His Kryptonite

Chapter 6

Laila's POV

A line of tequila shots is neatly arranged on the bar counter. I moisten the back of my hand with a lick before sprinkling salt on it. Raising our glasses, Trey's boisterous shout fills the air, and we all synchronize our actions, licking the salt before downing our shots. I wince slightly, then seize a lime wedge and sink my teeth into it.

"Whoa!" I exclaim, excitement bubbling within me. Tonight's night out couldn't have come at a better time, and Trey looks incredibly attractive.

It's a relief because I need to release the pent-up sexual tension in my body after my recent encounter with Michael. The memory of the warmth that surged through me when he grabbed my hair, forcing me to meet his gaze, still lingers, as does the sensation of my nipples hardening at the mere brush against his chest. I despise these thoughts since I hate him, but I can't deny that he's undeniably handsome and hot, even with his piercing brown eyes and icy glares. But now, with Trey here, he serves as the perfect antidote to my frustrations with Michael.

Trey takes my hand and leads me onto the dance floor of the cozy bar. We begin moving in sync as the pulsating beat of "Drunk and Nasty" by EDITKINGS fills the room. Intoxicated and carefree, I lean into Trey, grinding against him without inhibition. His black hands on my waist encourages me to press closer, and I tilt my head, causing my hair to sway dramatically. Trey and I have always enjoyed goofing around and being playful together. And doing other things too...

I know he's always wanted more than these sparse, steamy encounters, but if he only knew. Dating outside of Cosa Nostra would be strike one, dating outside of our culture would be strike two, and frankly, there's no need for a strike three. That would be more than enough for Papà to cut me off, and who knows what would happen to Trey. For his safety, it's better that our relationship remains this way.

After an intense night of dancing, the night is drawing to a close, and Trey offers to give me a ride home, which I gladly accept. We step outside the bar, our spirits high, and make our way cheerfully towards his BMW parked nearby.

As I enter Trey's car, an inexplicable shiver runs down my spine. I look around, feeling suspicious, but I don't notice anything out of the ordinary. I shake off the strange feeling and slide into the passenger seat, trying to dismiss my inherent paranoia from growing up in my world.

Trey starts driving, and we playfully bicker over the music playing on the stereo. When Trey attempts to sing Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" with his high-pitched male tone, I can't help but burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Trey, stop!" I plead, unable to contain the cramping in my stomach caused by all the laughter.

"What? You don't like my voice? Come on, girl. I know I can sing. I can do it all, you know?" he says with a wink, and I playfully roll my eyes.

My gaze becomes fixated on the right side mirror. There's a black car trailing behind us, and for some reason, it feels like it's been there for quite a while. While Trey continues to banter, I only half pay attention to him, growing more and more focused on the car behind us. As I analyze the situation, an uneasy feeling takes hold of me. There aren't many cars on the street at this hour since Trey and I left just before last call. It reminds me of the strange sensation I experienced earlier.

"Hey Trey?" I interrupt his jokes. "Make a right turn here."

Trey's eyes widen in surprise. "Isn't your house in the opposite direction?"

"Just trust me and do it, please?" I implore, my heart racing with impatience.

"Okay, okay," Trey replies, clearly puzzled.