My Forbidden Step-Uncle

THE AFFAIR I: Static Night

|CIRCE|

The clock on my dashboard glowed ten p.m. My car’s engine purred softly, a low hum that seemed almost ridiculous against the thumping bass vibrating through the pavement from the club ahead.

The Fuse.

“Alright.” I turned to Elvena, already caught in the neon glow, her eyes wide with that desperate kind of hope I knew too well. “Are we really doing this?”

She threw her head back, groaning like I’d asked her to solve calculus.

“Circe, for the love of God, you’ve been asking that for hours. Yes. We’re doing this, and it’s going to be fine.”

I gave her my longest, most skeptical look. Her pout deepened. Well, it’s not like we haven’t done this before.

“I promise.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Tonight, I will forget George even exists.”

Lie, I thought. But I unbuckled my seatbelt anyway. “Good. Let’s rock this night.”

The bouncers were two mountains of muscle who barely glanced at our IDs before waving us through. Then the club hit me. A wall of pounding bass, fractured strobing lights, and bodies grinding together on the dance floor like they were trying to become one organism. The air hung thick with spilled alcohol and sweat, immediately suffocating.

But we weren’t here for comfort. We were here for distraction.

The bar was our first stop. Elvena and I slipped onto two empty stools, the cool leather biting my bare thighs before quickly warming to my skin.

“Good evening, gorgeous ladies. The usual?” Clyde’s familiar, cheeky grin appeared across the bar.

“You know us.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. “We don’t drink anything else.”

“Two margaritas for the ladies, coming right up.”

While Clyde worked his magic with the shakers, Elvena scanned the crowd like a hawk scenting prey, her gaze darting from one man to the next, assessing, discarding, hunting.

“So.” I half-yelled through the music, taking the drink Clyde slid toward me. “See anyone worth your time?”

Her eyes locked onto the dance floor. I followed her gaze, and my stomach clenched.

“No.” I cut her off before she could speak. “Not him. He looks exactly like George. You’re not doing that to yourself.”

She pouted, shoulders slumping. “Fine. Nothing yet, then.”

“Good.”

Drink after drink, the tight knot in my shoulders loosened. We laughed. We joked. Eventually, the alcohol won, pulling us onto the dance floor where the world dissolved into blurry motion and sound.

My skintight dress crept higher on my thighs with every move. After what felt like an hour, I leaned close to Elvena’s ear. “I need the restroom!”

“Okay, but don’t take forever!” She waved me off, already lost to the music.

I pushed through the crowd. The bathroom offered brief, tinnitus-inducing silence—but when I returned, Elvena was gone.

“Where the hell—” I fished my phone from my purse. Her number went straight to voicemail.

Annoyance flickered through me. I texted: Where the f**k are you?

A minute later: You were taking forever! A cute guy came over. You know we came here to have fun, right?

I groaned, firing back: Are you f*****g kidding me? You left me alone!

I’m so sorry, but he’s too cute to pass up. Plus, didn’t we plan to get laid tonight?

I rolled my eyes, but my fingers moved anyway: Fine. Just be careful. Text me his name, plate number, and a picture so I have something for the police if you go missing.

Got it, Mom! Enjoy yourself—‘cuz I’m going to enjoy mine ;)

Shaking my head, I shoved my phone away and turned toward the bar.

And collided with something solid. A brick wall with a hammering pulse.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders before I could stumble. I looked up and froze.

Even in the strobing lights, his eyes were unmistakable. Blue and sharp. Entirely cold, like glaciers that had never known a thaw.

“Watch where you’re going.”

His voice cut through the music, low, flat, and dripping with condescension.

“I’m sorry.” I blinked, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Clearly.” His gaze swept over me, shoulders, hips, back to my face with the kind of slow assessment that made me feel like merchandise.

Irritation sparked in my chest.

“The dance floor is less congested than the walkways,” he continued, somehow oblivious to—or dismissive of—the glare I was absolutely throwing at him. “Do you dance?”

I stared at him. He bumps into me, blames me, and now orders me to dance?

The strobing lights made it hard to see his features clearly, but what I could make out made my heart stutter anyway. Sharp jawline. Messy dark hair. A magnetic presence that screamed trouble. Danger.

A different kind of danger.

He must have sensed my hesitation—or grown bored of my silence—because he sighed and leaned closer. “I’m Dax. And you are?”

“Circe.” The name left my mouth with more defiance than I intended.

“Care for a dance, Circe?”

Say no, my brain whispered. He’s arrogant. He’s rude. He—

“Sure,” I heard myself say.

The alcohol made the decision. That’s what I told myself.

He led me to the floor, his hand warm and firm around mine. The music seemed to fade as we moved together, his body close and with his touch electric against my skin.

Then his hands found my hips. His grip tightened, possessively, pulling me flush against him.

Heat pooled low in my belly. My body moved instinctively, grinding against the hard ridge of his arousal.

“That’s better.” His breath ghosted hot against my ear. “Your body responds well.”

I only hummed in response, arching my neck, letting my lips graze his jawline.

He growled and I grinned against his skin.

“Let’s get out of here.” He pulled me closer, lips brushing my earlobe. “My car’s waiting.”

Hesitation flickered. Fleeting. This is insane. You don’t know him. You don’t—

Then his thumb traced a slow circle on my hip, and my thoughts scattered.

“Sure,” I breathed.

The next thing I knew, I was in his car, expensive, from what I could register through the alcohol haze. His scent surrounded me, carving into my fuzzy brain. The drive blurred past like a fever dream, lights smearing through the window.

I stole a glance at his profile. Sharp and controlled. A man who was used to getting what he wanted.

What does he want from me?

The question surfaced somewhere beneath the alcohol, but I pushed it down. It didn’t matter. This was one night. Anonymous, reckless and exactly what I needed.

Then he pulled up to a motel on the edge of town. Dingy with a flickering sign. The kind of place designed for anonymity.

Perfect.

Dax killed the engine. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t turn. Just stared at the motel’s neon buzz.

Then he spoke.

“If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to decide.” His voice betrayed nothing as his eyes finally shifted to me. “The door’s unlocked.”

A challenge, a dismissive one. Like he expected me to bolt.

My ego flared, bruised. Does he think I’m a coward?

Heat and anger tangled in my chest. I met his gaze—fearless, or at least determined to seem that way—and let a slow grin spread across my lips.

“I made up my mind before you even dragged me to that dance floor, Dax.”

Lie, a small voice whispered.

I ignored it.