COMMAND | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cupping cold water in two palms, I splashed my face and neck to cool down. I will never pass as an erotic dancer, not in this state, not in tacky boots and sale brought lingerie. Yet, I had outlandish thoughts of working poles to generate money.

Someone left a black coat near the hand dryers. Stuffing my arms through the sleeves, I pulled the fur hood over my head, shielding my eyes, and headed back to the main dance room.

I got side-tracked.

Besuited men strode down the regal hallway, albeit high-strung and stoical, and ascended the stairs to the next level. They oozed money and power and everything I should avoid, yet I inched behind them, hand on the guardrail, speculating whether the aforementioned suites were on the journey.

If it weren't for the tailored men, I'd have never made it past the assigned security guards, but those blind idiots were too busy conversing to notice little old me slip through their fingers.

The suited men stepped onto the thick, lush carpet and strolled towards a private room, where pleasant-sounding music played, and soft light glowed.

Peering around the corner, I pondered following them and belatedly noted the rotating security camera above.

My head dropped in stark panic.

I did not want whoever monitors these halls to see my face or uncover my identity.

Keeping the hood over my head, I inhaled, exhaled, then hurried in the opposite direction. If someone bumps into me, I will say I was searching for the bathroom and got lost. It's partly true. I am lost. I don't know why I am here or what I intend to do now that I am free to roam the halls.

Nerves abound, I opened the first door that fell into my line of vision and hurled myself into a dark room.

Utilising the phone as a torch, I swept the light over the exquisite furniture and, grateful for no unexpected guests, breathed out bated breath. It bumped of sweat and sex here. In fact, the stench was so pungent it made me wonder if I missed copulation by mere seconds.

Male voices sounded outside.

Tucking the phone in my pocket, I cracked the door ajar and searched for the owners of said voices. There are two bouncers there now, both talking in low undertones. "I would never," the man with a goatee said as his large, muscular frame lingered by the room. "Besides, you'd miss me." His inked knuckles rapped on the door opposite before he jerked it open. "There is someone downstairs looking for Jones."

The man throned behind the desk looked up. His sharp, piercing blue eyes quite literally took my breath away. His supreme dominance and intimidating presence were that of a dark, hungry wolf. He looked ready to pounce, to skin the poor men alive. He was tall, freakishly so. His bladed jaw and sensuous lips honed his masculine features. Arrogance radiated off his every movement as he rounded the mahogany desk. Even his slow strides were menacing.

"Why do you stare?" he asked in an intolerable voice, and I jumped back, assured the question was for me. "It irritates me."

The leaner male's shoulders rolled back. "I apologise, Vincent."

"For what?" Vincent rolled an apple in his hand. "Your lack of respect."

Blood drained from my body. I do not know this man, but it doesn't take Einstein to realise he is not someone you want to upset.

"I do respect you." The man stumbled over his words. "We all do."

It was too quiet, the dehumidifying air crackling between them.

"But I am not my brother," he said, and the men gulped. "Do you think I am unworthy of his chair? Am I not man enough to fill his shoes?"

Both men chose not to answer.