Nineteen

Brielle POV

The instant I stepped into the club, it felt like I’d been dropped into another world.

Colors flashed across the walls, neon streaks bouncing off mirrors and sweating bodies. The bass thumped so hard it rattled through my ribs, each beat pushing out the thoughts I’d been choking on for days. People were everywhere—dancing, grinding, laughing like the night belonged only to them. For the first time in a long time, it felt like the air was alive.

Mirren’s hand tugged me through the crowd, her grin wide and wicked under the flickering strobe lights. She leaned close to my ear, her voice cutting through the storm of noise.

“You need this,” she shouted. “One night. Just one night where you stop thinking.”

And maybe she was right. Maybe forgetting Desmond, forgetting the walls, the lies, the watchful silence, was exactly what I needed.

We reached the bar, squeezing into a sliver of space between strangers. Mirren leaned across the counter with a playful smile, catching the bartender’s attention like she’d done this a thousand times. I hovered close, the weight of the music pressing down on me until I could barely tell if my heart was racing from excitement or fear.

“Two tequila sunrises!” Mirren yelled, her bangles clinking as she gestured.

I watched the man behind the bar nod and reach for bottles without hesitation. My pulse fluttered, unsteady.

“No overthinking tonight,” Mirren declared, flashing me a sly grin. “That’s the only rule.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, but my lips curved despite myself.

The drinks came quickly, the glasses glowing faintly under the neon lights. Mirren clinked hers against mine with a flourish.

“To forgetting,” she said.

“To surviving,” I whispered back before swallowing the burn in one go.

The tequila set fire down my throat, warm and sharp, but it loosened something in me. I leaned against the bar, letting the music take hold. Mirren was already moving, shoulders swaying, hips teasing the air, eyes darting toward anyone who dared look her way. She was always fearless.

I tried to follow her lead. Tried to let the rhythm drown out the shadows that trailed me. But then it happened...

That prickle. The feeling of eyes on me.

I turned quickly, scanning the sea of strangers. Nothing. Just lights, bodies, movement. Still, my chest tightened.

Was it him?

No. Desmond wouldn’t come here. He wasn’t the type. But then again… neither was I.

“You okay?” Mirren asked, her brow lifting, lips parted like she already knew the answer.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Fine.”

But I wasn’t.

Mirren vanished into the crowd, dancing like she owned the floor, wrapping herself around a shirtless guy twice her height. I almost laughed. She fit right in. I wanted to, too.

That’s when I heard my name.

“Brielle.”

I turned, breath catching.

Jaxon.

He stood just a few feet away, half in the shadows. His smirk was the same one I remembered—the one that used to undo me. But tonight there was something else in his eyes. Something heavier. His black shirt clung to his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal the edge of tattoos inked along his arms.

He reached a hand toward me. “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

And maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the music. Or maybe it was that desperate ache in me to feel anything but trapped. Whatever it was, I didn’t say no.

I let him lead me into the crush of bodies, swallowed whole by the rhythm. His hands found my hips, strong but not demanding, guiding me into the beat. My palms pressed to his chest, the thud of his heart under my fingertips almost syncing with the bass.

“You’re a better dancer than I remember,” he murmured, his lips brushing dangerously close to my ear.

“Maybe you never knew me at all,” I whispered back, tilting my head just enough for our cheeks to graze.

His grip tightened, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. We moved as one, hips locked, heat sparking where his thigh slid between mine. The air around us thickened, my skin prickling with every shift, every look.

I should have pushed him away. He had broken me once already. But in that blur of lights and sweat, I let myself forget.

Just for one song.

I let him hold me.

I let myself forget Desmond.

But the illusion didn’t last.

BANG.

The sound was faint under the music, almost unnoticeable. But it sliced through my chest like a blade.

BANG. BANG.

The music stopped. Screams ripped through the air. The crowd turned to chaos—people clawing at exits, stumbling over tables, shoving past each other in blind panic.

“Down!” Jaxon shouted, grabbing my wrist and dragging me behind a pillar. My knees hit the floor hard as another gunshot rang out.

The smell of smoke and gunpowder burned my nose. Glass shattered somewhere near the bar. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My ears rang with terror.

Where was Mirren?

I scrambled low across the floor, weaving between toppled chairs. Then hands grabbed me.

“Brielle!”

It was Mirren. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared, blood streaking her arm. Panic carved her face, but she was alive.

“We need to get out!” she screamed, pulling me with her.

But then I saw him.

A figure in black. Hood up. Mask covering his face.

He wasn’t fleeing like the others.

He was hunting.

And his eyes were dark, deliberate and locked onto me.

My chest seized. My legs refused to move.

The barrel of his gun lifted, steady and sure.

This was it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the bullet that would tear through me.

But instead, a sharp crack split the air. The masked man fell forward, crashing to the ground.

My eyes flew open.

Standing over him was Desmond. His gun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel.

For someone who had just taken a life, he looked… calm. Too calm.

And in that instant, with the club still shaking from screams and chaos, I knew, this wasn’t the first time Desmond Blackwood had killed someone.

And it wouldn’t be the last.