Page 66 of Searching for Hope

“She’s with me,” Jericho says, his glare threatening the bouncer. He reaches back and grabs my hand.

Once again, the bouncer nods in deference and removes his arm, allowing Jericho to tug me inside. The bouncer watches. There’s an interest in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A recognition. Respect.

She’s with me.

The echo of the words shudders through my brain, sending a delicious wave of confidence through me. I am his.

I lift my chin a little as I pass the bouncer and give him a small smile. I can’t help it.

She’s with me.

There was an aura of ownership in the way he said it, a surge of warning, of possession and protection. I know it shouldn’t fill me with warmth. But it does. I want to be his.

All eyes turn to Jericho the moment we set foot inside the club. It’s as though the music fades, the chatter ceases, the dancing slows and the awareness of something commanding, something compelling overwhelms them. Eyes roam over him covetously, and I feel fierce jealousy. Then the gaze of the people settles on the way his hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him.

“Everything is ready for you, Mr Priest.”

He nods to the woman, the club manager, I assume, and she leads the way to the back of the club to a door marked only by a black swan. Jericho leans down to whisper in my ear before he enters.

“Wait here. I won’t be long.”

I wish he’d take me with him, wherever it is he’s going, but the manager stands patiently waiting to guide me back to the bar, so I let her, giving Jericho a hesitant smile as he slips through the door.

“Drink?” the woman queries as I perch myself on one of the stools and she takes position behind the bar.

“Thanks,” I nod in appreciation.

Swinging around on the stool, I face the crowd, drinking in the atmosphere. The club ignores me now that Jericho isn’t by my side and my eyes flit from place to place, person to person, taking in as much detail as I can.

The dance floor of the club is black and dotted in small lights, making it look like people are dancing on stars. The colors of the club are black and white and gold and even though everything is drenched in the scent of modern design, the aesthetic of the place somehow manages to pull off a 1920s vibe.

We were on our way to dinner at the Gormans when Jericho announced he needed to call into his club. Even though it’s still early in the evening, the place is abuzz with activity. The women that grace the dancefloor are glamorous and gorgeous. And the men are no different. It reminds me that there’s a world that Jericho belongs to that I have no knowledge of. The music is electronic and peppy, the beat has some of the dancers in a trance, hands above their head, swaying magnetically, sweat glistening on their brows.

“Here you go.” The manager smiles as she places the drink on the bar, but it’s tight and forced. She’s looking at me curiously, wondering why I’m here. Wondering why Jericho chose me.

It’s a martini. A drink I can’t stand. But I smile politely and bring it to my lips, taking as small of a sip as I can. Gold dust hugs the lip of the glass. An olive and a curl of lemon peel are drowning in the vodka.

As I’m staring at the crowd of people, pulsing in a throng of rhythm, a hand reaches above the crowd and waves. “Berkley!” is screeched over the thud of the music and Monique’s over-amplified smile peeks through the crowd.

A small twinge of anxiety grips me. I haven’t seen her since I left the dance company, since she found out who I am. She was horrible enough then. I hate to imagine what she’ll be like now.

“Well, I never expected to see you here!” She elbows her way over, showing far more aggression and clumsiness than I’ve ever seen in her before. As she gets closer, I notice the droop to her eyes, the flush of red over her throat, and realize she’s drunk. She leans on the bar heavily.

“I thought you’d run away for good.” Her hair is wet and slicked to the sides of her face. She peels a strand off exaggeratedly and pushes it behind her ear. “Are you back or are you still hiding?”

“I was never hiding,” I reply, even though it’s a lie.

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “We all found out who you were and you were out of there.” She moves her fingers across the bar as though they’re running.

“It wasn’t like that. I got a job.”

Her eyes widen sarcastically. “Working for the Priest.” She winks. “Right.” She turns to the club manager. “Water, thanks.”

“I did,” I insist. “I—”

She talks over top of me. “Dominic misses you. He changed once you left. He went all surly and grumpy, like someone had taken away his favorite toy.”

In the background behind her, the door opens and Jericho appears again. My heart skips a beat as he searches the room, his brows knitted together until he spots me. He starts weaving his way through the crowd, but people keep stopping him, eager to talk.

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