Page 23 of The Warlord

SLOANE

When the door slammed shut,the smell of sandalwood and leather filled my nose. I had been able to smell it all through dinner, too, but now in this confined space, it was taking over my senses completely. I’d had a brief reprieve when I’d excused myself to go to the restroom, but any thoughts of escaping had been dashed when a man stepped from the end of the hallway, blocking the way.

We’d entered a sort of staring game, but I broke first when the other one of Grayson’s men halted a fellow diner in her tracks, preventing her from using the restroom like a civilized human being.

“How far away is the club?” I asked.

“Not far,” Grayson replied.

He was right. Only one block down, and we were there.

I turned to him. “Why in the hell didn’t we just walk here?”

“This car is bulletproof,” he pointed out. “You’re not.”

He stepped from the car while Torin ran around the hood to open my door. When he was in position, he opened it for me, and I stepped out into the road. Cars were creeping past to get by, and I had a feeling it was because Torin was flashing a firearm at them. He walked me around to Grayson, whose blue eyes were scanning the street. Without looking at me, he held out his arm, and I took it because that’s what I was taught to do.

The fact that I hadn’t accepted his hand in the restaurant was a testament to how pissed off I was with him.

Grayson gave Torin an order in Gaelic, then strode toward a building with a sign hanging above the door that saidFoundry. There was a line of people that snaked around the front of the building then disappeared around the corner—all of them waiting to get in. Grayson, being Grayson, simply walked up to the bouncer and was let in.

I turned to glance at the people waiting. None of them looked pissed off that he’d cut. I guessed they’d take whatever shit he dished out because it was better than a fucking bullet in the head.

As we walked into the club, I had to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. I could feel the change in temperature instantly—the heat of sweaty bodies pressing against my skin. The air was stuffy and held the scents of too many different perfumes, colognes, and fresh sweat. There was a DJ at one end of the dancefloor bobbing his head to the music while strobe lighting and multicolored lasers pierced the darkness every now and again.

Grayson led us upstairs and to a part of the club that was reserved for VIPs. He settled us into a deep eggplant-colored velvet booth that overlooked the dancefloor from a balcony, then hit a button in the middle of the table. A moment later, a server appeared with a bottle of champagne on ice. As she leaned down to place everything on the table, her black scoop-neck t-shirt gaped, flashing the tops of her breasts. I glanced at Grayson to see whether he would look, but his intense eyes were firmly on me.

Startled, I turned away. I’d noticed that he stared at me a lot. At the restaurant, while I was eating. Any time he thought I wasn’t looking, he would stare. Instead of feeling creeped out by that, I found myself enjoying his attention, which was just another reason to think I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. One shouldn’t find their captor handsome and mysterious.

And bangable.

So.

Fucking.

Bangable.

The server asked something, but I couldn’t hear her over the music even though it was quieter up here.

Grayson said, “A dozen bottles of water.”

The woman nodded and disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived.

He leaned forward and poured me a glass of champagne, but not one for himself. After he handed me the flute, I took a sip, needing something cool. The heat downstairs had been unbearable, but up here, we were close to a vent blowing cold air.

The champagne was the same as what we’d had in the restaurant, and even though it was legal to drink here in Ireland, I still felt like I was breaking the law. While I sipped my drink, I stared out at the sea of people on the dance floor. The music playing now was fast and frenetic and not to my taste at all.

He tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find his face close to mine. I jerked back, but he pulled me close once more and said into my ear, “My sister just arrived with her friends. They’re coming up here now.”

“Okay.” I sat back, taking another sip of my drink.

I noticed he wasn’t drinking.

“Are you not having any champagne?”

He gave me serious eyes. “No. Not here.”

I wanted to ask him why when a beautiful young woman with hair slightly lighter in color to Grayson’s stepped past the velvet rope. In a navy-blue bodycon dress that hugged and clung to her every curve, I was slightly jealous of her. And when she threw her arms around Grayson’s neck to hug him, that jealously flared more brightly.

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