30
Broadway
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, baby,” I say, standing in front of the long mirror in the hallway, smoothing imaginary creases from my shirt.
Not a good idea is the understatement of the fucking century. Violet’s in the doorway to her room, chewing her bottom lip raw and wriggling her hands like she always does when she’s nervous.
“I’m only ever here or working behind the bar,” she pleads. “I want to do something else. I’m doing fine, aren’t I? You said so. You’ll be there and—” She cuts herself off, eyes widening, disappointment marring her features. “Unless... you don’t want me to come with you.”
I spin abruptly. “Don’t ever think that. I want you with me all the fucking time, Violet. I hate leaving you alone.”
She’s not alone per se.
I’d go insane if I left her here unprotected. The threat’s minimal, but minimal doesn’t mean nonexistent.
Though, considering Blaze’s spies are regularly showing their faces at Scarlett , maybe the threat isn’t so small. And there are still six of the men who touched my girl walking this earth. Given that Tim was bold enough to propose buying Violet from Carter, I can’t rule out the possibility someone else will simply grab her at the earliest opportunity.
It’s doubtful. Not many people are stupid enough, so the theory’s irrational at best. I know that, but there’s always a car containing one of Carter’s lower-ranking soldiers outside the building when I’m not here.
Just in case.
Just so I can do my job without worrying about Violet.
“Then take me with you tonight. Please.” She takes a step closer, placing both palms on my chest. “I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll stay with Hailey—”
“No,” I snap, too harsh, too cruel, and Violet startles, taking a wary step back. “Don’t do that, Violet.” I stalk closer. “You know I won’t hurt you.”
She swallows hard, nodding twice. “I’m sorry... I can’t help my reflexes.”
Lifting her chin, she meets my gaze. She has to crane her neck when I stop a foot away, crowding her personal space.
I’ve been doing it more and more often, getting her used to me being so close in a different context to the make-out bubble we’re in when she visits my bed.
She takes the closeness I initiate well most of the time, but sometimes, when she’s not expecting it, a glitter of fear scrunches her features, driving a six-inch blade straight through my gut.
“You want to come? Fine, but there are rules.”
“Anything.”
“You stay with me , not Hailey. You do as I say. When I’m with Carter in the back office, you don’t move a foot out of the VIP booth. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes. I won’t move, I promise.”
“No dancing unless I’m watching.”
She bobs her head, those violet eyes glowing. “I don’t feel like dancing I just... I don’t want to be alone again.”
My heart squeezes painfully, something bitter taking residence at the back of my throat. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. Get dressed.”
She pulls at the hem of her sweater, a flicker of doubt tainting her features. She marshals it quickly, turning on her heel into her bedroom.
I run a heavy hand down my face as soon as she closes her door behind her. Swallowing hard I shuffle back, leaning against the opposite wall, and listen to her soft footsteps.
The wardrobe doors open then close, the faint ruffle of fabric follows and, two minutes later, she joins me in the hallway. A wave of heat slams into me, disturbing the rhythm of my heart.
I’ve seen her in much skimpier clothing. In fact I see her in her pj’s every night now, but there’s something about her in a dress that grabs me by the throat.
How can she be this fucking beautiful? Unreal.
Cassio was right about one thing... the most unique, most desirable, rarest piece of art cannot compare to Violet.
Her hair tumbles down her arms, white eyelashes wrap her piercing eyes, and a dusty-blue dress accentuates and somehow compliments her pale skin.
She dabbed her lips with a rosy color that matches the flush of her cheeks. She’s in heels. Plain, simple, but the extra few inches work in her favor, accentuating the alluring curve of her hips and making her legs run forever.
“Is this okay?” she asks when my eyes snap back to hers. Her blush deepens, breathing life into her porcelain complexion.
“Perfect,” I admit.
So fucking perfect I’d rather she didn’t come with me. She’ll be looked at, ogled by every man, the same way they ogle her across the bar.
And that makes me restless. Annoyed. So jealous.
She twirls around, beaming from ear to ear, and my heart swells three sizes. “Fuck... kiss me, baby.”
Her eyes widen, betraying that I caught her off guard. I’ve never asked for a kiss, leaving the reins in her hands, but I need those lips on mine right fucking now.
She steps closer, rising on her toes, and I dip my head, claiming that sweet mouth. My hands move to cup her face—an established safe-zone that doesn’t startle her—and I sink in deeper, seizing the opportunity.
My cock reacts immediately, throbbing behind the zipper. With a deep groan, I pull back before the bulge provokes her. “Come on. I can’t be late for the weekly meeting.”
The elevator takes us downstairs, Violet’s heels click along the marble floor of the foyer. A quick nod at the receptionist dispatches the valet to fetch my G Wagon.
While he’s doing that, I take Violet’s hand and lead her across the road toward a Range Rover. The guard on duty tonight rolls down the driver’s side window before I tap my knuckles against it.
“Change of plans,” I tell him. “She’s coming with me. Follow us.”
“Sure, Boss.” He straightens in his seat, turning the key.
Violet’s fingers flex against mine as we head back to where the G Wagon’s already waiting.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“One of Carter’s men.”
Tiny sparkles skitter up my arms when she brushes past me, settling into the passenger seat. “Why is he here?”
The small space is immediately overwhelmed with the scent of her skin and hair. It’s been ingrained in my mind for weeks, but as I take the wheel, her scent’s so potent I can fucking taste the strawberries.
“Someone’s always watching when I leave the penthouse,” I say, starting the engine. “Buckle up.”
The drive to Scarlett only takes fifteen minutes. Everything goes perfectly until I slow the car outside, scanning the queue of partygoers.
Violet visibly stiffens in her seat, that alluring pinkness of her cheeks fading faster than the naked eye can register. And, just as fast, she unbuckles her seatbelt, sliding down to pool under the dashboard.
“What the hell?” I slam on the brakes. “What’s wrong?”
Her shoulders rise and fall fast, every breath audible in the confined space. “Can we... can we use the employee entrance?” she whispers, making herself even smaller.
I scan the crowd outside, wondering who or what got her so frightened. A group of suit-clad men stand to the side, smoking cigars, some faces familiar, some not.
It doesn’t take me long to realize Violet’s noticed someone who hurt her. My eyes drill holes into every face as if I can telepathically summon the one who laid a hand on her.
“Which one?” I ask, my tone brooking no argument, but she doesn’t react, shaking softly. “Violet,” I grit out, that beast I can’t fucking tame pawing the dirt inside my frazzled mind. “Which one touched you?”
Her breathing hitches and her eyes snap to meet my expectant stare. She shakes her head but surrenders before the battle’s even begun. Pulling herself up slowly, she scans the crowd again, stopping on the small group of suits.
She swallows loudly, wringing her fingers, her voice weak when she says, “The bald one.”
Protectiveness like no other detonates beneath my skin when her voice wobbles and breaks. There’s at least fifty yards between her and that man. The G Wagon has bulletproof glass and an armored body... but it doesn’t mean shit, because Violet’s shaking all over. She’s so frightened, her eyes dull and misty, as if she’s reliving every second she spent with that fucker.
“Stay here,” I say, unbuckling my belt.
“Broadway—”
“Stay. Here,” I repeat, flinging the door open.
All I see is red. Rage. Fury like no other. It was easier to control the bloodthirst with Henry and Tim; I hadn’t seen Violet’s reaction to either of them. I didn’t witness the bone-chilling panic seizing her muscles.
My insides crackle, anger scorching my veins, wrath rampaging my system.
I slam the door behind me, stalking my prey.
Every step closer to him is a step further from rationality.
Every time I blink, I see the fear etched into Violet’s features and it makes me that much more unpredictable.
I fucking hum with the need for revenge. The need to break bones and inflict pain. My hand doesn’t move toward the holster. A bullet between his eyes would be too easy. I want to feel the life leave his body. I want to see his eyes dim.
I have no idea how much pain he caused Violet, but I know it was too much. Every ounce of pain she experienced was too fucking much.
Looking at the guy from my car, I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Now I’m a mere ten feet away, I realize who this waste of space is.
Weston Hillberry. One of Rhett’s old acquaintances: mediocre jewelry thief. Carter cut their ties, not interested in dealing bling. To his surprise Weston didn’t hold a grudge and arrived at Scarlett ’s opening bearing gifts and good words. Rumor has it Weston wasn’t bothered about Carter’s snub because he’s got a new thing going with Blaze.
All the more reason to gut the asshole.
“Broadway,” he greets, straightening his spine, concentration faltering when his blue eyes rake over my face. “What’s the matter, man?”
I don’t slow down.
I don’t fucking blink before I’m on him, my hands grasping both sides of his head.
The feeling gunning through me once my fingers sink into his flesh can only be described as inextinguishable power. He gasps, eyes widening, but doesn’t have time to speak. Doesn’t even have time to brace.
The demon inside me takes the reins and with one swift, powerful tug, I snap his neck.
He goes limp, life leaving his eyes as my hands fall away and the corpse folds onto the ground.
The other four men stare in stunned silence. Disbelief colors their faces and they gawk with fearful eyes, unsure whether to flee or grab their guns.
“Broadway,” Liam, the doorman, summons my attention.
He comes closer, crowding in to shield the dead body from the partygoers a few steps away. The dead guy’s friends take the hint, shuffling about to obscure the murder scene.
I suppress a smirk. They’re too fucking stunned to attack so they’re helping us out.
“Should I get Carter?” Liam asks, watching one of the guys gather the corpse and fling it over his shoulder as if he’s helping a friend who had one too many.
I inhale a deep breath, filling my lungs to the brim. “Get the clean-up guys,” I shoot back, eyeing the remaining men. “Enjoy the evening.”