Page 65 of Brazen Deceits

Panting, I pull away from them, snagging a hand of each as I drag them toward the exit. I don’t need clubbing. I need them.

Walker slips in front of me, RJ behind, our clasped hands wrapping around my waist, holding me close enough for him to massage my ass, no one the wiser. More. I need more. Now.

At the edge of the dance floor, manicured fingers snatch Walker’s free hand, and I snarl, stepping between him and the threat, dragging RJ behind me. I blink through the haze of rage and arousal, finding myself face-to-face with Jasmine.

An amused laugh slices across her face as she unhands Walker. She casts her eyes over the three of us, does a sweepof the floor, presumably looking for the rest of our crew, before bobbing her head to the back of the club.

What the fuck?

I look at both Walker and RJ, their faces set to glares. Neither stops me as I follow her through the crowd, though, my arousal humming under my skin while my mind panics.

Walker lets go of my hand so we can weave between groups, and the absence of the heat of his palm makes my stomach drop.

Jasmine takes us through a curtain at the back, up some stairs, and into a private room. An entire wall of windows looks down at the bodies writhing on the floor below, music piped into the soundproof space.

Jasmine turns the sound down, motioning to the low couches in the room.

This is not what I thought I’d be doing right now.

I perch in the middle, Walker and RJ flanking me. After a second, I lean back, deciding to look like this is ordinary for me—a secret unplanned meeting in the back room of a club with a mob princess? Yeah, nothing new here, right?

Jasmine pours four glasses of champagne, and by the way Walker is sipping it, savoring it, I assume it’s expensive. Like, more expensive than anything they even carry at my dad’s liquor store.

I take a sip, but I’m too anxious to taste it, the bubbles sticking to the back of my throat. I set the glass down, not wanting my hands to shake.

Jasmine takes a long sip of hers, her hair pulled into a fierce ponytail, her eyeliner sharp enough to cut. She holds the glass like it’s an extension of her hand, eyes tracing overeach of us. Standing, graceful despite her towering heels, she reaches over to shake RJ’s hand. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Royal, correct?”

I blink twice. Royal?

“RJ.”

She nods before perching on her couch.

I clear my throat, uncomfortable with the way she’s looking at RJ. “I’m sorry, but is there a reason you invited us up here? We were just on our way out.”

She laughs, just barely on the polite side of mocking. “So I saw. I had to rush to intercept you three. Where are the other two members of your…team? Archibald and Jansen?”

I pick up the goblet again, trying to feign nonchalance. “Not here.”

Her eyebrow ticks, and I feel like I just scored a point in this standoff.

“I’m sure you’re aware that the game doesn’t start for another two weeks?” Jasmine taps her nail against the side of her glass, something that looks like humor creeping into her gaze.

I turn to Walker. “Oh really? Gosh, we’re so forgetful. Did you remember it’s not quite time yet?”

His eyes flash as his mask settles, a slight smile twitching at his lips, his eyes laughing. “I knew I forgot to pencil that in.”

A grin sneaks across Jasmine’s face. “I guess I’ll assume you three are here for something else. It looked a lot like pleasure from this vantage point,” she says, motioning to her clear view of the dance floor below. The spot we’d claimed is smack dabcenter, perfectly fucking framed by the windows. So much for going unnoticed.

“Nothing wrong with a little pleasure,” I say, forcing another gulp of the champagne. “All work and no play makes my boys…dull.”

RJ snorts. Walker reaches for my free hand, his fingers tracing up my arm, my skin alive again despite the adrenaline slamming through me.

An actual smile lights Jasmine’s face. “I thought I’d like you, Clara, once you started talking.”

I shrug, pretending that was a full compliment instead of half of one.

She refills her glass and Walker’s, RJ and I still holding mostly full flutes. She switches which leg she’s crossing, the gesture oddly nervous for a woman so composed. “I invited you up here to verify there are no hard feelings. I’d hate to sour what has been an amicable working relationship.”

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