JAUREGUI MAFIA

Chapter 2

CAMILA

"If I step outside for a minute, can I come back in afterwards?" I ask the man guarding the door to what I think is a side exit. I've been dancing in the club for almost an hour straight without a break. My feet ache, and I'm in dire need of fresh air.

He glances at me, roaming his eyes up and down the length of my body in a violating scrutiny. It's the same look the bouncer gave Dinah and I earlier Asshole, full of unrestrained judgment, contemplating whether or not we're good enough to be here.

To my relief, Asshole nods. "Knock three times when you want to come back in."

As soon as I step outside, the cold New York air relieves the pain building in my temples. It's quieter out here, but I can still hear the music that's playing inside. What was initially hypnotic is now giving me a headache, making me desperate for the fresh air.

I press my back against the brick wall of the building, stopping to take in my surroundings. I'm in an alleyway, but the only entrance and exit is the door I just entered from—another security measure, no doubt. The narrow street has been blocked off on either side by mountainous brick walls. They're painted black, and Olympus's logo is stamped onto the center of each wall in white spray paint.

It's odd being in an alley that's not actually an alley—more like an outdoor room with asphalt for floors and the night sky as a ceiling. I'm grateful for the privacy the surrounding walls give, though, because a dark alley in New York City isn't exactly the safest place for a girl to be alone at night.

I jump in alarm when the doorway opens beside me. "Just another minute or so. I promise," I say, turning to face the bouncer.

Instead, I find the girl from earlier.

Green Eyes.

She's staring at me with amusement in her face, so different from the coldness I witnessed earlier. "I think this will take longer than a minute."

My breath catches in my throat as I take in her words and the dark promises they hold. Her eyes are devouring me, skimming the length of my body and holding me captive. I scare myself when I take an unconscious step in her direction, wanting to be closer to her. To touch her face, her body, wherever she'll let me.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to stop that ridiculous line of thought.

Now I understand what heroines in romance novels are feeling when they meet someone. It's not insta-love. It's insta-lust, and it's so strong and overwhelming, it's easy to confuse the two. Lucky for me, I have my head screwed on tightly enough to realize that what I'm feeling is simply pure, unadulterated lust.

And it needs an outlet.

But this is a woman that followed me into an alleyway. A woman I neither know nor trust.

I level her with an accusatory glare. "Did you follow me out here?"

"Yes." There's no hesitation nor remorse in her voice, just a lingering truth that hangs boldly in the air. She eyes me warily as I take an instinctive step back, pressing myself against the wall again. "Tell me you don't want me here, and I'll leave. No questions asked."

I wonder if she's telling the truth. If she is, it would do wonders to ease my safety concerns. Because the truth is I do want her here. I want this. I want the promises of pleasure her eyes are giving me. I want to kiss those full lips. I want her hands to ravage me. I want everything.

So, I test her.

"I don't want you here," I lie, waiting to see if she'll leave.

She nods her head and turns around, rapping on the door three times—the signal to open up. I'm relieved to learn she was telling the truth. That I can have this night of pleasure without worrying for my safety.