Helen's POV
As soon as I entered the club called The Vault, the music hit me hard. The beat was pounding on the floor going up my legs until I could feel it in my chest. I fought the urge to turn around and walk straight back out.
"Helen, stop looking like you're at a board meeting and drink" Sloane shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the VIP bar. The only reason I didn't turn around was because of her comforting, warm grip.
"Are you alright?" Sloane asked.
"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
I instinctively flinched when a man walked past me. Another laughed too loudly near my ear. It wasn't the terror that made my skin tingle, but rather the memory I was trying to forget.
Then I sensed a familiar presence, and I slowly turned around.
Derick stood behind the bar, his black waistcoat, sleeves rolled up, forearms corded with strength. As he was attending to a customer, his eyes were locked on me and unblinking. An unfamiliar heat curled low in my stomach and I hated that he made me have these unwanted feelings
"Oh my God," Sloane breathed, tightening her hold on my arm. "Helen. Who is that guy?, and why is he looking at you like that?"
I realized I was staring back, forced my gaze away, and tightened my grip on my clutch. "He's nobody."
Sloane laughed in disbelief. "Nobody? Helen, you look at men like they're dirt. But him?" She leaned closer. "You're shaking."
I hadn't noticed until she said it. My hands trembled. "Let's just get drinks," I snapped
We moved toward the bar. Every step I took felt heavier, as if the room tilted toward him. Derick smiled when we reached him and offered us a menu; his eyes were cutting straight through me.
"What can I get you, ladies?" His voice was low, rough, curling around my spine.
Sloane glanced between us, curiosity sparking. "A bottle of your best vintage," she said, then turned to me. "How do you two know each other? You don't look at men. Ever."
Heat crept up my neck. I couldn't tell her the truth, couldn't tell her this man had seen the worst of me and stayed silent.
"He worked at a café nearby," I said. "I had him fired. A misunderstanding."
Sloane's jaw dropped. She turned to him with a half-whispered, shocked smile. "You fired him?"
Derick's mouth lifted into that dark, knowing smirk, the one that made me want to slap him and kiss him all at once. He leaned forward over the bar, closing the distance until I caught the clean, sharp scent of his skin and the faint, masculine hint of smoke.
"The wine," I hissed. "Just give us the wine."
His fingers brushed mine as he passed the bottle. A spark shot up my arm, lingering long after I turned away.
We settled into a corner booth, dim and removed from the crush of bodies. I drank too quickly, trying to drown the echo of his touch. Then a hand dropped onto my shoulder.
The man smelled like expensive whiskey and cheap entitlement. He wore a rumpled designer suit and leaned into my space, his face too close, his breath hot against my cheek.
"Get away from me," I said, my voice was cold. "Hey, beautiful. Why so serious? Playing hard to get?" He chuckled, fingers tightening. "You look like you need someone to loosen you up."
"Move away from her old hag," Sloane snapped, pushing at his arm away
The man's expression darkened instantly. He shoved Sloane back hard, sending her reeling until she fell to the floor with a muffled cry.
He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. "I'm talking to the Ice Queen, he said to Sloane.
Let's go somewhere private." Panic flickered, sharp and old. I twisted, but he was stronger.
"Let go of me," I spat, swinging my free hand. My palm cracked against his cheek. He grinned. "I like it when they fight."
He yanked me from the booth. My heels slipped, and my heart was pounding.
Then his grip vanished. A large hand clamped around the man's arm, twisting it with brutal force. I heard a sound of "crack". He cried out and released me instantly. I stumbled back, breath shaking.
Derick stood there, not looking like a bartender now, but something I couldn't place my mind on. He bent the man's arm behind his back as if it weighed nothing.
"The lady asked you to let her go," Derick said, his voice low
"Do you know who I am?" the man shouted, face purple. "I'll shut this place down!"
Derick leaned in and whispered something only the man could hear. Whatever it was drained the color from his face. The security appeared, dragging him away without another word.
Derick turned to me, his eyes searching mine. His hand hovered near my wrist, stopping just short of touching.
"Are you alright?" he asked. I stared at him. I should have felt humiliated, furious, and exposed. Instead, a warmth spread through my chest, unfamiliar and frightening.
"I had it under control," I whispered.
He stepped closer, as his presence was a solid barrier for my heart, "I know," he said quietly. "But you don't always have to fight alone, Helen."
Sloane stared between us, realization blooming in her eyes. "Helen," she whispered, "that café story… it wasn't a misunderstanding."
Derick glanced at her, then back to me, his expression unreadable. "Let me get you another wine," he said, turning and disappearing into the crowd like he owns the place
While I waited for him, my eyes fixed on the spot where he had vanished, then a sudden, deafening crack split the air.
A gunshot.
I felt the wind of the bullet as it tore past my ear, a hot, invisible finger of death. It slammed into the wall behind my head with a dull thud.
My ears were ringing, I could hear the screams of the crowd starting to rise around me, but all I could feel was the panicked pound of my heart trying to escape my ribs.