Page 3 of Fire

“Assault in the back alley. Some guy didn’t like the word no.”

Anger replaced his curiosity. “Was she raped?”

“No. One of her friends saw her being pulled out and got to her in time. We have the footage both from the hall and the alley.”

“Where is he now?”

“Locked in the security office.”

“And the woman?”

“Sitting at a table in the VIP section with her friends.”

Blake sent him a dismissive nod. “Inform me when the police arrive.”

“Yes, sir.” Reggie backed out, clicking the door shut.

He stepped to the oak-paneled, recessed bar, opened the fridge, pulled two square-cut ice cubes from a bowl, and tossed them into the glass tumbler that awaited on the counter. Unstopping the stud-cut crystal decanter, he poured a generous amount of the clear liquid contained within into the glass and brought it to his lips—it was clean and smooth going down.

He closed his eyes, regulating his breathing, trying to get a hold on his anger. Incidents such as the one that had just occurred did happen. Not often, but with the amount and variety of people who visited the club, it was hard to avoid. But he didn’t have to like it.

It was a shame the cops had been called. He would’ve liked to have taken care of the asshole himself. Guaranteed he’d have felt the effects of his bad decision for far longer than anything the law would do to him.

Drink in hand, he made his way downstairs and scanned the club when he hit the base of the hall. He didn’t realize what he was looking for until his eyes landed on the brunette. Gone from the dance floor, she now stood at the bar. His eyes zeroed in on the bare slope of her back—the skin tanned, flawless, and smooth. The black material of her dress hugged her perfectly rounded ass and left the majority of her long, equally as tanned legs exposed.

A body like that should be against the law—classified as a deadly weapon to hearts everywhere. Good thing he didn’t have one. Not that he was immune—which his dick would attest to—only that he wouldn’t lay his at her feet.

No, he’d just like to stick his cock in her pussy.

He made his way to the VIP section, noting the blonde with smeared mascara huddled in a booth surrounded by a gaggle of friends. Seeing she was all right for the moment, he planted himself along the wall of the VIP section, happy not to get involved. He didn’t do messy emotions.

He did another scan of the room. No one was out of control on the dance floor. The people crowded around the bar were calm. He noticed the brunette was gone. He turned his head to search her out and froze when his eyes collided with hers. About forty feet away, he couldn’t tell their color, only that they were light. Fuck, she had a face that went with the body. She was close enough he could see her features clearly, and they were all perfect, but it was her plump, full lips that caught and held his attention. Lips that he wanted to experience up close and personal, wrapped around his dick.

From their proximity, he could also see she wasn’t a brunette. Her hair was actually a rich, dark cinnamon. Feathery chunks framed her face, fell over her brow, and cascaded over her shoulders, thick and shiny in the overhead light. Perfect to run his fingers through. No, scratch that, he wanted it stroking his thighs while she leaned over him as he fucked her mouth.

She stood frozen, staring at him until something caught her attention. She looked away at the same time his phone beeped.

He glanced down at the message. Shame, the cops had arrived. He would’ve liked toget to knowher a little better. Businessalwaysbefore pleasure. But hopefully she’d still be around when the business was done.

Because he liked his pleasure, too.

Dealing with the police had taken longer than expected, but they’d finally left, carting the guy off for hopefully more than a slap on the wrist. The fucker needed to spend some quality time in jail to contemplate his life choices. The woman—or more accurately girl as she’d come to celebrate her twenty-first birthday—had refused medical treatment in favor of going home with her friends.

By the time Blake made it back to the club floor, his brunette was gone. He walked the perimeter twice to be sure.

He pulled out his phone and called Reggie. “I want to see security footage of the bar, about fifteen minutes before the cops showed. Pull it up. I’ll be in your office in five.” He hung up without waiting for a response. He knew Reggie would do as asked without delay. Not only because he was good at his job, which he was—he only hired the best—but because Blake paid him a fuck-ton to do it.

“I’ve got the footage pulled up. What are you looking for?” Reggie asked when Blake walked through the door.

“Just play it.” His response came out more curt than he’d intended, impatient to see the footage.

Reggie hit a button on his computer, and the image started to play. Blake placed a palm on the desk, leaning to watch it over Reggie’s shoulder. When he saw her, he said, “Stop.”

Reggie clicked the mouse.

“Zoom in here.” Blake pointed at the screen.

Reggie executed a few strokes on the keyboard.

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