Page 77 of Forged

“Yes.”

One word. That’s all it takes.

The dancer smiles like she knew the answer before we gave it. Lars leans back in his chair, satisfied. And I can’t tell if the fire in my chest is anticipation or surrender, because maybe it’s both.

I flagdown the waitress and motion for her to come to my side. “Is there an available VIP room?”

She nods. “Yes, sir. Room six.”

“We’ll be moving there. Can you have a fresh champagne set up prepared and a round of tequila shots delivered? Chilled, no salt, with lime, please.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll meet you up there.”

I slip our stack of bills from the table into my pocket. Then my focus is on Neomi.

Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, lips swollen from mine. She looks wrecked in the best way.

I lean close, my voice low enough that only she can hear. “Are you okay with this?”

Her answer comes quickly, “Yes.”

“If at any point you become uncomfortable, you’ll tell me?”

She nods, then asks, “What do you think of Gabriel?”

I pause, because the answer to that question is still developing. “He’s attractive, he can’t keep his eyes off you. Could make for a funevening.”

Her gaze holds mine, sharp beneath the haze. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want the truth. How far is this going to go?”

I exhale, fingers sliding through her hair. “Only as far as you’re comfortable with. Right now, we’re having fun. Maybe testing a line or two. I don’t know, Neomi. I just know you’re coming home with me and that’s what truly matters. Maybe we see where the night takes us?”

A grin curves her lips as her hand fists in my shirt, dragging me toward her. The kiss she gives me is hot and messy, all tongue and heat and promise. She tastes like champagne and mine. When she moans into my mouth, I answer with a growl from deep in my chest. She’s slowly becoming everything I’ve ever needed, and tonight she’s daring me to want more.

The dancer waits nearby, patient and smiling like she’s seen this a thousand times before, which I know for a fact she has. Still, I don’t break the kiss until Neomi presses her palm flat to my chest, catching her breath. Her eyes stay locked on mine, pupils blown wide.

That’s when I feel Gabriel’s gaze.

He’s watching us. Watching like he’s learning and cataloging every detail. Our eyes lock across the table, and something silent passes between us. Like he understands what this is and what it could be.

The air between us grows hot, humming with heat, until the waitress returns with a subtle nod toward the back of the club.

I stand, lacing my fingers through Neomi’s. She squeezes once, a silent affirmation. The dancer moves ahead, her hips swaying as she walks toward the stairs up to the VIP hallway, and Gabriel follows close behind.

I glance at Neomi. “Ready?”

Her voice is a whisper. “Always.”

The waitress leads us through the back of the club, up the stairs that lead to the VIP level and rooms. The noise of the mainfloor fades behind us, the bass is still present but muted like a heartbeat behind a closed door.

Each of the Monarch’s VIP rooms has a small, raised stage with a polished pole anchored against one wall, lighting softened to a warm glow that flatters skin and shadow alike. A curved couch faces the stage, with plush chairs arranged around a low glass table for anyone who prefers a different vantage point. There’s a wet bar tucked against the back wall and a wine fridge built beneath the counter, everything within arm’s reach so no one needs to leave once the door closes.

Cameras monitor every room for protection, but the feed route directly through management. They’re there for the safety of both the dancers and our clientele. As we walk into the room, I pull out my phone and type a short message to Nico to disable the camera in our room. He won’t question it. If the night moves in the direction I suspect it will, Neomi and Gabriel won’t be watched by anyone but me.

The dancer moves first. She slides onto the edge of the couch, pats the cushion beside her with a teasing grin. Neomi takes the spot, smoothing her dress beneath her thighs. I follow, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. Gabriel claims the chair, sprawling into it before bending to pull the bottle of champagne from the bucket to pour for us.

The dancer leans into Neomi, her tone light, asking questions she probably doesn’t care about. Things like where we’re from, if it’s our first time here. She’s a new dancer, not one I’ve seen before, so she probably has no clue who I am. Neomi answers easily, not distracted by the dancer’s hand tracing a lazy path along her arm. Her laugh is soft and real. For now, the dancer owns her attention.

Which leaves me with Gabriel.