Page 34 of Exile and Embrace

A silky crop top shows off a sliver of her stomach.

My mouth waters at the thought of licking that peeking skin until she’s begging me for more.

Now is not the time to get a fucking boner. I have shit to do.

Clearing my throat, I cross the room and yank open the closet. The scent of laundry detergent and her perfume is a punch in the face.

Although, it’s the perfume and the thought of her beneath me that sends all my blood rushing to my cock.

She sets the book she’s reading to the side. “Going out?”

I pull my leather jacket out of the closet and shrug it on. “Yeah. I have some business I need to take care of tonight.”

“Oh.”

After three days of watching Cillian O’Reilly and his mob, I finally have a plan in place to intersect with him.

That plan took more time that I would like to put in place, but once it’s all over, I should have my in with the O’Reilly mob.

And then I can begin their destruction.

Ava picks up her book again. Tendrils of her hair fall from her bun and into her face as she tilts her head forward to read.

Fuck going out tonight. I should get into bed with her and never leave.

Which is exactly why I turn around and stride out of the room.

I don’t need another cold shower before I go.

Although, as I head to the front door, the urge to turn around and go back to the bedroom it’s almost impossible to resist. I force myself to keep moving, engaging the security system before heading outside to meet the taxi.

The drive to the club is short and silent.

I run over the plan several times in my mind before the taxi comes to a stop.

After tossing a large tip over the seat, I get out and head for the front of the line.

The people behind me complain and mumble to themselves.

The bouncer nods to me as I pull out a hundred dollars and hand it to him.

The second the blue velvet rope is out of the way, I head inside.

Pounding bass shakes the floor, the speakers pulsing with the music. Bright strobe lights swirl around the room. Sweaty bodies shine beneath the lights as they writhe together.

The VIP lounge is on the other side of the club.

Cillian O’Reilly and several of his men are sitting at a table.

Women wrap themselves around the younger men, whispering in ears and kissing cheeks. Roaming hands and short dresses make this the last place I want to be in.

I would much rather be at home, on the couch and watching a movie with Ava.

My night would be a thousand times better, but it’s not going to happen.

I’m here to do a job, and I need to remind myself Ava is just another piece to the massive puzzle.

As I weave through the writhing bodies, men in black clothing move around the edges of the room.

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