Ivan's POV

I didn't know if I should laugh or not at the little butterfly who didn't know when to flap her wings. She was best at testing my fucking patience, which I frankly didn't have much.

The club was alive in that filthy, pulsing way it always was on nights like this, the bass thumping so hard it rattled your ribs, beats slicing through the haze of sweat and perfume, bodies packed tight and grinding like they were all chasing the same high.

Neon lights bled across skin, ...