Page 91 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

I should be fully focused on the woman actively grinding against my dick, but all I can think about is Belle.

Belle panicked on the plane, her face pale and terrified.

Belle flushed and breathing heavily in the bathroom, her legs spread so I could ram into her from behind.

Belle moaning, “I want it. I want to come.”

I helped her turn it all off. I helped her forget.

And now, I can’t get the woman out of my fucking head.

The dancer is arching her back, shoving her tits in my face. And it isn’t doing a damn thing for me. I grab her around the waist and toss her off. Her eyes snap open and she scrambles to her feet.

“Is everything—Is something wrong?” she asks.

I wave her away. “Don’t worry. You’re still getting paid.”

“The fuck she is,” Arslan protests. “That was my treat, remember? And you didn’t get treated. What’s wrong?”

“You had the right idea,” I mutter. “But the wrong woman.”

He pushes the dancer on his lap aside, not worrying at all when she nearly lands on her ass on the floor. “Is this about Belle?”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a loud bang cuts through the din of music and voices.

Arslan and I look at each other, and we both instantly know what it is.

A gunshot.

“Get down!” Arslan yells to the girls as more shots and screams cut through the noise.

It’s dark in here. I don’t see where the shots are coming from. The dancers who were around our table are scattering, screaming and tripping over their heels. But Arslan and I stay ducked behind the booth.

I grab for the gun concealed inside my jacket. When I look over, Arslan has his at the ready, too. And a big, goofy grin on his face.

“It would be great if you didn’t look so happy about this,” I snap as two more shots ring out.

One of the bullets clips the top of the booth and takes a chunk out of the wood. Splinters and padding rain down over me.

“Sorry, brother,” Arslan says. “But this is what I live for. On the count of three?”

I nod.

“One, two, three—”

We each take off in opposite directions. Arslan moves towards the bar, and I sprint towards the bathrooms.

Colored lights are still strobing in front of the DJ booth, reflecting off the haze in the air and making it impossible to see anything. I look over and can’t even see Arslan through the gloom.

“Arslan?”

As soon as I yell, there’s another shot. It ricochets off the pole behind me, and I duck behind a booth for a little extra coverage.

Then I hear Arslan shout from the other side of the club and more shots ring out.

“He’s running!” Arslan roars.

I jump to my feet and we both take off towards the front door, sprinting past people sprawled on their bellies on the ground. We burst out into the chaotic night.

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