2.

MARIAN.

For the umpteenth time, I toss the dress I am holding aside. It’s red, and it would have been perfect for a club outfit, but it’s too long, it’s the kind of dress worn to corporate events, and I’m not going to any corporate event.

I want heads to turn the moment I walk in, I want the room to hold its breath, and I want men stumbling over themselves for them. I’m going to prove Malcolm wrong, I’m going to show him that I wasn’t always the good girl.

My fingers brush past another of the soft, muted fabrics I’ve worn for years. High necklines, modest hems, safe choices made for a man who wanted my lights dimmed and my wings clipped.

Well, not anymore.

Anger pricks my skin, and I let the tears I’ve been holding back to fall freely as I keep searching for something to wear, because after tonight, I am never going to bring myself to cry over a manwhore because after tonight, Malcolm is dead to me.

My hand lands on a black dress buried in the back, and I pull it out, staring at it for a moment. I remember when I bought it, I’d worn it to entice my husband, but he’d outrightly told me that he wanted his wife modest and presentable, and so, I shoved the dress to the back, forgetting all about it.

I smile as I hold the dress against my body. It’s perfect. It’s the kind of dress that doesn’t need to ask for attention because it commands it. Setting it aside, I rush to the bathroom for a quick shower before returning to the bedroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, my reflection looks back at me, and I can’t help but welcome back the woman I used to be before I married a man who made it his life’s mission to bury me.

His words echo in my head, cruel and smug, but I don’t let it bother me anymore as I smirk. “Watch me.” I whisper as I start getting myself ready for the night.

I slip the dress on, and it hugs every curve of my body as if it’s been waiting for this very moment. The neckline is low enough to make a statement, the hem rides scandalously high, and for the first time in years, I don’t cover myself up.

Pulling the chair out, I sit and see how much of my laps are on display, but I don’t care as I curl my hair into wild, cascading waves, letting it fall down my bare shoulders. I reach for the red lipstick and apply it, my lashes are longer and darker.

Satisfied with myself, I reach for the perfume I stopped wearing because he said it drew too much attention, and I close my eyes as I apply a spray on my throat, another between my breasts, and then my wrists.

I add heels that make my legs look endless, grab my clutch, and when I look into the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. Swallowing, I make my way out as fast as I can, blocking out the sound coming from the other bedroom.

I get in my car and drive off. It’s a twenty-five minute drive to Eden’s, the most exotic club in the city, and I know that if I want a revenge that Malcolm won’t see coming, it’s going to be Eden.

Taking one last look at myself, I hold my head high as I walk into the club even though my heart is in my throat, I don’t show it as I find a seat, call the attention of a waitress, and order my whiskey neat.

Soon, more people start trooping in, and I hate that I start feeling self-conscious. I’m a thirty-five year old woman, should I really be here? I feel completely out of place, and my confidence slowly starts diminishing. I hate it. I should probably leave.

Hating myself, I stand back on my feet, and am about to make my way out when a voice stops me in my tracks. “Ma’am?” I look back to see a man in a suit smiling politely at me.

What? He’s not going to—my thoughts stop when I see that he works at Eden. Oh well.

“Yes?” I respond, keeping my voice soft and flowy even though I want to rush outside and away from the younger women that are now dancing.

What was I thinking?

“If you have a minute, our esteemed guests will like to have your attention.” The man says, and I raise an eyebrow as I look back as if I can’t believe he’s actually talking to me.

I point at myself. “Me? Yo—you’re talking to me?” I hate how my voice broke, but I don’t show that either.

The man nods. “Yes, Ma’am. They’re right in our VIP section, should I tell them you’ll join them?” He asks, and I follow his finger to where he’s pointing.

Four men on a table, laughing and pouring drinks. They look so familiar, and so I squint, trying to remember why they look so familiar.

The first man is dressed in a black suit and a black undershirt, his jet-black hair is almost shoulder-length. His shoulders are so broad that they fill his jacket, and when his icy-blue eyes meet mine, I hiccup, not just my heart, but the world stops at once.

No.

He smiles at me, not looking away until my eyes move to the next man sitting right beside him. I can make out his tattoo in the dimly lit room, and not just that, his deep crimson eyes are captivating, and he sits as if every last thing in this place belongs to him.

No.

I look at the remaining men, one of them wears a white shirt, he’s leaner than the first two, and his white hair and amber eyes are all I need to immediately recognize him too. The last one has the first three buttons of his black shirt undone, he has long, silver-black hair that I recognize.

Oh my god. No way! Fuck, they look so good.

I turn around at once, my palm covering my mouth as my blood rushes and I contemplate running out of there as quickly as I can. They’ll think they’ve made a mistake, I’m not the one they actually saw.

“Ma’am? Are you coming?” The man behind me asks, but my heart is still pounding. Should I go? Those men, all four of them, had sent this man to me.

Zephyr, Zayden, Tristan, and Aeron Dreadmoor. My husband’s best friends, and the most brutal and feared men in not just this city, but the whole damn country. Sometimes, I wonder how Malcolm managed to be friends with them.

And all four of them are not just in the same club as me, but they’ve asked me to join them.

“I’m coming.” I finally speak, turning around to face the man who smiles at me as he leads the way. Maybe they want to talk to me about Malcolm, they’ll ask why I’m here alone, and I’ll laugh and brush them off. Yes, that’s perfect.

As we get closer, I feel my throat getting dryer. Their aura is so overwhelming that I feel my steps start to falter as I get close, and when I’m in their space, I’m immediately serenaded with the scent of their cologne.

Sandalwood. Amber. Cedar. Danger.

I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t even bring myself to speak, it’s as if I’ve forgotten how talking works. The tension is palpable, and the silence is deafening.

I can feel their eyes on me, on every inch of my body, and my body tingles. “It’s really you, Marian.” Zephyr spoke first, his voice just as cold and commanding as I remember it, and god, the way he said my name.

“You look….” His eyes drop to my exposed thighs as they make their way up before landing right on my eyes, and I suddenly feel hot. “Amazing.” He adds.

I cough, clearing my throat and trying to get my vocal cords to work. “Oh,” I chuckle nervously. “Thank you.”

“Are you the only one?” Zayden’s voice, loud and deep, dangerous, resounds in my ear, and I feel like I’m melting. “Where is your husband?” He asks, and my pulse stutters, heat crawling up my neck.

“Well, he—uhm—” Ah, where did all my confidence go? “He’s not here with me tonight, I’m on my own.” I manage to say, and I hear Tristan and Aeron whistle.

“That bastard let you come to the club alone… like this?” Aeron speaks, and I’m about to say something to that when he adds. “I can’t believe how careless he is with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s just… If we didn’t know you were married to our best friend,” I can hear the snort in Tristan’s delicious voice when he speaks, “we’ll think you came here specifically to get fucked.”

My body goes rigid at once. “That’s right, you look so hot, it’s taking every ounce of our self control to remain seated.” It is Zayden’s turn to speak as he sips his vodka.

I don’t need to look at a mirror to see how red I am, I can tell from how red my arm is, and how hot I feel. Zephyr and Zayden both exchange a look that makes me feel like they’re communicating.

NO MAN WILL EVER WANT HER.

Malcolm’s voice rings in my head again, and I hold my head up at once, forcing a smile. “Well,” my voice comes out higher pitched than I want, but I don’t mind. “What if that’s it?” I ask.

The space falls silent, and it feels like they’re in a different world entirely. “What?” Zephyr responds, his eyes on me. “What did you just say?”

“I said, what if I’m trying to get fucked?" I say with confidence, “what if I came here to get a hot dick in my—” My voice trails off, heat rushing up my neck.

I look away from Zephyr and down at my clutch. “Eyes on me, Marian.” He orders in a voice I can hardly defy. “Speak, what were you saying?”

My mouth opens and closes. It’s embarrassing, I always thought I’d be able to say the word ‘pussy’ out loud, but how can I say it to my husband’s best friends? I just can’t.

“Marian Alford, did you come here to get a piping hot dick in your little cunt?” My eyes widen when I hear Tristan say the words so easily, and I feel a vibration in my pussy.

Fuck.

I nod, but they shake their heads in unison. “Your words, Marian. You have to use your words, we want to hear your voice.” Tristan speaks.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, Marian?”

Maybe it was the whiskey, or the years of silence, or the fact that my husband is back at home having the time of his life, but I find my confidence.

“Yes, I came here to get fucked so hard that I forget everything about the rest of the world.”