Page 9 of Ruthless

Uneasiness crawls over my skin. Okay, enough of this. Time to abort.

A loud slam reverberates behind me, and I pivot toward the door. Someone must have shut it, plunging the room into utter darkness.

Nearby, I hear the rasp of quiet breaths.

My gulp rings in my ears. “Please tell me this club isn’t located over a hellmouth,” I mumble to myself.

Fumbling with my phone, I poke the screen until I find the flashlight app and aim the beam at the surrounding area.

No one’s here. No demons or Dante or anyone else.

I sign in relief. Of course not. Seriously, I really do need to issue a permanent ban on horror movies for the foreseeable future.

I beeline for the exit, but the doorknob refuses to budge. Yanking has no effect.

Locked.

Even as I tell myself it was probably a mistake, a shiver passes over me. Either way, I need out. Angela’s probably starting to worry.

I pound my fist against the heavy wood. “Please, somebody let me out!”

My heart ceases to beat as a warm breeze ruffles the hair on the back of my neck. “After all that, are you really planning to go without saying hello?”

I squeal and spin so quickly, another bout of dizziness attacks my head. Once the world rights itself again, I fix my phone’s flashlight on the person before me.

Not that I require any illumination. I’d recognize that deep, husky voice even in my sleep. “Dante! Are you trying to scare me half out of my mind?”

Beneath the faint glow, his features appear sharpened. Wild. Menace oozes from him, and rage glitters in his dark eyes.

I shake off the wild thought as absurd.

Dante has no reason to be mad at me when he’s the one who threw us away.

If anyone has a right to anger, it’s me.

An overhead light flickers on, and I blink to find Dante near a switch on the wall.

Wait, how did that happen? Just a second ago, he stood right in front of me.

“Come. Let’s sit.”

Dante gestures at a table set for two in the middle of the space, which I gather is some sort of private party area. A small bar lines the right wall, and circular maroon velvet booths speckle the left.

He holds out a chair for me, and I sink into the seat as if I’m dream-walking. A whisper in the back of my head warns me that something isn’t quite right, but I’m not sure what.

Dante sits in the chair across from me.

This whole scenario feels like a bizarre fantasy. Overwhelmed by the reality of his presence, the fury that initially spurred me into action drains away, leaving only a quagmire of hurt and confusion. He’s always been gorgeous, but the last few years have matured him in ways that tighten my belly. Time has stolen the softness from him, the warmth.

As a nurse, I meet a lot of people during some of the worst moments of their lives. Sometimes, I also encounter the ones who put those people in the ER.

Husbands who beat their wives, rapists accompanying their victims, a negligent parent trying desperately to feign normalcy. I’ve grown quite skilled at finding what lies beneath the facade so many wear from one day to the next. Still, even with all that practice, getting a read on Dante proves impossible.

His eyes flicker over my form, and all the earlier doubts I harbored about my dress melt away under his gaze. “You look beautiful.”

His dark timbre settles over me like a warm weight. He’s an open flame, and I’ve been left out in the cold for far too long.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” I almost cringe at the ridiculous line that tumbles from my lips. So much for maintaining my cool.