Page 59 of Seeking Vengeance

“You can drop me off here.” I unclasp my belt and pay the cab driver in cash before getting out.

I join the end of the small line of people waiting to get inside, show the ID stored on my cell when it’s my turn, and then walk into the darkened entry, the carpet beneath me barely visible as loud music thunders from the dance floor up ahead.

I reach the main area without drama and stop at the railing that sets me apart from the dance floor a few steps below.

For a Sunday night, the interior is swarming with people bopping and drinking along to the techno beats.

The place is massive. A two-level rave fest with a glowing purple bar in the center of the ground floor with more along the side walls, and a glass-encased room upstairs.

I can’t help being impressed. But it’s not the hyped crowd or glistening bars that steal my attention. It’s Matthew, who stands on the middle landing of the metal staircase leading to the upper level, both hands gripping the banister as he scrutinizes the crowd, the flash of lights making him look hardened and devilish.

My heart flutters.

He’s wearing another stylish suit, his stubble now thick along his chiseled jaw. His hair falls around his eyes, framing the perfection, while his lips are pulled thin.

God, he’s attractive.

My body reacts as if he were made for me. Born to the exact requirements that stoke my libido to its highest peak.

I don’t know how it’s possible to be this captivated. This magnetized. But I am.

All the way down to my curling toes.

He remains a statue of confidence before the crowd as a woman climbs the stairs toward him, her long, dark hair plaited over one shoulder, her attention intent as she sways her hips in a skirt that has to be giving those on the dance floor an indecent view.

My throat dries the closer she gets, my heart taking on a panicked rhythm.

She stops at his side, placing a hand on his arm, the touch seeming sexually familiar even from this distance.

Shit.

I step back, wanting to shrink into the shadows.

Matthew stands there without reaction, still eyeing the crowd as she inches into him, her breasts brushing his bicep as she speaks close to his ear.

They’re together.

They have to be. A woman wouldn’t approach a man with his current icy demeanor unless she had carnal confidence.

I retreat another step, apologizing as I bump into someone behind me. But I can’t take my eyes off him. I can’t quit staring at the approaching car wreck that will knock my feet out from beneath me.

I can already feel it. The impact of heartache. The collision of fantasy and reality.

I fell too hard, too fast.

I’m stupid for thinking our tryst had depth when even our conversations didn’t.

I shake my head, attempting to dislodge the self-loathing as he continues to eye the crowd, the woman now leaning in to press her mouth to his neck.

I’m such an idiot. We’ve only spent one goddamn weekend together and a handful of texts, and here I am, shattered.

Matthew jerks back from the dark-haired woman and turns on her, a flash of overhead light illuminating a face filled with anger. He says something, his words unkind if the way she straightens and balks is any indication, while my pathetic ass clings to hope.

They’re arguing.

Fighting.

He remains cold as he speaks, his confident posture unwavering until she raises a hand to slap his face.

---