Jack studied the tiny vial of white powder nestled between the plumb breasts pushing against his chest. They belonged to the nameless woman perched on his lap. The flecks of emerald sparkle on her manicured nails glinted in the muted lights of Cloud Nine, casting a glow on her dark skin.

Those fingers ran the little container along the gold chain wrapped around her slim neck. "Want some?"

One of the first things his uncle drilled into Jack was to never sample the merchandise, never ingest the products his family business manufactured. Study after study, lawsuit after lawsuit drilled home the addictive and destructive nature of opioids. Too bad his uncle hadn't taken his own advice.

"No, sweetheart." The word felt wrong in his mouth. This girl was anything but sweet and not Solana.

His body betrayed him, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as if an electric current passed through him as images of the petite blond invaded his brain. The sight of her butt in that tight black skirt on the plane. The heat of her skin when his fingers skimmed along her thigh. The taste of her mouth, sweet yet spicey, as she'd kissed him in his office.

An ache of want mixed with regret echoed in his near-empty ribcage, where his shrivelled, blackened heart sat. At the memory of her hazel eyes, aflame in desire and disgust. He'd had no idea she was a witness to his altercation with Wolfe in the lobby two days ago, until he heard her gasp. When he'd met those beautiful eyes, the expression of pity he saw there tore at his gut. The last thing he wanted was to look weak, especially in front of her.

For an instant, he'd thought she'd come to resume the activities so rudely interrupted by Wolfe the night before. Or even just to see him. Drawn to him as he was her. The ridiculous notion quickly dashed by adding insult to injury as she stood there, hand outstretched with the real purpose of her visit. It hadn't been about him at all. It had only been about money.

The envelope had remained on the floor until Wolfe snatched it up, demanding to know what it was for. Jack had been too stunned by Solana's order to stay away from her grandmother to answer at first. He didn't understand the jabbing pain in his chest at being told to avoid an old lady he barely knew.

But it did then, and it still did now, here among the low lights, lithe limbs, leather and lechery of Cloud Nine.

The cheap material of his companion's thin dress scratched at his palm as he massaged her back, focusing on her to drive thoughts of Solana from his mind. He'd come to the club tonight to forget about her. To get some much-needed relief. The last week without sex was the longest stretch of celibacy he'd experienced since his marriage.

"But I'll have another of these." He pointed to the empty glass on the table at his side.

Body parts glided against each other as the woman reached across Jack, his hand slipping from her waist to her ass as she leaned forward. What was wrong with him? He should be halfway to bliss with such a luscious bottom to squeeze. Yet there was no response below his belt. No response anywhere.

Her thick hair brushed across his cheek and he turned away at the intimacy, her sickly vanilla scent clogging his nostrils. He concentrated on the green tipped digits that tipped the bottle of scotch and poured a finger full into the crystal tumbler. She brought the refill to his lips. "Better?"

Jack plucked the glass out of her hands and drank. The liquid burned his throat as he drained all the alcohol. "More."

His selection for the night poured another glassful of the amber liquor. This time she held the tumbler away from his grasp, taking a sip, then offering herself to him. Jack crashed his mouth against hers, sucking the remaining scotch from her lips and tongue. Although his favourite brand, from this woman's mouth, the liquor tasted wrong. Sour.

The drinks Solana had poured in the club and on his jet had been the perfect mix of flavours. He increased the pressure of the kiss to distract himself and squeezed the plumb flesh she offered. It didn't work. His other hand snaked out, snatched the glass from the dazed woman and, tearing his mouth from hers, tried to drown out the taste of her with the pure scotch.

"Another." He refused to look at her, concentrating on the low lamp over her shoulder instead. "No games this time."

"Someone's grumpy tonight." Draven lay on the couch to Jack's left, hand up the skirt of the girl straddling him. "Let this one work her magic."

"I'll make it better. Tell me what you want, baby." Her husky voice was like pinpricks in his ear.

Not you. Jack sipped his freshly filled drink, avoiding the pouted lips of his companion. Draven snaked his hand up his girl's body, grabbed her neck and yanked her to his mouth. The brunette gasped at the sudden motion and Jack had to look away, Draven too rough as usual.

Of course, Jack's ex-wife had accused him of being too forceful, in and out of the bedroom. The alcohol in his stomach lurched at the memory of her declaration. During their time together, he'd assumed his insatiable appetite for her body was a turn on. Ali never complained, readily let him take her where and when he wanted. After all, they were married, everything consensual and he'd never hurt her, unless it was part of their game he thought they were playing. The only indication of something wrong happened when she slowly stopped fighting him back, acquiescing to his every need. Without the challenge, he'd lost interest in sleeping with her.

Now he saw things in a new light. Ali Stinson had released a book in support of men and woman suffering from abuse. Not physical abuse, but mental abuse in relationships. Wolfe provided a report on the book, highlighting any potential pitfalls that could splash back on him. True to her word, Ali hadn't included Jack in the narrative. Still, he'd read the book himself, curious as to the inner workings of the woman he'd been married to for years.

Her words shocked him and opened a world and a perspective he hadn't seen. The stories of other women and men who stayed with their partners despite the emotional abuse appalled him. The accused using their children against their partners to make them stay, tearing them down, thinking they were worthless and countless other manipulative tactics made Jack feel embarrassed at best.

The scotch stuck in his throat. He recognized how he'd applied these same techniques in his dealings not only with Ali but with the other people in his life. Part of him wished he could say he changed, yet that would be a lie. He was selfish. He was greedy. He didn't know how to change. Most of all, he certainly wasn't going to admit to anyone he had a problem.

The dark-haired beauties' hand slid in between the folds of his shirt. "I'll take care of you, baby." Her lips sucked on his earlobe. Jack felt nothing.

The amber liquid sloshed as he slammed the empty glass on the table beside him. He tore her hand from his chest and placed it on his cock. "Your lips belong here."

Without any hesitation, she slithered off his lap, settling between his open legs. Deft fingers undid his belt, found the toggle of his zipper, and dragged down. Jack dropped his head back, stared at the tin-stamped ceiling and found himself counting. One. Her nails trailing along his member. Two. Her fingers taking hold. Three. Her moist tongue licking.

It was as if someone had offered him hamburger when he wanted steak. Little Jack felt nothing. Bile hit the back of his throat as the alcohol in his stomach threatened to make its way in the opposite direction. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her away from him. "Can't do this."

"Baby, just relax." Her hand returned to Little Jack.

Jack jump to his feet, stepping away from the woman, tucking himself back into his pants. The room swam as he lurched towards the exit.

"Man, where you going?" Draven's slow drawl followed him.

Jack didn't answer, continuing his direct trajectory out of the club. Outside, the streetlamps shone in his eyes, making him squint at the blaring light. A woman bumped into him and her companion shoved him away. "Watch where you're going." Jack mumbled a lame I'm sorry and stumbled off down the sidewalk.

A sturdy hand griped his elbow, and he almost fell with the effort of pushing it away. He jerked his head in the constraint's direction to find the face of his driver, George.

"The limo's this way, sir." George tugged gently on Jack's arm, and he acquiesced, giving all sense of direction to one of the few men he trusted. After an endless walk, George settled him into the back seat of the limo. The closing door drowned out the sights and sounds of the busy LA street.

"Home, sir?"

A groan escaped Jack's lips. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to that cavernous empty penthouse. Not wanting to be alone, craving companionship was why he'd come to the club in the first place. He dove for the crystal decanter in the wet bar and, not bothering to get a glass, tipped the liquid into his mouth. The alcohol provided a temporary warmth he longed for. The heat of Solana's sun kissed skin mocked him as the memory of their shared kiss in his office floated before him yet again. He wanted a repeat. No, he wanted more.

Jack squeezed the container in his hand, the cut glass design biting into his fingers. A blaze of determination ignited his alcohol infused blood. He always got what he wanted and was about damned time he got it.