Surviving the Storm

Chapter 1

Storm

18 Months Later — Present Day

The music was so loud it rattled my bones.

Bass pounded through the club, vibrating beneath my heels as I moved to the beat. The air was thick with alcohol, sweat, cigarette smoke and weed, all tangled together with something darker—lust.

Tonight, I didn’t care.

Tonight, I wanted to forget.

I rolled my hips with the music, letting myself disappear into the crowd. My black mini skirt barely covered my thighs, while the silver halter top caught flashes of coloured lights every time I moved. Silver heels completed the outfit, and my long brown hair fell loose down my back.

For a few hours, I could pretend I was just another normal seventeen-year-old girl out having fun with her best friend.

No past.

No problems.

No scars.

My foundation had done a damn good job of hiding those.

I worked hard for my body, and tonight it was attracting plenty of attention. I could feel eyes following me from every direction.

Normally, I would have ignored them.

But there was a difference between looking and touching.

And apparently, some guys hadn’t learned that lesson.

I kept to my own little patch of dance floor, moving my hips to the Latin beat and trying to lose myself in the music. I wasn’t here to find a guy. I wasn’t here to hook up.

I was here to drink away the mess that had become my life.

A hand suddenly slid around my waist.

Before I could react, a guy pulled me hard against his body.

His erection pressed against me.

Disgust surged through me.

I ripped his hands away and shoved myself forward, spinning around to glare at him.

“Don’t f*****g touch me.”

He laughed like I’d just told him a joke.

I didn’t stick around to find out what he planned to do next.

I pushed through the crowd, dodging wandering hands and drunken bodies as I made my way towards the bar. My patience had officially run out.

I needed a drink.

Or three.

Of course, there was one tiny problem.

I was seventeen.

Technically, I shouldn’t have been anywhere near this club.

But my best friend and I had been sneaking in for months using fake IDs.

There was something exhilarating about getting away with breaking the rules.

Maybe that was exactly why I kept coming back.

I reached the bar and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

“Two shots of tequila and a bourbon neat, please!” I shouted over the music.

The bartender nodded and reached for the bottles.

While I waited, I glanced around the club.

That’s when I noticed him.

He was standing on the opposite side of the bar.

Watching me.

Not casually.

Not the way the other guys had been watching me on the dance floor.

His stare was deliberate.

Unwavering.

And for some reason, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I didn’t know him.

I’d never seen him in this club before.

But there was something about him that made me want to look away.

Unfortunately, he was ridiculously attractive.

The kind of attractive that probably came with an ego the size of Texas.

He looked to be around six-foot-four, with tanned skin and a body that suggested he spent a hell of a lot of time working out—or doing something that required strength. His black hair was almost impossibly dark beneath the club lights, and his eyes were a startling shade of green.

And then there was the smirk.

That arrogant, knowing smirk of a man who was completely aware of how women reacted to him.

The bartender placed my drinks in front of me.

I grabbed the tequila.

Shot one.

Gone.

Shot two.

Gone.

I reached for the bourbon just as the stranger began moving.

He walked around the bar with the confidence of someone who had never once questioned whether he belonged somewhere.

I took a mouthful of bourbon.

Then he stopped beside me.

“You’re the one who’s been getting my friends all hot and bothered on the dance floor.”

I slowly lowered my glass.

I didn’t bother looking at him.

“If your friends think they’re getting into my pants tonight, they’re seriously mistaken.”

I finished my bourbon in one swallow and set the empty glass down.

His smile widened.

“I should warn you,” he said, amusement colouring his voice. “They don’t like being played with.”

I finally turned to look at him.

“Played with?”

His green eyes glittered.

“At least, not the way you’ve been playing with them.”

I folded my arms.

“Are your friends the sleazy assholes on the dance floor who think grabbing women is an acceptable form of flirting?”

His eyebrow lifted.

“They’ve had a few drinks.”

“So that’s an excuse?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. You just seemed pretty eager to defend them.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“They’re drunk. I’m sure they’re behaving exactly as sleazily as you described.”

I stared at him.

There was something about the way he spoke that irritated me.

And intrigued me.

Which irritated me even more.

“Do I know you?”

“No.”

He held out his hand.

“But we can change that.”

His smirk returned.

“I’m Asher.”

I looked at his outstretched hand.

Then at him.

“No thanks.”

I turned and headed towards the entrance.

I made it three steps before his voice followed me.

“You’re going to want to know me eventually.”

I stopped.

Just for a second.

Then I glanced over my shoulder.

Asher was still standing at the bar, watching me with those unnervingly green eyes.

“Don’t count on it.”

And I walked away.

I had no idea then that leaving him behind would be the easiest part of my night.

Because Asher wasn’t finished with me.

Not even close.