvet cocktail dress hugs every inch of her trim figure.

Silk gloves reach past her elbows.

Her waves of mahogany hair cascade over one shoulder.

And I would recognize those soft, striking features anywhere. Her button nose and heart-shaped face. The tear-drop shape of her eyes. Dark eyebrows arching imperiously over them.

Her full lips part to lip-sync the sensual ballad, and my heart stops. Her eyes are closed, her movements graceful as she plays the part of some 1920s club singer. And she’s as stunning as the day I last saw her. Russet skin glowing a soft gold in the bright stage light, she exudes a charisma that captures the attention of everyone in the room.

Then, as the beat drops, her eyes fly open, and her attitude shifts to cheeky spunk. The backup singers I hadn’t even noticed before step forward, dressed in skimpy, shimmering bikinis. They each grip a side of Mel’s dress, and in one fluid motion, they rip it off her, tossing it backstage.

Now wearing an outfit as glittery and revealing as the other girls, Mel struts across the stage like she was born to it. Her long legs on full display, she uses the space like her own personal catwalk. And before I know what I’m doing, my feet are carrying me forward, down the steps leading into the dining area below her. I can’t tear my eyes away.

She’s a good dancer. Though, somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.

What does is the fact that she’s here, in this club, at all.

And anger rises in my chest as I consider the implications of her presence.

The letter she left me three years ago—the one that ripped my heart out and left me little more than a vengeful shell of a human being—said she wanted to get far away from my world.

And now she’s not just fully immersed in it. She’s thriving. Surrounded by mafia men who have a reputation for being just as ruthless and violent as the Veles, she’s put herself on full display. And she appears to be dancing without a care in the world.

I know what the girls who dance here do for a living.

And I know Pearl’s reputation.

Which only adds insult to injury. She wanted to get far away from me, but she’s willing to dance for these animals? Rage bubbles hot and fast in my chest as the hypocrisy hits home.

Like a slap to the face.

Keoghan might not put a night of pleasure with his dancers right there on the menu, but that doesn’t mean they’re less than glorified whores. Most sell their bodies for a quick buck on the side—according to the brothers I know who work here. The show Mel’s putting on is just the cocktail hour. The private dances the club sells make up the starter course. But the real meal happens after the final curtain call.

That unfamiliar surge of conflicting emotions roars through my chest, consuming me. And I can’t stop watching the Hawaiian beauty as she dances around the stage, flaunting her perfect body for a roomful of lewd men to see. It shouldn’t bother me. She’s not mine to covet. But that doesn’t stop my protective instincts from launching into overdrive.

Her path carries her down the steps toward me, but she hasn’t seen me yet. One of my hulking half-brothers offers her a well-timed hand, guiding her down the stairs so she doesn’t lose her balance as she sashays to the music. I grit my teeth, ugly jealousy choking my throat at the innocuous touch.

Then, with a graceful skip, she moves from the stairs onto the tabletop beside them.

Keoghan’s men hoot and whistle as she dances above them—practically on top of them. And when she dips low, spreading her knees in a shockingly explicit crouch, my stomach turns. She makes deep eye contact with one of them as she rolls her hips provocatively, and the crowd goes wild.

One of the men, a blond who leers at her with a sick look of entitlement, rises from his chair as she returns to a stand. His hand finds her ankle and boldly slides up her leg, ending with a sharp slap to her ass.

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