Chapter 2 -Layla

Today was a Monday.

It's usually quiet around here on Mondays-quiet enough to hear your thoughts, which is never a good thing in a place like this. Only the most arrogant rich bastards show up. The ones who wear their daddy's money like a second skin and mistake every woman in sight for a plaything.

I wasn't in the mood.

Wiping the smudged mascara from beneath my eyes, I examined my face in the mirror. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly, casting a blue tint over everything. I reapplied my foundation with robotic precision, pulling my long, thick brown hair into a tight ponytail, like I was restraining something wild. I wiped off my hot red lipstick with a tissue, the smeared color staining it like blood.

My reflection stared back-hollowed, tired, painted into perfection. And it fucking taunted me.

You're messed up, I thought. But still standing.

The bathroom door creaked open.

"Hey you," a familiar voice called, head tilted, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here, right?" I said, adjusting one of my boots, hand braced against the cool tiled wall.

"I believe you can read," I added, jerking my chin toward the sign on the door. "It says ladies room."

Donny grinned. "And I don't see you in a bra, darling."

I was sure to drag out the darling in response.

"Why aren't you doing stand-up again?" he asked, arching a brow with faux seriousness.

"'Cause you need me here," I said as I sauntered up to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. I gave him a light, playful slap on the cheek. "Don't you, Donny boy?"

He returned the slap, just as light. "Of course I do."

Grinning like a damn Cheshire cat, I purred, "I need a drink."

"That smile's not what's gonna get you a fast drink, honey," he said, all sass and shoulder rolls. Donny had enough personality to host three reality shows and still keep leftovers.

I linked my arm through his and dragged him out of the bathroom and down the dim hallway toward the bar. His arm slung lazily around my shoulders as he walked beside me, casual as ever.

"You good?" he asked, voice low, soft.

Donny's not just my coworker. He's the only human who ever makes me feel like I'm worth more than my body. A pain in the ass most days-but mine.

I gave him a soft smile, brushing off the question. "You have my eye drops?"

He didn't push. Just nodded, knowing better.

At the bar, I climbed onto a stool and spun slowly as Donny slid behind the counter. Bottles clinked. Ice dropped. He got to work like he always did-fluid, practiced, efficient.

"Today's an extra quiet Monday," he said, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"Yeah, not great for the lays," I replied, faking a pout.

"You sound like you made a thousand bucks with one show."

" I always get a good tip" I say to him with a wink. He only chuckled and focused on making me a drink.

I watched him for a moment-curly dark hair, piercing green eyes, that perfectly-sculpted jawline. Pouty pink lips, like some Greek god's idea of a joke. And that lean model body-brief-boxer ad type. Annoyingly pretty.

"Quit checking me out, girl."

"Why? I'm not your type?" I teased with a grin.

"As a matter of fact, you're not."

I blinked at him, wide-eyed and innocent. "I bet the asshole I danced for tonight was your type."

He froze for a beat. My stomach dropped. Shit.

Donny and I had a silent rule-we didn't talk about what happened behind closed doors with clients. He hated it. Said it messed with his conscience, knowing he helped get me the job. Said it ate at him.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, scrunching my face like a kid caught swearing in church. "It slipped."

He waved it off with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll go grab those eye drops."

As he walked off, I sighed and swirled the amber liquid in my glass. The alcohol wasn't doing much-just numbing the edge, not killing it.

I spun myself on the stool once.

Twice.

And on the third turn, I stopped.

And saw him.

He sat alone in a shadow-drenched corner of the bar, sipping whiskey like it owed him something. Eyes dark-almost black-with lashes too thick for a man. His face was sharp, striking in a way that made people stare. Not traditionally beautiful, but sculpted like danger. Raven-black hair curled slightly at the ends, falling messily across his forehead. A faint scar ran down the right side of his jawline, disappearing into a beard that looked carved, not grown.

His suit was midnight blue, tailored to perfection. He looked expensive-but not flashy. Powerful-but not loud. The kind of man who didn't need to shout to own the room.

And his shoulder_ broad enough to carry secrets or corpses. Or both.

A chill ran down my spine, I could just imagine all shades of dominant he is.

He exuded something dark. Not evil exactly. But untamed. Like the rules surrounding this world didn't apply to him.

He wasn't watching anyone just.... observing. Like a lion surrounded by sheep.

And then his eyes met mine.

I froze.

It wasn't a look. It was a pull.. Magnetic, undeniable and most importantly, dangerous. My breath cut in my throat before I could stop it.

He didn't smile. He didn't nod. He just raised his glass, slightly.

Like an invitation.

Or a warning.

And suddenly, the air didn't feel so light anymore.

A minute passed by and he received a call, with a clenched jaw, he saunters out of the the club. Quick but not rushed strides. Clearly angry, yet still calm movements