I storm through the club, avoiding the route back to our group and head for the ladies’ room instead. I need to cool down and calm my anger before I go back and sit with them, as I don’t want to be answering questions about my obvious snarling rage. I can barely keep myself under control, let alone hide it.
Alexi has wound me up to high-heaven and I want so badly to punch something right about now … Preferably his face. My insides are simmering so that I’m irate and annoyed with every single person who gets it my way as I shove and push my route to a quiet spot aggressively.
I don’t care if he starts looking for me, I need head space, and Alexi needs to give me complete alone time. I’m pissed off, drunk and swaying around on overly high heels with venom coursing through me that could melt his fucking face off. I hate that whenever I feel like I am softening towards him in any tiny way he throws a spanner in the works and screws it all up. He just knows how to flip my own psycho switch so effortlessly, and sometimes I wish I had the god damn strength to drag him into a room, tie him to a cross and then beat him about the head with his own bloody gun. He’s an arsehole of epic fucking proportions.
I was just starting to think this business thing could work if he just kept it platonic, and bam, a kiss.
What the fuck?
He’s drunk, yes, but it makes no difference. He didn’t want me last time, he made me crazier than hell and destroyed me to the point I tried to shoot myself. Why does he think I would ever entertain that again?
Idiot!
I stalk into the women’s bathroom and eyeroll at the massive queue to the cubicles, mood plummeting more. I can’t even get close to a sink let alone a mirror and turn on my heel to find somewhere else to mope instead. Anger and upset merging into one and I can feel that dangerous wave of tears moving up from my stomach to my throat, threatening to engulf me. I am useless when drunk, and now I know the inevitable is coming. Tears and tantrums and woe is me, and this couldn’t have happened in the worst possible place—Hundreds of miles from home. I’m stuck with him until I get back there.
Damn you, Alexi!
Pushing through crowds of expensively dressed clubbers once more, even more agitated that people keep getting in my way when I’m in no mood for it, until I find a sign for an outside smoking area and force my way through to get to it. I feel drained, losing my warm glowing buzz from alcohol as I get into the cool evening air and relax a little as it hits my naked arms and shoulders in my short strappy dress. Miami is a hell of a lot warmer with more humidity than New York, and even though I’m in a very short and low backed dress, I don’t feel cold at all. I feel relieved to have air and space and some quiet from the thump, thump, thump of the club. It’s a distant noise out here.
I went for subtle sexy, short cowl neck dress in silver sparkles with a dropped back to just above my arse, leaving nothing much to the imagination for once. I wanted to show off, be seductive and glam and show all my assets in one go. I wonder if deep down I was deliberately trying to entice him and punish him a little from afar. He never reacted to my shows of legs, cleavage or such before. Maybe I deliberately dressed this way to get a rise out of him, and look how it backfired. Games and Alexi never bode well.
Now I’m out here though, with the gentle breeze blowing into the open back of my dress, it’s making me feel exposed. Loss of my angry escort and I am suddenly a pathetic vulnerable half naked girl.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I move to stand in a space out in the roofed area, near the fence which acts as a blockade for people trying to get in the club this way, and gaze out onto the shoreline in the far distance. This club is practically beachfront in a very pricey part of Miami. Alexi knows how to pick venues anyway, and I guess this is a hint that Carreros, even those on security detail wages, are pretty loaded. None of them blinked an eye about coming here and I have seen them all paying for their own drinks all night. I guess all Carreros are rich, even the lower levelled henchmen.
Must be nice to come from money.
I have never been to Miami before, so this should have been an exciting new adventure instead of standing out here hating on that arsehole yet again.
He knows just how to make me crazy.
‘You got a light?’ A surprise male voice precedes a tap on my shoulder and startled, I turn to see a man in his mid-thirties smiling at me, while standing a little too close for comfort. An average Joe with blonde hair and blue eyes, but he’s dressed in head to toe Versace, so I assume another rich patron of the club. It’s full of them. I have zero interest.
‘Sorry no. I don’t smoke.’ I smile politely, cool toned and turn back to gazing at the view, but he doesn’t seem to be having it. Missing my fuck off and leave me alone vibes completely.
‘Beautiful night isn’t it?’ He interjects, pushing his cigarette into the top pocket of his jacket, and moves to stand beside me instead. I just sigh with the intrusion, hating that no matter what I do, men always feel like it’s their right to bother me. Temper is already simmering like a volcano about to have an all-out eruption, and now I have to deal with a come-on.
FUCK MEN!
‘Yeah, gorgeous. I better get back to my boyfriend.’ I answer with a completely flat tone, making it obvious I have no desire to converse, and avoid all eye contact with him. I turn to move hoping the age-old boyfriend statement will get rid of him, but he follows me annoyingly.
‘I’ll walk you back in, I have to go find matches at the bar.’ He smiles overly friendly, and even though it’s obvious he’s harmless enough it still pisses me off that he insists on trying. I get this all the time from males. Thinking subtle NO means try harder. I can see me having to tell him to push off a little more directly if he doesn’t.
He has that air of gentleman regardless, so I doubt he will try physically; Just more of an irritation when I need to be left in peace. He just seems a bit dim and I walk faster to get back into the building first so that I can walk off and leave him behind. I intend to lose him and then go somewhere else to sulk and get some brain space to expel my rage at tosser Carrero.
Coming into the dark hall that led out here I don’t see a little lump in the carpeted floor where the seam meets the rubber mat of the entranceway and trip over it clumsily, crashing to my knees dramatically and painfully. Yelping in shock as pain shudders through my shins like an electric volt when I collide with the hard floor under very thin carpet.
The guy is fast behind me, almost stumbling drunkenly into the back of me with my abrupt stop and slides hands around under my arms to pull me to my feet. Not welcome in any way but there’s not a lot I can do about it. Triggered by a male behind me and touching me in any way from back there.
‘Oopsy … That looked sore, you okay?’ He slurs merrily as he helps me up awkwardly in a pretty shit attempt and almost sends me falling again. Uncoordinated hands everywhere and I try to push him off me without drawing attention to the fact his touch is making me cringe, internally recoiling in ingrained fear. I get back on my heels, being held onto a little too tightly as I try to disengage him still, but he starts wiping down my knees on my behalf to remove the dust and debris from the floor.