Page 1 of Forbidden Desire

ONE

“MISS… MISS…!”

Even over the music, Sersha McLeod heard him shout the first time. Not responding was a choice. Good sense. A defense mechanism. A woman sitting alone at a bar in such a busy nightclub was a target. Better a target at Stag than prey at home.

“Hey!”

The shouter appeared in front of her, forcing her attention away from her phone. Two of them, actually, dressed in black, a red stag head on each of their collars. So, right, not lubed partiers ready to hit on her, employees. And from their substantial build, she’d say more likely security than bar or maintenance staff.

“Yes, gentlemen?” she asked, taking a shot at a smile. She just wanted to be left alone. Apparently, that was too much to ask. “Is something wrong?”

Bars flanked tables and booths on the upper section of the split-level club. The one to the right of the entrance was her preference, her regular perch. Music blared from the furthest corners. Scores of bodies jumped and danced on the lower level. None escaped the pound of the bass.

“You’ve been invited upstairs!”

Upstairs? Better than the opposite.

Licking her lips, she did a deliberately bad job of hiding her smile. At least she was polite enough to dip her chin and let her eyes flash up to his in coy flirtation. A rebuff always landed better with a little ego stroking.

“Thank you,” she said, skimming her hand across the bar to touch the stem of her glass. “I appreciate the invitation…” The guys were too relaxed to know what would come next. In fact, the one behind took a semi sidestep, anticipating she’d rise from her stool. She wouldn’t. “But I decline.”

Guy One didn’t register. Guy Two did something of a double take before his colleague turned and they made eye contact. A shrug followed a bewildered blink. Was rejection really so unusual? Yes. The owner of this club would be used to getting his way.

Giving them a second to gather themselves, she picked up her martini glass to sip and moisten her throat. So much for Stag being a safe bet. Just what was it about her that drew the interest of these mob men? Was a little peace too much to ask?

“We, uh…” Huh, Guy One had lost his bluster. “You should really come with us. You want to come with us.”

“I don’t,” she said. “An invitation implies choice. I choose to refuse. I don’t want to meet your boss. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Maintaining her smile was another tactic. These kinds of guys, the hired muscle, they were used to conflict. Used to hostility. They would deal with defensive or angry using aggression and violence.

No sirree, she did not want any part of that.

Polite, disarming, unthreatening weren’t so much their purview. Keeping them confused was her only chance of escape.

“Oh… kay.”

Maybe they were new. Or maybe she really was the first to spurn a great McDade monolith. Okay, so she wasn’t. An earthquake had gone through the family not long ago when a McDade uncle and cousin were imprisoned. Somehow, the McDade empire emerged stronger and stretched further than it ever had. Even if it was lighter a few men at the top.

The goons once again shared a look. This time when one moved, the other followed and they shuffled off. Good. Peace. It wouldn’t last. No was not a word their boss would receive well. Inhaling, she blew out her breath slowly, absorbing the remnants of the social atmosphere. Safety was about to slip from her fingers.

As her shoulders dropped, she finished her drink and tucked her phone into her clutch. She needed to find a cab. Not as she liked to, amid the melee of a hundred other people forced out when the club closed in the early hours. No, alone, probably while some eager wannabe clubbers still lined up behind the red rope outside waiting for their chance to sink into Stag.

Sad that she’d have to say goodbye to such a beautiful place. The ceiling towered over the vast cavern. The other floors took up only a fraction of the footprint of the space. What was up there on the second floor? Was there a third? Hmm, it looked like it. No. Stop, Sersha. She didn’t want to know. She could hazard a guess, but that wouldn’t win her any friends.

Another thing she wasn’t great at.

Stop being so cynical. Bitter, that was how her ex put it. Maybe he was right. Maybe the world jaded her. After seeing so many of the horrific things humans could do to each other, wasn’t skepticism inevitable?

What a life.

Slinking off her stool, there wasn’t much else to do but leave. Could be a no wouldn’t offend a McDade. Perhaps she would be able to come back tomorrow and the slight would slide on by.

Yeah. And pigs may fly over a frozen hell.

If a McDade hadn’t extended the invite, she could be okay. Maybe it came from a captain or soldier rather than the don. The Irish families didn’t have the same structure as the Italians. Who else would have the authority to invite her upstairs? Stag was the domain of one man. The hub from which he conducted business. Not that she wanted details. No, one mafia family on her ass was enough. If a second got a whiff of her? Forgetaboutit, she’d start a war without victors.

Winding through the tables, the passage to the front entrance contained the coat check and admission booths. The regular Joes paid and got a ticket to run through a machine before even getting as far as the metal detectors.

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