Page 46 of Wild Angel
Vito climbs out and joins us. This time we don’t walk in single file—Vito hurries up beside Savage and effectively creates a wall with their bodies.
I glare at the back of their heads.
When I try and move up beside Savage, he grabs me around the waist and bundles me against his side. Then Vito steps in front of me.
Christ, you’d swear I was naked.
“Stop manhandling me,” I snap, trying to peel Caesar’s fingers away from my hip.
“You chose the dress.”
“You said you didn’t care,” I whisper furiously.
Savage ignores this.
He guides me inside the club, then through the throng of club-goers, toward the back. I’m so certain we’re heading upstairs again that I start to head in that direction, but Savage’s strong arm turns me away.
We’re in a partially closed-off area. A few steps lead up to a dais that looks out over the dance floor. Silver ropes close off entry but a bulky bodyguard—also with the logo on his pocket—unhooks the rope and steps aside for us.
White velvet couches. A mirrored drinks table. Two buckets with bottles of vodka and beer nestled inside the ice. Four men I don’t recognize, but who Savage does.
He nods to them, and they stand up to shake his and Vito’s hand. Me they barely look at. Like Vito, they probably figure it’s a dangerous move.
“I’m hungry,” I tell Savage.
I’m not being dramatic—we missed supper.
“Quiet,” he says.
I scowl at him and then turn around to talk to the bodyguard who let us through the ropes. “You guys have food here?”
The bodyguard glances at me and then looks away so fast, I’m sure he pulled an eye muscle. He lets out a non-committal grunt and then throws a panicked look in Savage’s direction.
“Come on, guy,” I tell him. “Can’t you order me a pizza or something?” I point at Savage. “He’ll pay. Get me something with pepperoni and mushrooms. Extra cheese.”
The bodyguard clears his throat, but Savage is busy talking to the men who were already here. Then he stiffens his shoulders and stares right past me like I don’t exist.
I wave a hand in front of his face. “Dude, it’s just a fucking pizza. Christ, if you give me your phone, I can order one myself.”
“Nyx, what are you doing?” comes Vito’s hushed voice.
“Trying not to starve.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “Is that alright with you?”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re going to get this poor guy killed.”
I laugh, but when I see Vito’s expression, I cut off. “Seriously?”
Vito sticks out an arm, ushering me away from the guard without really touching me. Then he has a few quiet words with the man, and the guy takes out his phone and makes a call.
“Extra cheese,” I say dryly. “Don’t forget—”
Vito spins around and glances meaningfully at one of the unoccupied sofas near the drinks table.
I roll my eyes as I take a seat. These heels are killing my feet and I’ve barely walked ten yards in them.
How the hell do other women do it?
I’m in half a mind to take them off, but at least now I canalmostlook Vito in the eyes. Savage still has several inches on me, unfortunately.
