“Damn it!” I said out loud. I flipped through the dials looking for the flash button when I started to see double. I kept pushing the wrong buttons until I finally located the lightning bolt and turned off the flash. But the alcohol had impaired my bodily functions and apparently my fear of getting caught. I gripped the nightstand to keep my balance, took pictures of the room, then slowly crept out opening the door to a different room.
“Priscilla?” I whispered.
The room was dark, I didn’t bother to turn the light on. As I opened another door, I was welcomed with the sound of lips smacking, and a ‘get the hell out of here!’
“Sorry!” I said.
I sneaked a peek into the next room afraid I might find another couple but saw Eli and Dylan. They were arguing also. Wild with curiosity, I stood there with one ear to the door trying to make out what they were fighting about.
“What you did is unforgivable. You knew how I felt,” Eli told Dylan. “But you went behind my back and did it anyway!”
“I had to. She was driving a wedge between us,” Dylan exclaimed. “I love you.” Dylan grabbed Eli by the face and smacked him with a passionate kiss. My eyes widened. They’re lovers? Eli abruptly pulled away.
“You’re incapable of love,” I quickly flinched and turned my back when Eli walked toward the door. He strode right by me without noticing I was there. When I turned back around, I ran into Dylan who eyed me with suspicion.
“Sorry—er—I was looking for the bath—”
“Always looking for the bathroom,” he cut me off. Dylan leaned back against the wall. He was dressed in his signature douche-wear; unbuttoned floral Hawaiian-T that exposed his ripped abs, black skinny jeans. “Always snooping around, listening in on conversations.”
He lit a cigarette, inhaled, then blew the smoke in my face. I coughed. My voice caught in my throat as I searched for a different excuse.
“I—I was actually looking for a place to lay down. Eli gave me waaaaay too many shots.” I chuckled.
“Rooms are for members only,” he said in a nonchalant tone. He took another drag from his cigarette.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“If you’d like to become a member,” he said flicking the cigarette to the carpeted floor then ground it with his leather boot. “I can help you with that.”
I backed into the wall grossed out by Dylan. Was he hitting on me? He stepped closer, then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch made my skin crawl.
“You like to watch, don’t you?” My gut twisted with anxiety. He knew. He knew I was inside the bathroom stall next to his at Stone Mountain.
Dylan inhaled sharply. “You…smell…familiar.”
“I should get back to Milo,” I said slipping out of his grip.
I stumbled back to the main room, squeezing my way through semi-naked girls and tuxedoed men and angels until I found our table and sat down. I took a moment to replay what just happened. Dylan was a pig who needed to be exposed. But how could I tell Dawn when she was head-over-heels for him?
Lounging in front of me, there was a man with one girl on each arm, one was kissing his neck, her leg over his lap, while the other was making out with him.
Wait…this was not my table.
“You look out of place,” the man said. “Are you here with someone?” he asked.
Examining the handsome man closer, he looked dapper in a silk shirt and black slacks that made his bright green eyes pop. His wrist was adorned with an expensive watch, his hair tied into a man bun that accentuated his jawline and high cheekbones. He was definitely an angel.
“Milo,” I said clearing my throat. He suddenly took more interested in me than in the girls who were accompanying him. And by the nasty glares they gave me, they weren’t too happy.
“You must be Alexis,” the man said his eyes full of interest.
Surprised he knew my name, I nodded. His face sparked recognition in my brain, I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t place him.
“I’m Zane,” he said extending a hand to greet mine. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He kissed my hand not taking his eyes off me. The suave personality matched the exterior.
“Same here.” This was Milo’s leader and—the older man I saw Savannah with.
With a snap of his fingers, Zane called over a server. “Bring a bottle of my personal sangria.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’ve already had too much to drink.”
“But I insist. Only the best for my guests.”
The server came back with a black champagne bottle with no label. Zane took a long zip, drinking in the liquid as if it tasted of the sweetest nectar. When he finished, he offered me the bottle. The girls kept an expectant and watchful eye on my every move almost daring me to take the bottle. I took it, feeling the heaviness in my hand. I chugged away without another word. The lush sangria felt refreshing going down my throat compared to the shots I’d taken earlier. It tasted sweet but left a coppery aftertaste.
“That’s a good girl,” Zane said with a wicked smile.
Milo was at our table in no time. He respectively greeted Zane, bowing his head, like a dog obeying his master. “Zane.”
“Ah, Milo”—Zane motioned for him to sit down— “have a drink with us. I was just introducing myself to Alexis.”
The waitress poured a drink to Milo from Zane’s private stash. But Milo didn’t touch it.
“Tell me,” Zane continued. “How old are you, Alexis?”
I looked at Milo, searching for the right answer in his eyes. But he was looking away distracted by his thoughts. Milo’s breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched—he was upset, but he remained calm then his lip curled to a half smile. And just like that, the tension on his face vanished.
Shaking with nerves and afraid I’d get kicked out for being underage, I lied. “Eighteen.”
Zane gave me a polite nod. “And your parents let you go out with Milo?”
I shot Milo a look of embarrassment, but his head was low, still refusing to look at me. “We’re just friends.”
“I hope not for long.” Zane raised an eyebrow. “Do you like him?”
I looked down at my hands, then my lip raised upward a little at the thought. I hoped Milo hadn’t noticed. But Zane did. When my eyes met Zane’s, he looked ecstatic like I’d answered his question with the right answer.
“She’s ready,” Zane told Milo. “You two should dance, enjoy yourselves.”
With a nod, Milo took my hand and swept me off to the dance floor. But he still refused to look at me. What did Zane mean? What was I ready for? The thought quickly zipped away as a sudden dizziness took over. My senses became alert, more heightened. Milo’s touch sent pleasurable waves all over, aching for more. There was an exhilarating rush that spread down my body leaving a tingling sensation behind. My mind was spinning with intense pleasure and joy. It felt like I was immersed in a wonderland of a fantastic dream.
“What’s happening to me, Milo?”
But what he said to me was a blur. The ceiling pulsated alive with firelights, swimming all over me. Closing my eyes, I began to move with the slow, hypnotic music. Milo wrapped his strong arms around my waist as our bodies inched closer together. Whatever this was, felt better than anything I’d ever experienced before. Better than the high from the other night.
What happened next came in short dazed fragments— I was walking through one of the corridors, holding on to Milo’s hand who led the way. Where was he taking me? I didn’t care. Euphoria swept over my body. I’d entered his world, a dark, wickedly fascinating world. I ate the forbidden fruit, and I became addicted. I knew my life would never be the same after this. Slowly, my mind began to slip away into the unknown.
CHAPTER
19
A sliver of light filtered through the door as I struggled to open my eyes. The loud pounding inside my head radiated throughout my skull making it impossible to move. I rubbed my fingers ove
r my temples to ease the tension. The sour remnants of alcohol covered my tongue, my throat still dry and raw from lack of hydration. I slid off the bed feeling the empty pang of nausea inside my stomach, and the desperate need for water. My whole body ached.
Underneath my fingers, I felt the soft silk sheets. I reached for the lamp sitting on the nightstand and found myself inside the bedroom I’d entered the night before.
But I was alone—wrapped in a towel completely naked.
My brain struggled to remember how I got to this point as I shuffled through my memories. How did I get here? Did I—oh no! I jumped out of bed searching for my clothes and found them neatly folded on a chair with a toothbrush on top. Putting them on in a hurry, I washed my face then brushed my teeth in the bathroom inside the room. Using my hand as a comb, I tried to smooth out the knots out of my hair. By the looks of the frizz, I’d taken a shower the night before.
One look in the mirror had my mind spinning. Quick short fragments played back inside my head from the previous night: Milo slowly guided me here…we kissed in this room, hungry and passionate. Then clothes slowly came off one by one. He laid me on the bed then…nothing. Nothing.
Shaking my head in regret, I covered my face in anguish. What did I do? I came here on a mission to find my sister Priscilla, and I failed. Tears threatened to pour out of me any moment, my lip trembled in pure shame. I had to find Milo, I needed answers.
I walked down the corridor with my hands anxiously shaking at my side. My mind continued to wander over the worst possible scenarios, but I had to push my thoughts aside. Semi-nude sleeping bodies laid all over the large room floor, on the VIP couches, on each other. The sound of clinking glasses coming from the bar caught my attention. Milo was standing behind the bar shirtless in a pair of gray joggers that hung so low I could see the upper v-cut of his abs. The sight of him only reinforced my suspicion something happened last night, but it also made my stomach flutter.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth and in a good mood. “Coffee?”
“Water, lots of water.”
I surveyed the room trying my best not to stumble over anyone as I walked over to the bar. I sat on a stool trying to muster up the courage to ask him about last night.
“So,” I began, tapping my fingers on the counter. “What happened last night?”
After a few seconds of painful silence, Milo said, “Things got a little…”—he eyed me seductively— “out of control.”
I knew it. I covered my face to hide my shame.
“Did you see me—did we...?” I stammered unable to get the words out.
A mischievous smile crossed his lips, and his dark eyes twinkled with playfulness.
“Oh my God.” I covered my face again this time petrified.
I heard Milo chuckle. When I removed my hands from my face, I found Milo shaking his head as he poured water from the soda gun into a glass with salt on the rim. He was messing me with. I playfully threw a balled napkin at him turning my face away trying my best not to smile. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“I like the girls I’m with conscious—”
“Of the pleasure you’re inflicting,” I finished. The memory of our first meeting at Eve’s Paradise nightclub flashed back. “I remember.”
There was a brief awkward silence that fell over us as I watched Milo squeeze fresh lime into the cup.
“How did I end up naked?” I finally grew the balls to ask.
“You had a sudden urge to shower after you vomited all over the toilet.” I cringed as he recounted the details. “You fell asleep after.”
“I feel like crap,” I complained.
“Here,” he said sliding the drink. “This will help you.”
“What is it?” I asked examining the contents.
“It’s a hangover drink.”
“Does it have alcohol?”
He chuckled. “It’s club soda with lime.”
I tasted the salt as I took a sip, the bubbles in the soda burned going down my throat easing the rumble inside my stomach.
“Thank you. It helped a little.” I took a glimpse at Milo’s absurdly chiseled abs until I stopped at the line of light-colored hair below his belly button that trailed south of his body. Suddenly, I felt the urge to touch his abs. I have touched them. Last night. The image of my hands sliding down his abs sent an excited flutter back to my stomach.
“What…did we do last night?” I asked shyly.
His smile was mischievous this time. “You don’t remember?”
Looking down at my hands, I took a deep breath as my lips tugged at a smile. Flashbacks of our hot kissing session flooded my memory.
“So…where did you sleep?”
“On the couch.” He took a sip of his coffee as I eyed the couch full of young women partially dressed in lingerie. I straightened up, a mixture of irritation and jealousy ripping through me at the thought of Milo with another girl. I quickly averted my eyes to hide any emotion. But Milo saw right through me.
“That couch.” He motioned with his eyes to the empty couch next to the bar. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“For someone who passionately claims to hate me,” he began, an amused smile creeping onto his lips. “Swears she isn’t the least bit interested in me, you sure are jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” I scoffed. “I don’t care what you do. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything.” Mid-sentence a girl wearing only a bikini bottom strode behind the bar, grabbed Milo’s coffee cup, took a sip then stroked his bare abs with no concern for me.
“Nice,” she said handing back the cup to Milo.
After she left, Milo looked at me from the corner of his eye studying my reaction. He was enjoying my irritation—and how annoyed I suddenly became. My nostrils flared with jealousy as I swallowed hard trying to contain my anger.
“I need to get out of here,” I snapped.
I stormed out of the basement of Eve’s Paradise until I made it to the iron fence. There wasn’t a dial case to buzz the attendant to let me out. I stood there reconsidering my stupid feelings. There was no reason for me to get upset. I was acting like a jealous girlfriend even though I wasn’t even sure if Milo and I were friends. I heard Milo’s motorcycle behind me, but the stubborn in me refused to turn around.
“Let me give you a ride home,” Milo offered. The rhythmic purr of the bike idled. I couldn’t look at him. Not after the immature way I acted.
“Just let me out, I’ll find a way home,” I said.
“I want to make sure you get home safely.” Milo persisted. “Why are you mad?”
Because some stupid random girl touched you. I turned around to face him. “What are you doing with me? I’m not…as pretty as those girls”—I shook my head— “I can’t keep up with your lifestyle.”
“I don’t want someone who can keep up,” he said, face serious.
I struggled to look at him. “Then what do you want?”
“Have I not made it clear,” he stated.
Then be straight forward and tell me what you want. I was tired of playing the guessing game.
“Here,” he said taking out the camera from his pocket. “It fell out of your coat. Don’t worry, I didn’t delete anything.”
My posture turned rigid. I’d forgotten about the camera. I kept my eyes low as I took it. When I finally faced Milo, I expected him to be mad or at least have a look of accusation. It was even worse, he said nothing, there was no trace of emotion on his face. There was no warmth in his smile, no sign he was angry.
“Let’s go,” Milo said.
Without another word or protest, I slid onto the back of Milo’s motorcycle.
☩
Milo headed east of Atlanta to a small town named Harmonville. He cruised through a neighborhood made up of small brick houses where many had additions covered in vinyl siding that didn’t match the original house. We drove past a house that had a stone shrine of the Virgin Mary. We were definitely in a Mexican n
eighborhood. He stopped in front of a two-story cape cod-style home that had seen better days. The driveway was full of cars. An old and worn playground set stood empty of life in the yard, while old coffee cans replaced plant pots.
“What is this place?” I asked handing the helmet to Milo.
“It’s a restaurant.”
“A restaurant? It looks like a regular house.” “I call it Angelita’s Kitchen. Come on.”
The living room was empty of furniture and replaced with plastic tables and chairs. Old photographs of children and family adorned the mantle of the fireplace. Inside the firebox, there were five religious candles with flowers around them. The people inside were of different ethnicities, but mainly Hispanic men wearing construction clothing.
An old woman with graying hair in her fifties came out of the kitchen with a large bowl of soup. When she saw Milo, her eyes lit up like she’d seen an old friend. She placed the bowl on the table, wiped her hands with her apron then cupped Milo’s face and kissed his forehead as if he were her son.
“Mi Milo,” she said in Spanish.
“Es ella,” Milo replied. The woman turned to me, and I was met with the same warmth as Milo.
“Mucho gusto en conocerte, Alexis.” Stunned she knew my name, but not entirely surprised. I merely nodded with a smile then glanced at Milo quizzically.
“Pasen,” she said as she led us to the dining room table adjacent to the kitchen where there were two older women making tortillas from scratch and two younger girls—who looked around my age—preparing food to be served. When we sat down, they all cooed in a cluster whispering among each other and giggling. They knew Milo was an angel, and it was clear they found him handsome by the way they were flirtatiously batting their eyelashes at him.
“So, this is a restaurant only on the weekends?” I asked.
“Yeah, Angela makes the best Mexican food I’ve ever had in my life,” he gushed.
THE TRAGIC + DIVINE, Book 1 Page 18