Chapter 4 CHA

Mucha bursts out laughing, the genuine sort that I haven't heard in far too long. "Fuck, Cass. I'm in love, I think."

"Hello, American," a voice whisper-shouts as I remove my headphones at the end of my set.

The guy within earshot is my age and the sort of preppy good-looking that sells POLOS GEBE campaigns.

I look over at the security guard, who's facing the other direction. Not again.

"Hey!" I say. The guard turns, at last, and notices the man beside me.

"He's a VIP," the guard mouthes.

Terrific. I could've figured Clody was one of those places where VIPs get to do anything.

"Don't worry. We're going to be friends," the man says, smiling familiarly and not. "That was some set. Let me buy you a drink."

"I'm not staying."

"Please?"

I could use a drink. And I won't be sleeping for hours.

With luck, I'll be in bed by six in the morning, lie there staring at the ceiling waiting to hear from my lawyer, then drag myself out of bed midafternoon to do some sightseeing and retrieve my bag before flying out of here.

"You're buying." I tell him.

I make a pit stop at the bathroom before we head to the bar, take two ibuprofen, and wipe sweat from my face and neck.

My friend is waiting for me outside. "Not afraid of losing this wig?"

I raise a lock of hair. "This is my real color."

He grins. "I'm Mucha. Now you tell me your real name."

"I don't think so." I take a seat beside him as we walk along private backstage hallways. Security parts without a word.

"Damn it. I was gonna call you Lilith like I knew you, but I guess I'm not supposed to say you told me."

I stop. "How did you-?"

"Come on, blondie." He grasps my wrist and pulls me after him.

My real name might be on every contract, but I guard what I can of my personal life. It's strange to hear not only my nickname, which all of my friends use, but my full name.

"Wish I could hide out for privacy," he remarks, as if he's reading my thoughts. "I play pro football."

I eye him up and down over his fit physique. "Quarterback?"

He snorts. "Proper football.

He pushes open the door, and I walk into another world. A private bar, beautiful people lounging at tables, a card game in the corner. The whole setup has this effortless sheen of exclusivity-diamonds on velvet, wool suiting on cracked leather stools.

My gaze lands on the table of men playing cards. One of them stops me.

Cass Lyon is wearing a suit tonight. Impeccable. Not runway beautiful, but mafia-don ruthless. Sharp angles, unyielding planes. His face is carved into focus, studying the cards in his hand and on the table.

Mucha follows my gaze and snorts. "Don't let him ruin your fun. Just because he's a prick and owns the place..."

I raise a brow. "Glad I'm not the only one who thinks so."

We head to the bar, and he orders me a cocktail.

"Cass Lyon stole my crap," Mucha states factually. "Held my head underwater until I capitulated. Ratted me out." I take a beat to absorb all of that. Then he clinks his glass with a grin. "He's my older brother."

"So, he sent you to play nice." I shouldn't be talking to anyone related to the man I hate.

"Barely. He'll be upset I'm talking to you."

I drink. Vodka soda is crisp, clean on my tongue, as afterparty music drifts in.

"Then by all means, go on."

Mucha laughs, barks, blue eyes more warm than his brother's. "If you hate him, why are you playing at his club?"

"Mistake. One I'm fixing tomorrow so I can get out of here."

"That's a pity. You should stay."

"Help the man I despise make money?" I scoff.

"I'll share a secret with you. You're making money too, Lilith."

"Lil," I amend-not that we're friends or anything, but the way my full name sounds makes my skin crawl. "Why do you care?"

He turns his glass around. "Women have done his bidding willingly his whole life. I think you'd show him there's another way."

"He wouldn't like an alternative way. The man treats women like disposable napkins."

"He proposed to the last girl he was dating. They were engaged. She called it off."

I look at Mucha. The idea of Cass Lyon being engaged-being mushy enough to even want that-is. unexpected.

"I can only imagine what he must have done to have gotten dumped." I don't even use sarcasm, but I'm still trying to process the "engaged" part.

"He trusted her too much," Mucha says, softer now. "We date who we think we deserve. Even though he'd never admit it, my brother doesn't think he's worthy of better."

My eyes move involuntarily to the man himself, hating that those words make me question whether Cass Lyon truly deserves hell.

I realize my mistake too late. He's seen me.

Cass rises from the table like a shadow coming to life. And now, he's heading straight for us.

I can't help comparing the two. Same dirty blond hair, the same deep-set blue eyes. But where Mucha's friendly, Cass is carved from something colder.

"Brother," Mucha greets. "You're the only one in a suit at this hour." He nods to the room, where everyone else has ditched their jackets.

"I wear one because it's my club," Cass replies.

I take a long sip. "There are other ways to hide the stick up your ass besides Hugo Boss."

"It's Brioni."

Mucha cracks up. "I was just telling our little queen how exceptional she was tonight."

"When my club is full, I'll praise her," Cass states.

Mucha turns to greet someone else, leaving me and Cass alone at the bar.

"Unfortunately, it was a one-off performance." I climb off the stool. "But glad you enjoyed it."

"Not half as much as you did." He moves in front of me. "I've seen how you lose yourself up there. In my club, which you so obviously despise."

His closeness is confusing.

"It's an act. Not me."

"You can't fake how it makes you feel. You've had less satisfying orgasms than that set."

Anyone could see I was having a good time. But this? This guy reads me like he owns the pages.

"You know nothing about my orgasms, and you never will."

I sweep my hair to the side, baring my shoulder. He tracks the movement like it's foreplay.

"You told Bladina this afternoon you hated me no matter how pretty I was or how big my cock is. Which means you've thought about both."

My breath catches.

"That's why you're upset," he goes on. "You despise me, yet thinking about me gets you off. I might be a villain, yet in your dreams I still creep into your room at night and make you cum."

His voice is a sin I want to drown in.

The only thing I've wondered," I say to him, tilting my head toward his belt, "is what you're compensating for by being this much of an asshole."

His eyes scorch the floor beneath me.

There's a shout across the room. I turn and see Bladina walk in, grinning. "You were amazing," she says, offering a high five. "See you Monday?" Then to Cass, "Unless the boss eats you alive first."

He growls, and she laughs.

I go to call my phone.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Calling Frank Dera for a ride."

"He's an old man. Needs sleep." Cass nods to a bartender, who takes the house phone. "Car will be here in five."

He gestures for me to follow, and I do.

The man is a ruthless billionaire. Can't compromise. Can't love.

But he's not a villain to Bladina. Or Frank. Or Mucha.

I've got friends now. But people I trust, who've known me for years? That's fiction.

Security opens the door for us. "Mr. Lyon. Miss... Queen."

A laugh is all that comes out as I step into the night. Cass tilts his head.

"Cute couple," I mock.

He gives a sound of frustration when he realizes I'm teasing.

"You're the one making this hard."

I shrug my arms. "Hard's the only way I know."

He strips off his jacket and closes the space between us.

"No. Don't-"

I lift my hands, but he's already wrapping the expensive fabric around me, pulling the lapels shut.

"You'd freeze your first night just to spite me."

"I told you-I'm leaving in the morning."

I go to shrug it off. He stops me.

"Keep it."

What kind of man wears designer suits like armor, but gives one away without blinking?

The cab pulls up. I get inside and look down at the jacket still wrapped around me.

I'm alone again.

The relief I was expecting never comes.