Knight Page 6

  “Anya, told you, got shit to do,” he prompted and I shook myself to get it together.

  Then I said softly, “Thank you,” not believing I was thanking a man I barely knew for having my landlord beat up and giving me a new phone the money it cost could buy a used car (a crappy one, but still) but doing it anyway.

  His eyes held mine. Then he shook his head while turning away.

  Then he was gone.

  I walked up to my apartment. Then I plugged in my new phone to charge. Then I found the new number and used my old phone to text it to everyone in my phonebook. In the middle of this, my old phone died.

  Not long after, I went to bed.

  I tossed. I turned.

  And when I finally slept, I dreamt of Knight.

  Chapter Four

  Only for Me

  Mission accomplished last Saturday, we got our night with risotto, facials and Chris Hemsworth and Sandrine participated in the festivities. She did it bitching about Nick though not through the movie, not even Sandrine could bitch about a hot guy jerk while Chris Hemsworth was on screen.

  Now it was a week later and Viv, Sandrine and I were dolled up and on the town because Sandrine was on a tear. Nick still hadn’t called and Sandrine, being Sandrine, still hadn’t given up.

  Viv was out because she was in the mood to be out. The reason she wasn’t at Nick’s party was because she knew, like I knew, he was a jerk and she had no desire to spend time with him or his crew. So she didn’t.

  I was either a pushover or too exhausted from my busy life to bear up against a Sandrine Onslaught so I went.

  Tonight, though, I was in Viv’s mood.

  It had been just over a week and nothing from Knight. No more chivalrous gestures, no matter how scary, scarily generous or criminal. Nothing.

  I wanted to let it go and be relieved. I had a phone. It was awesome and did way more than taking calls, it did email, internet, apps, the whole shebang, all of this looking cool as hell and like something NASA designed but fifty years from now… it was the bomb. I had a safer apartment building and so did all my neighbors. He told me in no uncertain terms he found me attractive but he didn’t stop by and before he left didn’t say he would contact me nor did he ask for a date. So the only thing I could assume was that although he was scary, he still was a man who saw that something needed to be done and he did it. It was a lot more than him hearing I needed a ride and him giving it to me but, bottom line, it seemed simply that was who he was and the kind of thing he did.

  So he did his thing and onward.

  For a guy like him, I was probably a memory.

  I didn’t like this and yet I did. I was relieved and upset. It was odd. And these feelings weren’t fading. Not even a little.

  Which sucked. Not just because they weren’t fading but because they were confusing as all get out.

  I still wondered if he thought about me when he was doing a certain deed. After a few days of trying to convince myself I didn’t as well as trying not to think about it at all, and failing at both, I admitted to myself that I liked this idea even as it freaked me out just how much I did (which was a lot). However, it was highly unlikely a man like him ever needed his fist, as in ever, so it was also highly doubtful.

  So I decided to go out, have a few drinks, dance and celebrate new sheets, a new comforter and new pillows. Without having to buy the phone, bed linens had been stepped up on my schedule of things I could buy. I got the good kind of those too, going way beyond what I would normally allow myself and doing it because I not only had the money but because Viv brought me a new client. An extra fifteen dollars every two weeks for a steady, Sunday manicure appointment. And for me, thirty dollars a month was awesome.

  So celebration it was.

  “You know, asking around, that Knight Sebring guy owns this club.”

  This was Viv shouting in my ear as we walked into Slade, the trendiest nightclub in downtown Denver and that was trendy in a bizarre way where it wasn’t trendy just for a year or two but had been since I started clubbing when I was twenty-one. The cover charge was high but it was the place to see and be seen. It was uncanny since clubs went in and out but Slade stayed popular. So popular, when celebrities hit town, they hit Slade. This was because Slade had small, medium and large VIP seating that was cordoned off from the commoners. Movie stars went there. Rap stars. R&B stars. Broncos. Nuggets. They took their posses to their VIP sections, had their own cocktail waitresses and bouncers and didn’t see but were up on daises so they could be seen.

  This was so rare, I had actually given headspace to this phenomenon and came up with the fact that Slade stayed the hotspot because every year it was closed down for a month and the entire inside was gutted and renovated. It was like getting a whole new club and yet it wasn’t. And it was always the best, the coolest, the hippest. A costly but clever ploy, I thought, and it worked.

  Not to mention the cocktail waitresses were always gorgeous with amazing bodies, the bartenders were hot and the bouncers and security were huge, scary but all attractive so if you hit Slade there were other treats for both sexes. Not just hot music in a hip atmosphere with well-poured drinks in fantastic glasses but eye candy.

  Further, there was a line to get in, every night, even weekdays, and whether you agreed or not it was the right thing to do, the bouncers picked and chose who got in. It wasn’t just about clothes and money. If you were gorgeous, you went to the front of the line. Then, if you looked like you had serious cake, you got in. All others could stand out there for hours and never get in so they’d learned over the years not even to bother.

  We got in because Sandrine had her sheet of strawberry blonde hair, fake breasts an ex-boyfriend bought her and her ability to say no to desserts all the time and therefore her body was slim and perfectly toned. Not to mention, there was Vivica, with her tall, slender frame, dark, flawless midnight skin, unusual tawny eyes, graceful giraffe neckline and perfect skull with her short cropped afro. And, lastly, apparently the new intel was me, who had a face that could launch a thousand hard-ons. Not a flowery compliment but still, it said it all even if it pulled no punches.

  Once I noticed this (not, obviously, the bit about me since I didn’t know that until a week and a day ago), this had made me, for a six month stretch, swear off Slade. Sandrine, of course, wore me down and I lifted my ban.

  So now I was back and had been back for a couple of years though with decreasing regularity.

  Further, last Saturday I’d told both Viv and Sandrine all about Knight.

  Sandrine’s comment was, “Hope he leaves you alone. He’s totally hot but he’s also a total asshole.”

  Vivica just stared at me and said nothing. This was her way. She tended to cast judgment only when she had all the facts even if, I found, one of those facts included the knowledge that some guy had sent “his boys” out to beat someone up for me. Still, it was one of the three million, twenty-two thousand, six hundred and eleven things I loved about her. That said, once she cast judgment, whether it was right or wrong (or whether I thought it was right or wrong), it would take torture to make her change her mind. This could get a tad bit irritating. But it was, as far as I could see, Viv’s only flaw. And since we put up with enough of them from Sandrine, it all balanced out.

  Until I mentioned him, neither of them knew Knight Sebring.

  But obviously, Viv had asked around. I wasn’t surprised. This was also Viv’s way. She tended to be curious and that curiosity would go into overdrive once a man gave me a thousand dollar phone and had my landlord beaten up to make me safe(ish).

  “Really?” I shouted back.

  She nodded. “Yep. Since it opened eight years go.”

  Wow. Interesting.

  Suddenly, I was happy that I’d pulled out my best going out dress. It was designer but I bought it at a secondhand shop. Black, skintight, two inches above the knee, one shoulder bare, other arm sleeveless, across the side it gathered to a big, opened hole that exposed the sk
in of my other side under the sleeveless arm from ribs to the top of my hip. It wasn’t hot. It was scorching hot. And part of that scorching was the obvious fact that, to wear it, there was no way I could wear underwear. I loved it. I’d paired it with spike-heeled, strappy sandals that were black but looked like they were coated with silver glitter. They didn’t cost the bomb, I got them on sale at a mid-scale shoe store but they were sexy as all heck.

  “Did you, uh…” I was still shouting in her ear as we pressed through the bodies on our way to the bar, “learn anything else about him?”

  Her eyes caught mine and she shook her head. “Nope. No one knows much about him except he’s Nick’s older brother. I think he’s thirty-four, thirty-five, got different ages on him but only those two. He’s not Nick’s biggest fan which means I’m leaning toward liking him. He’s also got a serious, kickass name. And he owns this club.”

  Not a lot of information, some of it I already knew, but still interesting.

  “Ohmigod!” We both heard Sandrine shriek and our eyes went forward to where she was powering through the club, cutting a swath for Viv and my passage, to see she’d turned back to us. “That asshole is here!”

  Before my eyes could move to where her finger was pointing, a VIP dais that was medium-sized, across the club from us but had a spectacular elevated view of the room since it had at least five steps up, Sandrine was again powering through. But this time she was practically throwing people out of the way to do it.

  This was because Nick Sebring was clearly visible up there. This was not a surprise, we met Nick here and Nick was almost exclusively and always here in his own VIP section.

  My first thought, and I acted on it, was to scan the dais for Knight.

  He was not there.

  My second thought was that this was a bummer.

  My third thought was to remind myself it wasn’t. He had someone beat up and lamented the fact he couldn’t do it himself. Sure, he did it for me and Landlord Steve was a jerk but he did it and that was scary.

  My last thought was that I better get my booty in gear because Sandrine was riled and when Sandrine was riled this usually caused a scene.

  Vivica had my last thought first and she was hurrying behind Sandrine in the futile hope of heading her off.

  And it was futile.

  Before I was even close and Vivica was twenty feet behind, Sandrine was up the steps to the dais and pushing past a bouncer who was looking behind him toward Nick to see if he had the all-clear for her entry. Sandrine, with years of experience, was adept at getting anywhere she wanted to go, past bouncers, security, to the front of lines, backstage, her ass at choice window tables in trendy eateries. You name it, she found her way to get it even if she had to use her toned muscles to do it.

  Which she did now.

  I watched Vivica follow and the bouncer didn’t turn back to see if he had the all-clear for Viv. He caught one look at Vivica’s rounded behind in her tight, turquoise dress and didn’t stop looking.

  Seeing as he was distracted, this made it easy for me to get by him too.

  Vivica was too late and I was woefully too late. I knew this the instant I hit the scene.

  And I say woefully because Nick Sebring was not just a mammoth jerk.

  Nick Sebring was scarier than his brother.

  And I knew this because I interrupted Knight Sebring having a calming cigarette by intruding in his very personal space and helping myself to his phone. Even though he made his irritation clear, he ended up giving me a ride.

  Nick, on the other hand, was done with Sandrine, her texts, her phone calls and her storming into his VIP section intent on making a scene and he’d chosen a terrifying way to communicate this to her.

  And I knew this when I got to their side, opposite Vivica, got close and saw Nick had Sandrine by both upper arms. He’d jerked her so her body was against his, his face in hers and I knew his hold hurt because Sandrine’s beautiful face was twisted in pain.

  “Nick, let me go,” she whispered, “you’re hurting me.”

  “Am I gonna hear from you again?” he asked in a way I knew he was repeating himself.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Had you, don’t want more, don’t want your shit,” he growled, still in her face and still clamped onto her. “Get me?”

  “I get you.”

  “Willin’ to make my point clearer, you even think you’ll have second thoughts,” he kept at it, pissed off in a way I didn’t think it would calm for a while and he had his hands on my friend so I got closer.

  “Nick, please, let her go. She’ll be cool. I promise. Just let her go and we’ll be out of here,” I said loudly to be heard over the music but also softly in order to let him know I meant what I said.

  Nick’s head turned to me and it took a lot but I didn’t quail.

  Yep, definitely scarier than his brother. Knight Sebring had control. Nick Sebring absolutely did not.

  “Nick, please, I promise, no more. Let me go. You’re hurting me.” That was Sandrine in a tortured plea but Nick’s eyes were on me and he didn’t let her go. He held on and held my eyes.

  “You want me to let this bitch go?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I answered immediately.

  “Then make sure this bitch gets the fuck outta here but you stay and have a drink with me,” Nick replied and my stomach clenched.

  “No, let her go and we’re all outta here,” Vivica entered the conversation but Nick didn’t tear his eyes from me even as he gave Sandrine a shake. I heard her whimper so I knew either the shake had scared her or his hold had tightened.

  “You gonna let me buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Absolutely.”

  “Anya,” Vivica said low.

  “Let her go,” I said to Nick.

  Nick looked back at Sandrine, pulling her up to her toes so she was nose-to-nose with him and visibly wincing.

  “Bitch, I don’t see you, I don’t hear from you, I don’t even fuckin’ smell you,” he growled then pushed her off, hard.

  She staggered back on her four and a half inch sandals that I knew she’d return in the next week because they cost six hundred dollars, something she couldn’t afford. Vivica shot to her to catch her from falling.

  I did too but I came up short when a hand clamped around the inside of my elbow.

  My neck twisted so I could look at Nick who now had a hold of me.

  “Drink,” he clipped.

  My stomach in knots, my heart beating wildly, I nodded.

  “Anya!” Vivica yelled and I looked to her even as Nick started to turn me to the back of the dais where there was a long, plush, raspberry colored booth seat.

  “I’m good!” I yelled back. “Go! Just a drink and I’ll text you when I’m out.”

  Vivica’s eyes went from me to Nick to another bouncer who was hovering that I hadn’t noticed until then and finally her eyes came back to me.

  “We’ll be at the bar!” she shouted.

  “You’re with that bitch, you’ll be in the fuckin’ street!” Nick shouted back, still dragging me. “You lose her, you stay up here.”

  No. I didn’t want Vivica anywhere near there.

  “Go!” I yelled.

  Vivica held my eyes as she held Sandrine in the curve of her arm, a Sandrine who was now crying and staring at me, fear in her face. I lost sight of them when Nick let go of my elbow, slid an arm along my waist and turned me to face the direction he was taking me.

  Crap. Crap. CRAP!

  God, Sandrine.

  Seriously, some day that girl was going to be the death of me.

  Right. A drink. I could have a drink with Nick.

  Crap.

  He sat us down, him too close to me and immediately his eyes went across the dais and his mouth opened up to clip a loud, “Yo!”

  The cocktail waitress came scurrying. It was then I saw the bouncer who was hovering was now at the end of the dais, another black-suited boun
cer was standing on the floor under him, he had his hands up to cup around his mouth and he was yelling something.

  “What are you drinking?”

  I tore my eyes from the bouncer, sucked in breath and looked at Nick.

  “Sparkling water,” I ordered.

  “Fuck, you fuckin kidding me?” he bit out.

  Okay, that was the wrong answer.

  He looked at the waitress. “Get her a cosmo. Me, Hennessy, Paradis.”

  Her eyes bugged out a second before she pulled it together, obviously having witnessed the scene or just knowing Nick, and she scurried away.

  Nick looked at me and announced, “Your friend’s a pain in my ass.”

  She was a pain in mine too. Then again, at that moment, so was he.

  I decided not to answer.

  “Fuck, she thinks she can make me come and she owns me?” he asked.

  I had no answer for that either, though, I had to admit, he was a screaming jerk but he was kind of right.

  “You’re also a pain in my ass,” he declared.

  What did I do?

  I didn’t ask. First, I didn’t want to know. Second, I was trying not to throw up and/or have a heart attack and I thought both were priorities.

  “Only way I know your honey isn’t locked up in ironclad panties is I’d see ‘em through that fuckin’ dress. Jesus, do you fuck anybody?” he asked.

  “Um…” I mumbled but said no more mostly because this was none of his business, partly because I had, indeed, hit a long, dry spell and lastly because he was scaring the heck out of me.

  I watched him pull a hand through his hair and it hit me that he slightly resembled his brother but not much. They both had black hair with a bit of wave in it but Nick kept his perfectly cut and styled with product. Nick also had blue eyes but they were nowhere near as vibrant as Knight’s. He was at least two inches shorter but still tall. And although Nick was built, he was slighter of frame.

  Their facial features, however, were not the same. Not at all. Nick was handsome but he didn’t pack the punch of Knight’s pure, aggressive, masculine beauty. Not even close.

  He dropped his hand and looked at me.