He laughed, crawling over her and forcing her to lie back on the couch fully. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
Naz tensed by the door, letting his eyes lose focus. The sounds of wet kissing were only a prelude and made the scrape of the noise from the music even worse in his head.
“Get out, Naz,” Julio said.
His gaze focused at the order.
Julio wasn’t even looking at him. He stared down at the flushed Meg beneath him.
“I won’t make you watch me fuck her,” Julio said, his hand already moving under her skirt. “I know you hate that.”
Meg’s head turned away. She stared into the back of the couch, her nails sinking into the cushion beneath her.
Naz didn’t want to be there. Already his skin was crawling and his vision dimming. He wasn’t going to be much of a bodyguard if he lost his shit.
But there was a falseness twisting in his mind. Julio didn’t give a shit if he was uncomfortable. And Meg had been off since she’d been given that damn dress.
Julio’s head turned when Naz didn’t move. “Get the fuck out. I can’t have you tense as shit in here. It won’t give the right impression.”
Naz’s eyes narrowed.
Seb crossed to him, nudging him toward the door and taking over his position.
Julio grabbed Meg between her legs. “You ready to be fucked? I’m going to take you hard.”
The words echoed in Naz’s head, and the door was closing Julio’s laughter in behind him before he could process how he’d gotten there. He moved down the hall nearly blind, passing a couple of other VIP rooms and the bathrooms before he found the far wall.
His back pressed against it, with a fire exit on one side and stairs leading back down on the other, some of the Guzmans’ bouncers positioned at the bottom. They eyed him for a moment before turning back to face the crowd.
The flashing lights crept up the stairway, making it even harder to focus. Whatever song had been playing changed; the bass reduced and let the pounding in his head dull.
Down the corridor, two men approached the VIP room Naz had left along with a server carrying a bottle and glasses on a tray.
The men entered, but the server slipped quickly back out.
Even though the door was glass, Naz couldn’t see past the backs of Seb and Rocks, except for some flashes of color. He tried to focus on the slices of red.
The bass picked up again with the next dozen songs, beating out all other thoughts. The voices in his head lurked under the sound, but they hadn’t taken over like he’d expected.
When the glass door opened, it wasn’t the two men leaving. Julio gripped Meg’s arm while she clutched at her red dress, holding the top of it in place.
Julio said something to her before releasing her arm and going back in alone.
Meg’s head didn’t lift. She shuffled down the corridor, a slight sway in her steps.
Naz pushed off the wall, but when Meg’s head rose at his movement, she flinched and looked away. Her hand pushed blindly at the bathroom door, and she disappeared inside.
The door swung shut in Naz’s face. He stared at the sign on it, the figure with a triangle as if that’s what a skirt looked like, not the limp sway of material stuck to a woman’s thighs.
All the restrooms down in the club would have lines of people trying to get in.
There was no line in the VIP corridor. Naz hadn’t seen anyone else go inside.
He listened through the door, straining to hear something, anything, that would tell him what to do.
All he heard was that fucking bass ripping up his head.
He pushed inside, finding Meg still clutching the top of her dress against her as she stared into the mirror.