Page 96 of Undone

“I sure as shit hope so,” Sally replies. “I have a few hundred-dollar-bills. What I wouldn’t give for a handsome, dangerous man to sweep me away—just one more time. Even if I have to pay him.”

I roll my eyes.

“You’re funny as hell.” Kathryn takes Sally by the arm and the two of them walk up to a hostess asking where the VIP section is. The slender woman’s ponytail swishes from side to side as she leads us around the bar, to a private elevator that requires a code.

Her long, lacquered nails punch a sequence of numbers in and the doors open.

Something is off, but I can’t figure out what.

Once the elevator doors shut behind us, I catch a whiff of something familiar, but I can’t place it. It’s almost like part of a lost memory—you try to place your finger on it, but it eludes you, nonetheless.

I rack my brain trying to place it, when the doors open. The top floor’s dimly lit. Everything is black from floor to ceiling. The hostess leads us over to a black velvet couch. A single flame flickers from a candle sitting on a glossy black lacquered table for drinks to be placed on.

“I’m not sure if I’m impressed or freaked the hell out,” I murmur, as we sit, placing drink orders.

“There’s barely anyone else up here. I think we should go back to the main floor.”

“I agree with Sally. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“The two of you are being ridiculous. Relax. Drink. Have fun for a change.”

“Are you saying, I’m not fun?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. Kathryn shrugs and orders three shots of Tito’s as the waitress places our drinks down on the lacquered table. The reflection of my own eyes reflects back at me from the shiny surface as I glance down at the glass of wine placed before me.

Curtains across the room from us slowly open revealing a private dance floor with our own DJ spinning tracks. The elevator that brought us up here opens every few minutes bringing more VIPS to join us. I start to relax, no longer feeling creeped out.

We end up doing two rounds of tequila shots before venturing to the dance floor. Even Sally gets her groove on.

We forget our troubles.

Our ages.

Our names, as the music pumps through us like lifeblood—coursing through our veins and setting us free.

The lights dim even lower.

The music beats louder.

Fog falls from the ceiling in a smoky haze, cutting between us as we dance.

A thick arm grabs me around the waist and pulls be behind the thick velvet drapes at the edge of the dance floor. I’m twirled in the heavy fabric, cocooned in a private world of darkness.

I smell him first. Spicy. Male. Dangerous.

He moves his hips against me.

His lips find my neck.

I can’t help but to close my eyes and pretend I’m in another world as his hands mold me to him.

“Tesoro,”he breaths, inhaling me before kissing the column of my throat.

My hands tangle in his hair.

I’m on fire.

Passion ignites between us.

Roque is all man, as he grabs my hair pulling me up to face his.

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