17. Mel

Was that really Gleb?

Did he… come for me?

My heart pounds a mile a minute as I stare after the quickly retreating backs. I can scarcely bring myself to believe it. But he looked like Gleb, moved like Gleb. He sure as hell fought like Gleb. What could he possibly be doing in Boston?

The thought releases a geyser of emotion inside me that I'm not prepared to deal with right now. Not here, in the middle of the restaurant, the spotlight still glaring down at me while I stand motionless. Too stunned to process what had just happened.

"What the fuck!" Keoghan's cousin shouts, allowing two more Kelly men to haul him to his feet. His nose is gushing blood, and I think he's missing a few teeth. I'm astonished to see just how much damage Gleb managed to inflict in the few brief moments he had on top of the handsy asshole before the bouncers could get to him.

A sneaking satisfaction pools in my belly to know the prick got what he deserved. Clearly, he didn't take my earlier warning seriously enough.

"Where is that bastard? I want him dead!" the cousin snarls.

Two more Russian bouncers, Andrey and Akim, arrive then to defuse the scene before it can cause any more commotion.

"Come on, Mel," Akim instructs, shielding my body protectively from the customers I now stand in the midst of.

How I got off the table, I don't even remember. It all happened so fast.

And as Andrey and Akim usher us from the dining room, I hear Kitty get on the stage mic.

"Nothing like a little drama to get the blood pumping, am I right?" she quips, capturing the audience's attention and making them laugh. "Let's give a round of applause for our very convincing boxing act!"

Fresh cheers erupt around us, then die into a muffled din as I'm steered into the back room where Keoghan often entertains his guests.

My stomach plummets as I find the boss there, casually reclining on a plush leather couch. His shirt's unbuttoned to about halfway down his sternum, revealing more of his heavily inked skin than I've seen before. With his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, he looks perfectly at ease in his private room.

Several girls wearing form-fitting cocktail dresses surround him. Several men, including his general, his underboss, and a few businessman types I don't recognize, occupy the other seats nearby.

Keoghan's eyebrow cocks as soon as we enter, his steady blue gaze assessing me before moving lazily onto his cousin. Heat radiates from my body as I wonder what he must make of the situation.

Am I in trouble?

"What happened?" he asks after a long silence, that slow, crooked grin making his cheek dimple pop.

His eyes are on me when he asks the question, but his cousin cuts in, stepping forward as he keeps the bridge of his nose firmly pinched between two fingers.

"Some asshole assaulted me! That's what? We were just having some innocent fun, and he came out of nowhere and tackled me!"

"Innocent fun?" Mr. Kelly asks, sitting forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees. The smile vanishes from his face, an intensity taking its place.

And the look he gives me now makes my legs turn to jelly, cold fear gripping my chest. I lick my lips nervously, unsure of what to say. The truth? If I do, will he defend me? Unlikely, considering this is his cousin we're talking about.

More likely, I'll lose my job. Which would put me and Gabby out on the street.

"He interrupted her performance, sir," Akim says, his low voice in such a deep register it sounds more like a grumble than actual speech.

But I've never been more grateful for the bouncer. Because he found a way to thread the needle, so, hopefully, I won't get fired.

Keoghan's eyes flash, and he turns them back to his cousin. "I thought I made it clear you're not to disturb my dancers. At any time. In any fashion."

"It was just?—"

"I'll deal with you later, Vinny. Go get yourself cleaned up."

Keoghan's cousin gives a curt nod, striding from the room with a massive chip on his shoulder.

Then Mr. Kelly's eyes fix on me once again. How can a man be so terrifying with just a look? He's been nothing but calm and respectful around me. But I get the sense that I could be dead with a snap of his fingers. And he wields that power like a sword.

"I cannot allow brawling in my club, Miss O'Mara. I will not allow it."

"Yes, sir," I murmur, my knees shaking in fear.

"Who is this man that assaulted my cousin? You know him?"

"I did know him. At least, I think. He's from my time in New York." I'm still questioning my sanity, though—about whether that could actually have been Gleb I saw. Why, after all these years, would he find me now?

"Is he going to be a problem?" Keoghan scowls, rising from his seat to approach me.

Holy hell, how big is this guy?He must be at least as tall as Gleb, but with the span of his shoulders, he feels like a mountain as he approaches me. Fighting the urge to take a step back, I tip my chin up to hold his gaze.

"N-No," I stutter, and heat rushes to my cheeks. I hate how my voice always gives away my nerves. "No, he won't be a problem," I insist.

Keoghan sighs as he comes to a stand just a few feet away from me, and as he crosses his arms, his muscles bulge dangerously against the rolled fabric of his sleeves. "You're a good worker, Mel. A solid employee. You're easy to get along with. You always show up for your shifts—you're on time, which is a surprisingly difficult trait to find in this business."

I nod, biting my lips as I wait for him to come to whatever conclusion he intends to reach. And as he pauses, my heart hammers nervously against my ribs.

"That's why I'm going to let it go this once, but I better not find you in the middle of a fight again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, perfectly," I breathe.

"I hire my men to protect you, not back-alley brawlers who decide to pummel my cousin for being an idiot."

"Right," I agree, and despite my anxiety, my lips twitch at the casual way he insults Vinny.

A fleeting speculation crosses my mind as I wonder if Keoghan would still call Gleb a back-alley brawler if he saw him fight. Gleb might be fast and scrappy, unlike many of Mr. Kelly's muscle-bound guards, but his movements are so controlled, so graceful, he almost looks like he's dancing when he's in combat.

"Good," Mr. Kelly states, drawing me back to the conversation. "I'll speak to my cousin. It seems he's taken a shine to you. But that doesn't excuse his behavior. I'll make it clear that you're not to be disturbed while you're working."

"Thank you," I murmur, relief flooding my chest. I hadn't actually anticipated I might get help from my boss on the matter.

He nods, his blue eyes dangerously serious. "Mel, whoever this man is that laid his hands on my cousin…?"

"Yes?" My stomach flip-flops nervously as the conversation comes back around to Gleb.

"He better never show his face in my club again. If he does, I'll kill him."

"He won't," I assure Mr. Kelly, though I have no clue how I'm going to ensure that. But I imagine the bouncers will be well aware of Gleb's ban and send him away before he can cause more trouble.

If it really even was Gleb to begin with. I still can't quite trust myself.

Keoghan jerks his chin toward the door, signaling me to leave. "Back to work, then," he says.

Andrey and Akim usher me into the noisy club, shielding me until I reach the door that leads to the back hallway. As the air rushes from my lungs, I can finally trust my relief. My legs feel weak with it as I head toward the dressing room to change.

My mind is spinning, the reality of what just happened crashing down on me now that I'm not scared for my life or livelihood. And as my mind brings to the surface images of the event, I'm almost certain it was Gleb who leaped in to fight for me.

Who else would come flying across a table to my defense?

The sad truth is nobody.

Of course, Keoghan's men are trained to protect me. They wouldn't have let Vinny get too out of hand. But his unwanted touch brought to the surface so many bad memories I've taken years to try and get past.

It probably doesn't help that I haven't let a man touch me since Gleb.

I just don't feel the need for a physical connection with a man.

No one I've met makes my heart race like Gleb did. No one looks at me with that same intense emotion. That deeply protective care and respect. And I don't have time or desire for anything less.

Even after all these years, it takes nothing for my mind to bring a vivid image of Gleb's face to the surface. His angular features and watchful green eyes. I hate that my body aches with loneliness every time I remember him.

Pushing the thought aside, I open the dressing room door, releasing a swell of girly chatter.

"What the hell was that, Mel?" Kitty asks, pouncing on me as soon as I'm through the door.

"I honestly don't know," I admit as she follows me to my station.

Shifting through my outfits, I find the one for my next performance and slip it off the hanger.

"But you knew the guy who started the fight?" she presses.

I frown, feeling like she's missing the key bit of information—that Vinny had his hands all over me and Gleb was making him stop—but I see no point in rehashing that now.

"I don't know. Maybe? I thought I recognized him, but that person doesn't even live in Boston, and I haven't seen him in years, so I was probably wrong."

Kitty humphs, planting her hands on her hips as she watches me change. "What did Mr. Kelly have to say?" she asks after several seconds of silence.

"Just that he doesn't want fighting in his club."

"No shit, Sherlock," she snaps.

"Look, I get it. Okay, Kitty? It's not like I invited the guy here or anything. And it won't happen again. He's banned from Pearl's, so can we all just forget about it and go back to our lives?"

Kitty softens, her hands dropping from her hips. "Yeah, alright. You better hurry up and get ready. You're on again in five."

Nodding, I turn my attention to the mirror so I can fix my hair for the next number…

Trying not to think of Gleb Lycaon.

And where he might be right now.