Chapter 6
REGGIE
The music blares from the house down the street, bass rattling the pavement under my boots.
“Shit. I haven’t been to a house party in about twenty years,” Drago mutters beside me.
I turn to look at him. He’s definitely older than me, but he ain’t that old.
“How old are ya?” I ask.
He smirks. “It’s rude to ask a man’s age.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “It’s rude to ask a lady hers. Far as I’m aware, you’ve got a dick. So, how old?”
He rolls his eyes. “Haven’t we got a bride to catch?”
“Not until you spill, old man.”
He punches me in the bicep. “I’m thirty-fucking-eight, dickhead.”
“Still nearly ten years older than me.”
I pull out my phone, checking Bella’s live location. Yep. Disco house.
Drago laughs. “How old is your new wife? She’s not eighteen, right?”
“Nah. Twenty-seven. But she sure as hell behaves like she’s eighteen.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she’s avoiding real life. You don’t know.”
I grunt. We’re at the gates now, flanked by armed guards trying too hard to blend in.
“We’re here under orders of Theo King,” I announce. “I’m Reggie. This is Drago.”
The guard nods and pulls the gates open. “Don’t cause any trouble here.”
I hold up both hands with a grin. “What makes you say that?”
He stares me down. “We know who you are.”
Drago’s gaze flicks between us. “And me? You got a problem with me?”
“We have an issue with anyone new.”
“Noted.” Drago’s tone is flat steel. “We’ll be in and out.”
“Try and make it quiet.”
I nod, and we head for the main doors.
The second they open, the bass slams into me, pounding in my ears. The place is packed wall-to-wall. Bodies everywhere. Sweat, perfume, smoke. A blur of flashing lights and too-loud laughter.
“You wanna take upstairs, I’ll take down?” Drago suggests.
I scan the crowd, alert. We’re not on home turf. No room for mistakes. “We stay together. Ask around.”
We head into the kitchen. One guy’s laughing too hard, clutching a beer. The counter’s lined with coke.
“I’m looking for Bella King. You seen her?” I ask.
He swigs his beer, dismissive. “Nope.”
He’s lying.
I brush my hand across the counter, sending the lines of coke scattering onto the floor. Fuck, this brings back memories of my parents and their stupid fucking house parties.
“What the fuck?” he snaps, lurching upright.
But then he has to look up. At me. And he realizes his mistake.
“I’m not here to cause a scene. Where is she?” My tone is sharp, no room for games.
His gaze cuts to Drago, who looks equally lethal. He grits his teeth. “Upstairs.”
“With?” I press.
“I don’t know… some blonde girl.”
“Thanks.”
Theo sent me a picture of Bella earlier, and fuck me my heart pounded and my cock twitched. She’s a goddess. Like she’s been ripped straight from my fantasies and created just for me. The dark hair. The big eyes. Fuck.
I grab Drago’s arm and lean in. “You stay at the bottom. I’ll take upstairs.”
I shove my way through the crowd, jogging up the stairs. Nerves and anger collide in my gut. This is how I meet my fiancée? In a goddamn home rave in London?
I open doors as I go. By the third, it’s obvious: people come up here to fuck.
The fourth door makes me pause. Something in my chest coils tight.
I push it open quietly.
And there she is. The dark curls I see first.
My breath catches, rage tangling with desire until my fists clench.
Leaning on the doorframe, I watch as my future wife moans against another woman’s lips. She’s fucking devastating. One leg hitched on a chair, dressed pushed up over her hips, while the blonde girl has her fingers buried deep inside her.
My cock aches at the sight. This wasn’t what I expected to stumble across tonight. I was anticipating Bella to put on a performance to avoid coming back with me, maybe even punch me in the face.
But the show she’s giving me? It’s setting fire to every nerve in my body.
Yet, there’s a gnawing in my chest that drowns out the lust.
Bella King is fuckin’ mine.
I’ve never had a problem sharing. In our world, it’s practically a rule. My brother and I built our lives on blood and women, and I’ve never questioned the arrangement.
But watching her like this? For the first time in my life, I’m not even sure I want to share at all. That’s dangerous. That’s unusual. That’s her.
Her moans hitched higher, echoing in the room like a dare, and I can’t stand another second of it. So I clear my throat—loudly.
Her green eyes snap to mine, her mouth dropping open and then curving into a naughty grin.
“Can I help you?” she asks politely, that soft British accent melting straight through me.
I shake my head with a grin. “Yes, Princess. Yes, you can.” My voice stays low, my Irish accent cutting through the air.
She arches a brow, lips curving. “Can it wait? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
Fucking daring me.
I step into the room and kick the door shut behind me. The music outside muffles to a dull throb, leaving only the sound of her ragged breathing. I drag a chair across the floor and drop into it, settling in the corner with my hands clasped on my lap.
I don’t blink. I don’t move. I just watch.
The way her chest rises and falls. The way her lips are swollen and parted. A flush spreading over her throat and cheeks. A blush that wasn’t there before I spoke.
“You’re a watcher? Hmm?” she teases, her voice husky.
I shrug, mouth twitching. “Not usually. I’m more of a doer. My pleasure comes from giving to my woman. But, seeing as I’m here…” I lean back, smirk tugging at my lips. “Continue. Let’s see if I do like to watch.”
I motion at her with one hand, daring her to carry on.