Through You (The Hidalgo Brothers Book 2)

CLAUDIA

Insomnia is a classy club with modern furniture, sleek decorative accents, and a bar that takes up most of the ground floor. Much like the idiot who owns it, this is a very sophisticated establishment.

Despite the club being full, we manage to move around without bumping into others, which is fantastic, and the opposite to every other club we’ve frequented, where I often find myself crushed by the crowd.

Gin screams in my ear.

“This is too cool! It’s the most exclusive club in the city, I am shook!”

Her happiness is contagious, and I smile as we make our way to the bar. Gin orders two drinks.

“You’re okay, Claudia. He’s not here.”

Artemis has had this place for a while. It was gifted to him when he turned twenty-one. Apolo told me that Artemis put someone he trusts in charge of its operation while he was finishing school, and now that he’s busy running the family business, he just oversees it. I doubt Artemis frequents the place.

Gin makes a toast, and then we take a sip from our drinks.

The flavor is fruity, and the alcohol is strong but bearable.

“What’s this called?”

“It’s an orgasm.”

“You’re fucking with me!”

“Nope,” Gin says, her eyes fixed on something behind me.

Oh my god. Please don’t let it be Artemis.

“It’s him!”

I turn around to get a look at the person she’s screaming about, and I notice a tall blond guy with boyish looks and green eyes. He’s quite attractive but not really my type. He’s coming our way, and I spot another guy walking behind him. This one is taller, with dark hair and piercing black eyes, the kind of guy who intimidates everyone. His face is manly, with strong features. His hair is styled messy and looks sexy. He is definitely my type.

“Gin.” I need to clarify something. “Which one do you like?”

Please say the blond, please make it the blond.

Gin bites her lip. “The blond guy. He gave me the passes.”

He recognizes Gin and comes over.

“Claudia, this is Victor. And Victor, this is Claudia.”

I put my hand out. “It’s a pleasure.”

Gin and Victor start a conversation. I look at the dark-haired guy, but he walks past us and moves farther inside the club. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. I don’t know what I was expecting.

He looks like a runway model, so why should he notice me, looking the way I do?

As we chat with Victor, we find out that he’s in charge of the operation of the club, which means he’s the person Artemis hired. He takes us upstairs to the VIP area, where can you get table service and enjoy the music, and you don’t have to scream to carry a conversation. Victor seems to be trying to impress Gin, and going by how much she’s blushing, I have a feeling it’s working.

To give them more privacy, I tell them I need to go to the restroom. I walk by other VIP tables until I come to a curtained entryway. Curious, I go through. It’s another section of the club, and as I walk by one of the booths, I realize this is where guests come to do god knows what away from prying eyes. I swear I can hear groans and whimpers, so I turn around and head back to where I came from.

Suddenly he’s right in front of me: Mr. Black Eyes.

“Are you lost?”

He’s even more attractive up close.

“No.”

He gives me a quick once-over, checking me from top to toe, until his eyes land on my face.

“You have a gift.”

I furrow my brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“How do you manage to look this good while dressed so ordinarily?”

What the fuck? Is this supposed to be some kind of compliment?

“Uh, thank you?”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to insult your choice of clothes.

I just . . . I wanted to say that you’re very pretty.”

“And you’re even prettier. As fine as they come.”

This is why I prefer not to drink. It gets my hormones going and makes me uninhibited. And I’ve only had one drink.

Mr. Black Eyes throws me a sexy crooked grin, the kind I bet has made many girls fall for him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I curse my mind at this very moment when it flashes back to Artemis’s face. I’m not interested in him, and I’m certain that he doesn’t care much for me either. Anyway, he has a girlfriend. It’s very likely he’s enjoying her company right now. If our relationship is purely professional, why should I let him ruin my personal life?

“Sure,” I reply and follow him out of the private area.

Gin is too occupied to take notice of us when we get back to our table, mainly because she has Victor’s tongue jammed in her throat. Mr. Black Eyes looks at me, amused, and I simply shrug.

He gives me his hand. “Come on, let’s move to another table.”

The drinks keep coming, one after the other. Though Mr. Black Eyes tells me to slow down and take my time with each glass, I stop listening once the alcohol takes over my body and senses. The more I drink, the more I think about the idiot who owns this club.

What game is he playing?

One day he’s about to kiss me and the next he tells me he only wants to keep things strictly professional?

Who does he think he is? Whoever said I wanted anything more than that? What a conceited ass.

Stop it, Claudia. Look at the fine specimen sitting across from you—he looks just like a model. You need to stop thinking about that iceberg. But he’s just so . . . arrrrrgh!

I’m about to take another shot of tequila when Mr. Black Eyes grabs my hand midair. “Hey. Wait, wait, take it easy.”

I put down the drink. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you are. You look a bit restless. I have nothing against angry drinking, but I think you need to pace yourself.”

“Angry drinking?”

“Yeah. You know, drinking in a rage. A friend of mine does it all the time.”

“I’d like to meet this friend of yours, sounds like we have a lot in common.”

“You don’t want to meet him. He’s got a very bad temper.”

He gently takes my hand and inches closer on the L-shaped couch we occupy. “If you need a distraction, there are other alter-natives you could try.”

He’s got my attention. I bite my lower lip and grin. “Which ones, exactly?”

His free hand caresses my cheek. His face is so close to mine I can feel his breath lightly grazing my lips. “I think you know which ones.”

I’m about to kiss him when I hear Gin’s voice.

“Claudia!”

Mr. Black Eyes and I turn to find her standing next to us, her hands on her hips.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Mr. Black Eyes makes me turn to face him. “Your name is Claudia?”

Gin lets out a snort. “You haven’t even learned each other’s names! Agh, Claudia, this is Alex. Alex, this is Claudia.”

Alex looks horrified. He quickly lets go of me.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Alex holds his head. “Please don’t tell me that you’re the Claudia who works at the Hidalgos’ house?”

“Have we met?”

“Shit!” He gets up. “I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be back.”

He leaves without further explanation. Gin takes advantage of the opportunity and sits down next to me.

“I didn’t want to interrupt, but Victor asked me to go to his apartment and I don’t want to abandon you here. We can take you home or give you money for a cab.”

“You can go, don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” I assure her. I knew this was very likely going to happen when we decided to go clubbing.

Gin puts some bills in my hand and gives it a tight squeeze.

“Don’t drink any more and call me when you get home.” She kisses one side of my head and leaves.

And then I’m sitting by myself on the couch, facing a table littered with glasses and a half-full bottle of tequila. I am alone, like always.

Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted?

I’ve fought hard to maintain this solitude, this isolation from everyone. It’s much safer than opening up and being vulnerable, something I’m not good at. Perhaps it’s tied to what I went through as a child. Or maybe I simply want to be alone. I’d rather not be one of those people who blames their parents for the way they turned out. Yes, your childhood shapes some of your personality; however, at the end of the day, we are all human beings capable of facing our issues and doing something about them. Maybe there’s no explanation for it: I am the way I am, and that’s that.

I admire people who can freely express their emotions and are willing to put everything on the line, who expose their vulnerability without much thought or hesitation. I think back to Raquel, our neighbor, the girl involved with Ares, and how easy it is to read her emotions in her expressions and actions. I’m tormented by a memory from a few days ago when Ares asked me to get her out of his bedroom the morning after they spent the night together. When I reached the top of the stairs, I found her there, standing and waiting, with tears rolling down her cheeks. I didn’t have to say anything—she simply nodded, looking resigned. The pain I saw in her eyes was gut-wrenching. It was as if she had heard everything Ares said to me.

How can she let herself be hurt like that? And then pick herself up again?

In my eyes, she’s much braver that I am. She doesn’t put up walls and hide behind them. She wears her heart on her sleeve.

And ends up getting hurt.

But isn’t getting hurt part of life? Sometimes I feel like this safe life of mine is missing something. Do I want to be hurt? Or could it be that I yearn for something different? It’s possible that I’m fed up with the monotony of my day-to-day, and the feeling of emptiness that lingers after flings that are purely for physical satisfaction.

I pour myself another shot of tequila, down it in one gulp, and place the small glass in front of me. Where is Alex? I think I need a good dose of noncommitted connection. No strings attached, no promises or corny proclamations. Just raw chemistry between two people who are physically attracted to each other. Wow, I sound so shallow. Sometimes I surprise myself with my opinions about these sort of things. I’m about to pour a third shot when I begin to wonder if Alex is ever coming back.

I thought we were getting along? What happened? How did he figure out I worked at the Hidalgos’ house?

I throw my head back as I take the next shot. The alcohol burns my throat and stomach. When I bring my head down, I make out the shape of a person now sitting on the couch right across from mine. I put the glass down on the table, and with my head hanging low, decide to confront Alex. But when I raise my eyes, I find Artemis in front of me instead of Alex. I nearly choke on my own saliva.

Artemis is sitting comfortably with arms stretched across the back of the couch. The position opens his suit jacket, giving me a peek of the dark-blue shirt and black tie underneath.

His chestnut-brown hair appears black under this lighting; the same goes for his eyes. As usual, his face, which I’m sure was chiseled by heavenly gods, remains stoic. It’s not fair how damn sexy the scruffy beard looks on him.

I want to ask what he’s doing here but I refrain because I don’t want to sound stupid. After all, he owns this club and can be here whenever he pleases. A waiter approaches the table. “We’ve cleared the place, sir. What would you like to drink?”

Artemis’s voice is husky and makes my heart race. “The usual, and one more of these.” He points to the empty bottle of tequila in front of me.

“Right away, sir.”

Cleared the place? I take a moment to look around and the place does looks empty. The music keeps playing and the DJ remains in his booth, but the rest of the club is deserted. When did it . . . ? Maybe I was too absorbed with my angry drinking, as Alex called it. Artemis stares directly and unabashedly at me.

His eyes are too beautiful. I’ve always found a tenderness in them, which contradicts his present cold appearance.

The waiter returns with a whisky for Artemis and one more bottle of tequila.

“I don’t want anyone to come up here unless I call,” he orders, and I swallow with difficulty.

“Yes, sir.” The waiter makes a quick exit.

Artemis leans over and places the bottle in front of me. “Here you go. Keep drinking.”

“What are you doing?”

Artemis first takes a sip of his drink then places his arms back across the couch.

“Creating a space.”

My breathing hitches, and my mind travels back to distant memories.

“Leave me alone!” I raised my voice and shook Artemis’s hand off. He was trailing me closely as I made my way down the academy halls. He pulled me inside an empty room and shut the door. I was furious when I turned around to look him. “I told you that I . . .”

Artemis hugged me tight against his chest and silenced my protests. “It’s all good,” he whispered as he caressed the back of my head. “Don’t pay attention to those idiots. They aren’t worth your anger.”

He pulled away to grab a couple of chairs and placed them one facing the other. Then he took a seat.

“Come on. Sit.”

He could only smile. He looked so sweet that I gave in and took a seat.

“I’m creating a space.” That wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

When I’d had a bad moment, he kept me company and listened to me rant, complain, and curse about anything and everything I damn pleased.

Now, in the dark, empty club, he’s doing it again. “I’m all ears, this is your space.”

“We’re not children anymore, Artemis.” I’m still shaking off the anger. “This . . .”

I stare at the man sitting in front of me, and though that sweet smile of his is missing, his ability to listen remains.

“I recall you saying that you wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional,” I remind him, while pouring a drink.

“I want a lot of things. But we can’t always get what we want.”

His eyes fix intently on mine, never leaving, not even for a second.

I toss back my drink.

“I don’t need space. We’re not teenagers anymore.”

My reply triggers a slight grin. “We both know that it’s healthy to create space to unload.”

“And why would you want to hold space for me?” I ask. “You change your mind from one day to the next.”

“That complaint is justified,” he admits. “However, it’s evident to me that you could make use of it. The club is empty, you have all the alcohol in the world at your disposition. What else do you need? Think of me as a stranger, someone you just met who will forget tomorrow whatever you share tonight.”

As if I could do that.

Artemis can read between the lines of my silence and arches a brow inquisitively.

“Unless you need to vent about me. In that case, I completely understand if you don’t want to share.”

Bingo.

“Let it go,” I say.

Artemis brings down his arms from where they were resting.

He puts his elbows on his knees and intertwines his hands.

“Let what go?”

“This.” I gesture with my hand, pointing back and forth between us. “Stop being nice to me.”

“Why?” The intensity of his gaze is unbearable. “Are you afraid that I may bring down those walls you’ve put up to protect yourself? I made them crumble once, Claudia. And I can do it again; if I put my mind to it, I can make it happen.”

“We both know how it ended the last time you tried,” I remind him, thinking back to that night on that Fourth of July.

Artemis doesn’t appear upset.

“I’m not an insecure teenager who gives up after his first rejection anymore. I’m a man who knows what he wants, a man who won’t rest until he gets it.”

And what is that supposed to mean?

I clasp my hands in my lap.

“You are also a man with a girlfriend,” I remind him, my heart thumping so hard I can feel it in my throat.

The air between us feels heavy, and the mood is hard to read.

Is it sexual tension? I mean, the way he’s wearing that suit, he looks extremely fuckable. I shake my head. I can’t think of him that way. It’s definitely the alcohol. I stand up, determined to get out of there. I’m not myself, and I can’t be alone with him, especially not after he reminded me of those moments when he would hold space for me. I’ve only taken one step when he speaks.

“Me having a girlfriend is what’s keeping you from being mine?”

My heart is close to jumping out of my chest and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. I don’t dare look at him. What kind of question is that? I turn to face him. He remains seated and looks unbothered, like he’s enjoying all the tranquility in the world.

“I am not an object to be possessed by you. Or anyone else for that matter.”

He gets up from his seat, walks around the small table, and comes to stand in front of me.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. Let me ask you in a different way.” He pauses and I take a step back. “The reason you won’t let me get close to you, why you won’t allow me to”—he extends his hand in an attempt to caress my face, but I lean away—“touch you or show you how well I can fuck you is because I have a girlfriend?”

The crudeness of his statement is infuriating.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“Maybe I’m just not interested in you in that way.”

“You’re lying.”

I say nothing, and he grabs me by the waist and pulls my body against his, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I don’t have a girlfriend anymore, Claudia.”