Masked Thunder

CHAPTER 1

MARILYN GREEN’S POV

CBGB, New York City, 1999

I felt his eyes on me all night. They followed my every move on that dance floor. His eyes were on my legs, my belly, exposed in the well-crafted little black dress that I dared to wear that night. 

There was something about his gait that drew my attention. He strolled into the bar sporting neat waves and a dapper fade. Everything about this man reeked of importance, wealth and affluence. Even his haircut greatly contrasted with the afros, cornrows and a few neat haircuts that the other men with him sported. 

My friend had noticed him even before I did. But when Danica tapped me hurriedly and mumbled something in his direction, I looked across the room and my gray eyes locked with his clear blue ones. 

It was electric. The magnetism between myself and the hot stranger was irresistible, but I knew that I was the prize, so I looked away and went back to dancing, letting the wind sweep through my gorgeous brown curls with natural blond highlights, sending the smell of my coconut conditioner into the air. I was being a woman in everything it meant to be me; a wild and free woman. 

I was soon lost in the rhythm of the music until the Disc Jockey was weird enough to put on Lionel Riche’s Deep River Woman. I rolled my eyes and started walking slowly back to the bar and my tipsy girlfriends. 

A moist, soft palm reached out and touched me. It was a touch that sent goosebumps instantly raiding the skin on my neck, my thighs, and doing a crazy dance in my lower belly that felt like butterflies. I turned a little too fast to face the moist-palmed creature who dared to touch me, that I slipped briefly and embarrassingly. 

He reached out promptly and held onto me tenderly, preventing me from falling butt down to the ground. And it was so confusing how someone whose body reeked of such power and raw masculine sexuality could hold me ever so tenderly. The scene felt way too unoriginal for me that I scoffed out loud as I regained my balance and almost nearly pushed the blue-eyed man's hands away. 

“Are you okay, Miss?” He asked kindly, looking deeply into my eyes. There was something uncertain, but also fiercely confident about him that was just inexplicable. 

I hissed under my breath. “Do I know you? Why are you touching me?” I asked in a voice loud enough for him to hear me over the loud but slow music. 

He looked baffled for a minute, and then smiled quietly to himself, “I apologize, Miss. I just wanted to ask for a dance. But I will leave you alone. Please forgive my pertinence.” 

I rolled my eyes and walked away from him even though I knew back in that moment that I always wanted to look into his clear blue eyes. I wanted his palm sweat on my skin with him touching me in places that'd make me shiver, quiver and finally give me that deathless death. I wanted the man desperately, but my ego was bigger than my need. 

“You look like a lovelorn spinster, girl! Aren't you over that geezer yet?” Patty said, and I felt the pain hit me hard in the chest again. There it was once again. Patty meant well, but she just never knew when to shut the f**k up. 

“Why do you sound that way, Pat? You can't say that to her. Healing takes times for f***s sake!” Barbs retorted. She was my ride or die literally. If I ever needed to hide a body, it'd be Barbs who'd come through for me, no questions asked until later. And she worked for the FBI, so it made so much sense that she was the way she was. 

“She can speak for herself, Barbs. Stop trying to speak for her…” Azalea said. She was rolling a blunt with the careful precision of a heart surgeon. 

“I don't need you girls fighting because of me please… I am not feeling my best tonight honestly. Can we just do shots and have fun?” I said pleadingly, giving hugs to all my girls as they rallied, and we made up over shots of Vodka and Tequila. 

I took to the dance floor after enough shots to get my brain swimming lightly. I stood dancing by myself for a while. After spending a bit more time trying to not seem desperate, I looked across from the dance floor, scouring the group for the blue-eyed man. I did not see him though, and I shrugged and kept dancing. 

When I turned again, there he was. It felt like he was haunting me with his eyes, but it made me feel beautiful in some strange way. I kept dancing slowly, provocatively, arching my back and slowly whining my waist. 

It didn't take long before he walked slowly over to me again. He never stopped looking straight into my eyes as he waded through the pool of dancing, sweating and drugged bodies to get to me. I kept swaying to the beats of the music, looking back at him and saying nothing. 

We danced all night. Through hip hop, R&B and even jazz selections. We danced until I told my friends to leave me at the club when they were ready to go. I stayed back with a man who's name I didn't even know. 

Barbs took pictures of his car, his driver's license and his face before she left me with him. She monitored my location the whole time too. 

Barbs was the protective mother hen in our friendship group and she lived up to it fearlessly by asking the necessary questions, taking pictures mandatorily and taking down plate numbers and such. She was also the friend who was like an FBI. Just a name and even a stance, and she can find anyone anywhere. 

“We know you work for the FBI, but you can chill a bit, Thatcher!” Was something that Danica said often, and we'd all laugh at Barbs for being completely herself. 

I leaned in closer, gingerly placing my breasts on the man's chest. We had been dancing for hours, exchanging and holding intense eye contact and just enjoying the atmosphere in Summer. Two strangers who did not even know each other's names. 

The way you look tonight came on then, and I giggled while still preparing to leave the handsome stranger and go home to my aunt's house where I was spending that summer. 

“Don't you want to dance anymore?” Those were his first words to me, and his voice felt so alive as the sound of his voice seemed to reverberate in my ears and rush down to my groin. His voice was deep and sonorous, like that of a well-oiled singer. 

I looked up into his eyes, and I felt my heart race speed up in my chest. I was not one to feel this way about a man, but I knew for a fact that my pupils had to have been dilated. 

“I didn't know that you could speak. To me,” I said shyly, drunkenly, looking him dead in the eyes. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” We both said to each other at the same time. We stopped and laughed.