Page 12 of Natasha
Chapter 3
"Silas!" a voice shouted. Natasha turned in sync with Silas to see a man pushing his way toward them from the crowd.
They had just entered the warehouse, and while Silas seemed at ease, Natasha was overwhelmed. She hadn't known what to think when she'd set foot in the warehouse. The interior was in far better shape than the outside let on, and there was a frantic energy coursing through the crowd gathered inside that matched the music playing too loud and fast for her to make heads or tails of.
She bit her lip and wondered if the warehouse's unkempt outer facade wasn't intentional. One glance around the deserted streets of the warehouse district made her question if the fight circuit Silas was participating in was even legal. She grimaced almost immediately at the thought; it wasn't one she wanted to dwell on for too long, not when her mother and grandmother would strangle her with her pointe shoes if they knew where she was at this hour. Glancing down at her wristwatch, Natasha felt a nervous thrill when she saw that it was nearly midnight. An hour far later than her usual disciplined bedtime, with 10:00 pm as the latest she stayed up.
Though there were no more mandatory early mornings to report to, Natasha found that 5:00 am was a hard habit to break, and each morning found her alone at the dance school going through her paces. If anything, the early morning workout turned off her mind, a respite since her mind always seemed to be working overtime.
"Always a nervous child," her mother regularly chided her.
Always a nervous woman, Natasha mused bitterly.
She turned her attention back to the floor, which was lined with colored lights. The soft lighting created an ethereal vibe, with impossibly tall white walls vanishing into shadows where one expected to see a ceiling. A bar took up the opposite side of the warehouse, along with multiple leather couches and small areas for seating. It looked like a trendy hot spot in Las Vegas. The entire scene contrasted sharply with the metal cage that sat front and center in the space. The set up itself was nearly identical to the UFC fights she had seen in passing on the television.
"Silas! My man!" The man who had flagged them down was now in front of them, grinning toothily.
"Sam." Silas nodded at the man. "How's the crowd looking tonight?" he asked, his eyes sweeping along the warehouse floor.
"Prime, man. Prime turnout tonight. And the payout just about doubled since I called. We're going to be some rich motherfuckers after you put this guy down," Sam said, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
Silas' hand darted out, catching Sam's shoulder. "It doubled? You serious?"
"As a heart attack. You know I never joke about money." Sam winked but stopped when he caught sight of Natasha at Silas' side. "Well, hello, honey. And who is this?" he asked Silas, though his eyes were on Natasha. He extended a hand to her with another wink, and despite his forwardness, Natasha laughed and took his hand with a slight nod.
"Natasha. Pleased to meet you."
Sam clutched his heart at her greeting and let out a groan. "Pleased to meet you? Damn. Little thing has manners on her almost as pretty as she is."
"She does, doesn't she?" Silas agreed, reaching back to squeeze her waist gently, his hand slipping under the hem of the sweatshirt she wore. He leaned close to her, his lips ghosting over her cheek. "Didn't have to even teach you that, now did I? Just that kind of sweet on your own, aren't you?"
Natasha's cheeks colored at the husky tone of his voice. She looked down at her feet, suddenly feeling like they were alone in the packed warehouse. How this man made her feel like they were in their own world was beyond her, but she was learning to love it. To crave it. The press of Silas' fingers against her waist had her looking back up at him.
"Yes," she answered, her hands clasped in front of her.
Silas pinned her with an expectant look. "Yes, what?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir," Natasha murmured, knowing the words Silas wanted to hear from her.
"Good girl." The ghost of his warm breath against her skin made her shiver, and then he was pulling away too soon for her liking. Silas kept an arm loosely around her waist while he talked to Sam about the upcoming fight, and as much as Natasha wanted to pay attention to what the men were saying, it was a struggle; all she wanted to do was take in the flurry of activity around them. She had been all over the world in many posh venues and had attended countless parties at stately properties, but she had never seen anything like this warehouse in Queens. She was fascinated.
Turning to the side, she froze when her gaze locked with a man across the room. He was tall, brunette, with long hair he wore in what someone might casually call a "man bun," but there was nothing trendy about him.
He was a fighter like Silas; she could tell by the hard look in his gray eyes and the determined set of his shoulders. A wicked looking scar that extended from his brow bone down to his jaw made her wonder if Silas' fight tonight would be strictly MMA. She swallowed hard when he raised an eyebrow at her, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. The man slowly let his eyes move up and down the length of her body.
Natasha pulled her hoodie closer and forced her eyes away, but even so, she could still feel the weight of his stare on her, moving over her from head to toe. She barely dared to breathe and turned more into Silas' side, hoping it might deter the man.
"What's wrong?" Silas asked. Her stiff posture under his arm was a dead giveaway that she was uncomfortable.
Natasha swallowed hard, doing her best to relax against him. "Nothing," she lied.
Silas tugged lightly on the hoodie she was wearing. "Don't lie."
"I-I…it's nothing," Natasha told him with a shake of her head, but Sam was already jerking a finger in the direction of the man across the room.
"James is eye fucking her," Sam said, shooting a glare at the man across the room.
A low growl reminiscent of the sound Silas had made when confronting Peachtree startled Natasha. She looked up at him in surprise but said nothing when she took in the look of anger on his handsome face.
