Page 66 of Brutal Revenge

The douche pressing his lips to her ear only moments ago returns her head bob before he switches the club music to a sultry number I’m confident married men fuck to.

In less than a heartbeat, the girls exchange a mischievous look before they quickly leave the dance floor in perfect synchronization. As they rush toward tables scattered around the back area, Azra pushes me into a booth near the stage and then climbs onto the table with what anyone but me would call practiced ease.

Suddenly, half the nightclub patrons who aren’t here to dance leap to their feet, eager to get a close view of the impromptu performance. The only table that doesn’t get swarmed is mine. I’m not known for monogamy, but not a man in this town, and several beyond, are brave enough to test my thoughts on sharing.

Azra’s dress sparkles under the overhead lights, her hair swinging with each seductive sway of her hips. Her dance routine is erotically teasing, and unlike my little brother, I slouch back and enjoy the show.

Alora barely gets thirty seconds into her routine before Nico reappears, grabs her by the waist, and pulls her down with a glare that could melt steel. As he walks her out of the packed club, muttering obscenities under his breath, Alora’s fists slam into his back.

Since these types of shenanigans are a regular occurrence for them, I stay where I am and let Azra dance.

No man dares to glance in her direction. They now know the temper that arrives with my jealousy, so they know better. My completely unhinged response to the DJ checking the song Azra wanted to play allows me to sit back and enjoy her wild, unrestrained side break free from the cocoon.

Although dancing tipsy on a tabletop isn’t a rite of passage, it’ll reclaim some of the rebellion her sheltered, rules-driven life didn’t permit.

Azra mentioned at the start of our night that she’s never drunk alcohol.

I learn that freedom is limited one minute into her performance. When she raises her arms to trace arcs through the air, her level of intoxication strikes like a bullet. She stumbles forward, forcing me to my feet before she falls.

After catching her in my arms, I draw her in close to my body.

“I’m fine,” she insists, breathless, leaning heavily into me.

“You’re drunk,” I reply, weaving through the patrons crowding the tables that Alora’s friends still grace.

Azra blinks up at me, eyes bright but unfocused. “I didn’t think those cocktails would hit this fast. How can fluffy pink drinks be so hard-hitting?”

As I merge out the back door into the cool night air of the alleyway, her head rests against my shoulder, warm and trusting. Music fades behind us, replaced with the distant buzz of the sleepy city.

One of my family’s fleet of SUVs is idling in the alleyway. They always are.

When the driver spots my approach, he skedaddles around the hood to open the back passenger door for me.

Azra shifts in my arms, her fingers curling under my jacket as I help her into the SUV. Once she’s buckled in, I climb in beside her and close the door.

The city lights blur past the windows as the driver takes the quickest route.

“Matteo?” Azra whispers a short time later.

“Yeah?”

Her smile is soft, sleepy, and unguarded. “Tonight was fun.”

Somehow, that simple sentence knocks me on my ass harder than anything else tonight, and for once, it has me plotting something far more dangerous than revenge.

Chapter 18

Azra

I’m buzzing. Truly, intensely buzzing.

The club’s music is still pulsing under my skin, and the bass prickles it with goose bumps. I’ve never experienced anything like this. Four years ago, I shrank into someone else’s shadow, and I’ve been fighting to find a way out ever since.

Tonight I danced, laughed, and lived—for myself.

That was a foreign concept only hours ago, and I have one man to thank for breaking the cruel cycle.

“Matteo?”