Forbidden Embers

Chapter 1: Beauty On Red

WARNING:

This book is strictly for 18+ readers

Chapters contains explicit scene.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

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The bass was a physical thing, a throbbing pressure against Caleb’s sternum that made the ice in his drink tremble. He watched the sea of bodies on the dance floor undulate under the strobing red and green lasers, a hot, anonymous mass. He felt absolutely nothing.

“You’re a f*****g ghost tonight,” Cameron shouted over the music, his arm already around the waist of a redhead who kept giggling into his neck. “I’m taking this masterpiece for a spin. Try not to scare anyone off with your aura of profound disappointment.”

Caleb raised his bottle in a mock toast as Cameron vanished into the crowd. He was the disappointment. The polished routines—the lingering eye contact, the carefully timed touch, the whispered lines that were supposed to sound spontaneous—all of it felt like reciting lines from a play he’d performed too many times. The conquests had blurred into a single, scentless memory.

A familiar, cloying perfume cut through the smell of sweat and spilled vodka. “Caleb. I thought that was you.”

Claire Bentley materialized beside him, her dress so tight it looked painted on, her makeup a meticulous mask. Her eyes, lined heavily in black, scanned him with possessive hunger. She leaned in, her breasts pressing against his arm. “You never called.”

“Been busy,” he said, the lie automatic. He took a swig of beer, the taste flat.

“Too busy for me?” Her fingers traced a line up his bicep. “We had a good time. I remember what you like.”

Her directness, which he might have found amusing weeks ago, now felt like a transaction. He looked past her, his gaze drifting, searching for a distraction. That’s when he saw her.

She was a still point in the chaotic motion. A woman in a slip of a red dress, dancing alone. Not for an audience, but for herself. Her movements were liquid, her hips carving slow, deliberate circles to the beat, her head tipped back. The laser light caught the sharp angle of her cheekbone, the dusky gold of her throat. She was utterly absorbed, and for a moment, Caleb forgot to breathe.

“Earth to Caleb.” Claire’s voice was sharper now, a claw trying to hook him back. “Buy me a drink. You owe me.”

He was trapped. He could see the long, tedious script of this night unfolding: the overpriced drinks, the fake laughter, the cab ride, the perfunctory, grunting s*x in her apartment that smelled of vanilla plug-ins and regret.

Then, the woman in red turned. Her eyes, dark and assessing, met his across the chaos. They flicked to Claire, whose grip on his arm was now tight enough to leave marks, and back to him. A faint, knowing smirk touched her lips.

She began to move through the crowd, a red ripple parting the bodies. She didn’t stop until she was beside him. Up close, she was even more striking. Her features were all edges and intelligence.

“There you are,” she said, her voice a low, clear note that somehow cut the bass. She slid her arm through his, displacing Claire’s hand with effortless grace. Her skin was warm. “I’ve been looking everywhere. You promised me this dance.”

Claire’s face stiffened. “Who the hell is this?”

The woman ignored her, her gaze locked on Caleb’s. A challenge sparkled there. “Well?”

It was an escape hatch. He took it. “Sorry, Claire. Previous engagement.”

He let the woman lead him a few steps onto the fringe of the dance floor, the heat and noise swallowing Claire’s sputtered protest. The woman immediately dropped his arm. The smirk was back.

“She’s gone. You’re safe,” she said, her eyes laughing at him. “Now you can buy me a drink for saving you.”

A thrill, genuine and unfamiliar, shot through him. This was different. “Absolutely. What’s your poison?”

She tossed her long black hair over a shoulder. “Tequila. Neat. I’m in the mood to feel it burn.”

He got the drinks at the crowded bar, his body humming with a new energy. When he returned, she took the glass, their fingers brushing. She knocked the tequila back in one smooth motion, her throat working. She let out a sharp, satisfied breath.

“Rough night?” he asked, moving closer. The scent of her was incredible—jasmine and something smoky.

“Aren’t they all?” she said, but the defiance in her eyes was edged with something raw, something vulnerable. “Tonight, I just want to be someone else. I want to forget.”

This was a language he knew. This was the opening line. He leaned in, his mouth near her ear, his voice dropping to the intimate register that usually worked. “You can be anyone you want with me.” He let his hand settle on the small of her back, the silk of her dress whispering under his palm. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath it. “Why don’t we get out of here? I can help you forget, Red.”

He felt her go still. Then, her hands came up and planted firmly on his chest. She pushed him back, not playfully, but with definitive force. The raw vulnerability was gone, replaced by a flash of pure contempt.

“Nice meeting you too, asshole.”

She turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving him standing there, stupid, the tequila glass cold in his hand. The rejection was so total, so unexpected, it felt like a physical slap. He just stood, watching the spot where she’d disappeared, the old, restless boredom now replaced by a sharp, stinging humiliation.

He finished his drink, the buzz sour. f**k this. f**k all of it.

The cold night air outside the club was a shock, cleaning the sweat and noise from his pores. He fumbled for his keys, heading for the far end of the dimly lit parking lot. His head throbbed in time with the fading bass.

A sound cut through the damp silence—a sharp, wet gasp, followed by a low, guttural male laugh.

His eyes adjusted. Against the grimy brick wall of the club’s back alley, he saw a shape. A flash of red silk.

It was her. The woman was pinned, a large man in a dark jacket crowding her, his body pressed against hers. One of his hands was clamped over her mouth, the other was up her dress, his arm moving with a brutal, rhythmic urgency. Her eyes were wide and terrified over the top of his meaty hand, her legs kicking weakly, her heels scraping against the asphalt.

Caleb froze, his blood turning to ice. This wasn't a hookup. This was violence. It was raw and ugly and happening right in front of him.

The man grunted, his hips jerking forward. "Just hold still, you f*****g tease. You wanted it, dancing like that..."

Caleb’s hand tightened around his keys. The careful, curated emptiness of his life shattered in an instant, replaced by a terrifying, clarifying rage. He wasn't a hero. He was a bored, selfish asshole. But he was here.

He took a silent step forward.

The keys dug into his palm. The man’s back was a broad, dark wall, his grunts obscene in the quiet. Caleb’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum completely disconnected from his body, which felt cold and precise.

He didn’t think.

He lunged, not with a heroic shout, but with a silent, focused velocity. He drove his shoulder into the space between the man’s shoulder blades. It was like hitting a sack of wet cement. The guy let out a choked oof, his body slamming forward into the brick, his grip on her breaking.

The woman in red stumbled away, gasping, her dress torn at the shoulder. The man spun, fury contorting his features. “You f*****g cunt!”

A fist, huge and knuckled, swung wildly. Caleb ducked, the air whistling where his head had been. He came up and drove his own fist, weighted with the keys, into the man’s gut. It was a dirty, desperate move. The man wheezed, doubling over. Caleb didn’t wait. He brought his knee up, hard, into the descending face. He felt the sickening crunch of cartilage.

The man screamed, a wet, gurgling sound, clutching his nose as blood gushed between his fingers. He staggered back, his eyes blazing with pain and hate. “I’ll kill you!”

But the violence had been quick, loud. A distant door banged. The man hesitated, glaring between Caleb and the woman. With a final, blood-flecked curse, he turned and lurched into the deeper darkness of the alley, his footsteps fading into a run.