04
1276 Words
Riley's POV
I stormed up to their table, my heart thumping fiercely—not just from the tequila, but because something about them unsettled me. Their eyes locked onto me, unblinking. I felt the heat of their gazes press against my skin, thick and heavy like the humid air.
I was nervous, sure. But furious? Absolutely. Who were they to stop me from having another drink?
“Hey!” I snapped, forcing my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest. “Why did you tell that man I can’t have more drinks? Do you own this place or what?”
The tallest one—the first—lifted his glass, swirling the dark red wine inside like it was some kind of poison. His dark grey eyes caught the dim club lights and flickered with a lazy, unsettling smirk.
“We do,” he said, voice low and smooth.
I blinked, momentarily frozen by the confidence in his tone. Still, I forced the words out. “Well, just because you own the place doesn’t mean you can control how many shots someone has.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Apparently, we can, Riley Grayson.”
That made me stop cold.
The second man spoke next, his voice a bit softer but just as commanding."We decide who drinks and who doesn't Riley"
His eyes were the color of oceanic amber like molten gold flecked with the deepest blue. They seemed to look right through me, as if he could see every secret I tried to hide. He was handsome, sure, but more than that—he carried an aura of confidence that drew attention without trying.
“How?” I stammered, fighting the mix of surprise and fear twisting in my stomach. “How do you know my name? Have we met before?”
Before they could answer, the third man’s voice cut through the haze.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said sharply. His eyes were cold—silver, almost and his expression was deadly serious.
There was something frightening about his calm, like a wolf waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. His handsome features were precise but his gaze held a weight that made the air between us suffocating.
He raised an eyebrow, his voice icy. “Does Ethan know his human wife is wasted in a downtown clubhouse?”
I froze. My mouth dry, mind racing. “How do you know Ethan?” I asked, desperate for answers.
The dark grey-eyed man leaned back against the booth, one arm stretched lazily over the leather seat as he studied me with open amusement.
“We know a lot of things, pretty,” he said smoothly. “Including the fact that Ethan Grayson just made the worst mistake of his life.”
My stomach tightened instantly.
The way he said Ethan’s name wasn’t casual. There was history there. Bad history.
I narrowed my eyes. “Who exactly are you people?”
The amber-eyed one exchanged a glance with the silver-eyed man before looking back at me. “Friends of Ethan.”
Something bitter rose in my throat immediately.
“Then I’m not interested.” I turned toward the bartender again and tapped the counter. “Another tequila.”
The bartender hesitated nervously before glancing toward their table.
The silver-eyed man spoke without even raising his voice.
“Don’t.”
The bartender immediately backed away.
I stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The dark grey-eyed one smirked. “You’ve had enough.”
“And you care because?” I snapped.
“Because drunk people make reckless decisions.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “Funny. Reckless decisions seem to be the theme of my entire day.”
For a second, none of them spoke.
Then the silver-eyed man leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “Your husband cheating on you publicly hours after your son’s funeral qualifies as more than reckless.”
The words hit hard. Too hard.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the bar stool as anger flashed through me again.
“You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
“No?” the amber-eyed one asked quietly. “From where we’re sitting, it looks like Ethan finally became exactly the kind of man we always said he was.”
I looked between them carefully now. There was no sympathy in their faces. No fake pity either. Just sharp interest.
And underneath it… I sensed dislike whenever they mentioned his name. Real dislike.
“You said you’re his friends.”
The dark grey-eyed man laughed softly. “That depends on who’s telling the story.”
The silver-eyed one finally stood, tall and composed in a way that instantly shifted the air around us.
“Sometimes, enemies know you better than friends ever do.”
For the first time all night, my interest was genuinely piqued.
Ethan’s enemies. Maybe they knew things I would very much like to hear.
A small smile curved my lips. Instead of hesitating, I slipped directly into their booth, squeezing into the narrow space between them until I was seated right beside the silver-eyed man.
The movement was bold enough to earn a subtle reaction from all three.
Tilting my head slightly, I narrowed my eyes at them.
“Why don’t you tell me just how much you hate him?” I asked lightly. “Who knows? Maybe we could help each other.”
As I spoke, I casually reached for the glass resting on the table in front of the silver-eyed man, lifting it without hesitation, ready to take a small sip.
But the second my fingers brushed the glass, his hand caught my wrist. Fast. Warm. Firm.
My breath hitched slightly. The booth suddenly felt smaller.
His thumb rested against my pulse as he looked down at me with lazy amusement. “Still trying to steal drinks?”
I should pull away. Instead, I lifted my chin. “You won’t let me order one.”
“Correct."
“Then maybe I’ll take yours.”
Something flickered in his storm-grey eyes then. Surprise. Interest.
The amber-eyed one leaned back slightly like he was enjoying the scene now.
The dark grey-eyed man remained silent, though his attention sharpened.
The silver-eyed man slowly lifted the glass himself and took a deliberate sip without breaking eye contact with me.
Like a challenge.
A wicked thought slipped into my mind.
Ethan’s enemies.
There was no better way to get back at him than an open relationship with all three of them.
Maybe it was time he learned what one really looked like.
Sleeping with one woman? Pathetic. Amateur hour.
The moment the thought settled in my mind, hesitation vanished.
I leaned forward, grabbed the collar of his shirt—and kissed him.
The table went completely silent. For one shocking second, he didn’t move at all.
I could still taste the whiskey on his mouth. Bitter. Warm. Intoxicating.
Just when I thought he was about to push me away, his lips brushed against mine in a slow, deliberate graze. Beneath the calm in his eyes, something far more dangerous stirred.
“You kiss strangers often, Riley?” he asked quietly.
And before I could answer, his mouth crashed back onto mine.
The entire table went silent around us.
I could feel the surprise from the other two men as clearly as the heat of the silver-eyed man’s hand gripping my waist.
Then another hand slid slowly along my lower back.
Not his.
This one was rougher. Hotter than the hand already holding me.
One of the other two.
- Writer
