Chapter 83 Christ! Not Again!!
Chapter 83 Christ! Not Again!!
My mouth popped open, the words 'what the actual fuck' practically hovering on the tip of my tongue, but before I could get a single syllable out, Isabella raised both hands, effectively cutting the air right out of my lungs and shutting me up instantly.
Without giving me a second to recover, she grabbed my arm with a surprisingly iron grip, hauled me back toward the passenger side, and practically poured me into the car like water.
"Move it, young lady..." she murmured, slamming the door shut before slipping into the driver's seat.
She threw the sedan into reverse, pulled a flawless, aggressive U-turn that kicked up a massive cloud of desert dust, and hit the gas. In the rearview mirror, the other three vehicles fell into perfect alignment right behind us, their heavy engines roaring to life as they formed a sleek convoy.
We were heading back toward the city lights, and apparently, I was being chauffeured straight to a fucking strip club by the fucking mafia wives...and my man's mother was obviously their leader.
The neon glow of the club’s sign buzzed against the night sky as we arrived, throwing flashes of hot pink and electric blue over the sleek leather booths and chairs inside.
The bass didn't just vibrate and thudded straight through the soles of my shoes and rattled my ribs. Didn't this eomen remember I was still technically a patient??
I sat stiffly on the edge of a velvet couch, my arms crossed over my chest, feeling completely and utterly out of my depth. I had prepared myself for a lot of things when I got involved with Cole Ryder, but sitting front row at an exclusive, male-only strip club with his mother and her retired-mafia-matriarch friends was definitely not on the list.
The air smelled like expensive perfume, coconut body oil, and all kinds of expensive alcohols. On stage, a man who looked like he’d been chiseled out of marble by angel Michael himself was casually defying gravity on a pole, giving a devastatingly confident smile straight in our direction.
I shifted uncomfortably, my cheeks burning as I tried to look anywhere but directly at his abs.
The older ladies, however, were having the absolute time of their lives.
"Oh, look at that one, Francesca!" Beatrice cheered, not a single trace of her country-club politeness left as she waved a crisp hundred-dollar bill in the air. "Now that is what I call proper core strength! Ooh la la..."
Francesca laughed, raising her diamond-encrusted champagne flute to toast the stage. Even Isabella looked entirely in her element, leaning back with a fresh cigarette, a wicked, relaxed smile on her face as she watched me squirm.
"Oh for the love of God, relax, Celene," Isabella called out over the pounding music, nudging my knee with her elbow. "You look like you're waiting for a board meeting to start. Drink your champagne. If you can't handle a little eye candy, you're never going to survive the real sharks."
The bass dropped harder, and before I knew it, the older ladies were on their feet. Watching three grandmothers in designer pantsuits and pearl necklaces effortlessly groove to a heavy hip-hop beat in a VIP lounge was so fucking strange... but they were happy, and they didn’t care. They danced with an absolute, unapologetic freedom that money and power could definitely buy.
Then, the sea of neon lights parted and three of the most ridiculously handsome men I had ever seen stepped into our private VIP section. They were tall, built like professional athletes, and wearing nothing but unbuttoned silk shirts and low-slung trousers, one of them only had a tight fitted boxer on...the bulge... oh good god!
They didn't even look at the rest of the club because their eyes were locked entirely on our table as they approached.
One of them, a guy with sharp jawlines and a smirk that could melt glaciers, slid right up to Beatrice. She didn't skip a beat, laughing loudly as she tucked a bill into his waistband while he started to dance for her, his movements smooth and synchronized to the rhythm.
The other man approached Francesca, dropping low with an effortless confidence that had her cheering and raising her champagne glass.
I tried to pull myself deeper into the shadows of the velvet booth, practically trying to morph into the fabric, but it was useless. The third man...a guy with piercing green eyes that looked so much like Cole's...and a devastating smile...turned his attention straight to me. He stepped up to the edge of my seat, leaning down slightly as he began to dance, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my throat go completely dry.
Isabella watched the whole thing from the side, a glass of champagne in one hand and her cigarette in the other, practically vibrating with wild amusement as she watched me freeze up under the guy's gaze.
Nope...nope...nope...fuck no!!
The music was a physical weight, thumping against my chest, but it was nothing compared to the heat coming off the guy in front of me. He was close...too fucking close.
I could even smell the sharp, expensive musk of his cologne and see the beads of sweat catching the strobe lights on his skin.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist firmly...He guided my shaking hand and pressed it directly against his stomach, right over his solid, oiled set of abs that felt like heated iron.
What the fuck am I even doing here?!
My breath hitched. My entire body went rigid.
I tried to keep my face a mask of bored, unimpressed cool and collected...the kind of look I imagined a real mafia wife would wear...but it was failing miserably.
I was so terrified, I was weirded out, and underneath the shock, I was fuckimg embarrassed that I was sitting here with older women who were currently hooting and clapping like it was a matinee show.
I was so out of my league.
"Come on darling... live a little," Beatrice shouted over the music, her eyes bright with drunken glee. "He doesn't bite unless you ask him to!"
That was it. The bubble of surrealism finally popped, and the unadulterated panic surged back into me...I snatched my hand back as if I’d been burned by his hot abs, the friction of his skin still tingling against my palm.
"Sorry...I..I need air," I choked out, my voice barely audible over the loud music.
I didn't even wait for Isabella’s permission, or even a reply. I scrambled off the velvet booth, nearly tripping over my own feet in my rush to escape.
I pushed past a group of other younger women who were also there for a good time...blurred visions of neon and glitter spun around me, as I bolted toward the exit.
I didn't stop until the heavy club doors swung shut behind me, the sudden, jarring silence of the parking lot hitting me hard. I leaned against the brick wall, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs, just praying they wouldn't follow.
What the hell is going on with my life? How do I write this whole experience into a story?
How do I tell Cole about this? Do I even tell Cole about this? Would Isabella want him to know this? What if this was a test, and she was hoping to see what I'd do?
I inhaled deeply...
...and then suddenly, darkness covered me!!
One second I was leaning against the brick wall...the next, the world completely vanished as a heavy, rough bag was slammed over my head, scratching my face and plunging me into pitch black.
I opened my mouth to scream, but a wet cloth was shoved brutally into my nose and mouth instead.
The chemical sting of chloroform hit me like a physical punch to the throat.
I thrashed wildly, trying to claw at the rough fabric, but a pair of arms locked around me from behind, pinning my elbows to my sides. My legs instantly turned heavy... The music from inside the club warped and faded, sounding like I was underwater... I knew I was falling, but I could not feel anything...
Then, everything went totally black.
All I could think of was...Christ!! Not again!!
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