Chapter 8 Mikail #2
She disregards the dangerous vibe I emanate and smiles to my face while curling her arm around his elbow.
She wants to play this game? Fine with fucking me.
My face twists with a surely manic expression reflecting my insides.
I’ll chop the limb off and shove it down his fucking throat.
She must read my mind because she quickly drops her hold. Too fucking late, baby girl.
She clears her throat. “Thomas, this is Mikail, my brother’s best friend.”
“Nice to meet you,” he smiles awkwardly, sensing the tension between us that is hotter than the Sahara in the middle of summer.
I grip his hand. Yanking him to me and away from her, I apply bone-deep pressure. He hisses, and she glares at me, so I reluctantly let go of his precious hand while I look at mine, which draws blood instead of creating music. He’s the better choice, but fuck if I care about that right now.
I get close and whisper in her ear, “We’re leaving.”
I don’t know if it’s the tone or my proximity, but she tenses. Knowing her, she barely restrains herself as well. She’s bound to explode. Good, because so am I.
I tap my foot, getting more impatient by the second. Damn, the angry gaze she’s giving me is rather hot, but likely not what she aims for.
Yet, she doesn’t move or speak.
“Five minutes. Lose him, or I’ll get rid of him.”
I am not bluffing. In my world, my word is taken seriously. I never back down from it. I don’t even care that he’s an innocent bystander.
“Excuse me for one moment,” she tells him sweetly.
That sweet voice alone would have signed his death certificate.
She drags me down the long hallway toward her dressing room and closes the door behind her. Her breath rushes out in deep pants.
“What do you want?” She grits out as if mad for having to talk to me.
“Talking to me would be a start.” My voice sounds composed, controlled, everything I am not.
She waves a hand through the air as if cutting me off. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’re done.”
That word detonates in my ears, leaving destruction behind. No wonder my brain stopped functioning.
I back her against the door, bracing my palms on each side of her face.
Her breath hitches as she blinks at me.
I close my eyes, knowing that if I kiss her now, everything will change. Fuck it, I am about to devour her mouth when she pushes at my chest, unbalancing me.
She shakes her head at me, pain shining in her eyes. “I’ll be out of your way soon.”
Torn apart, I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’ve heard you’ll leave me.”
“You left me first,” she whispers and slips through the door, leaving me behind.
Pulling my elbow back, I thrust my fist into the wall by the door hard enough to splinter my knuckles. But the pain anchors me, and fixing my suit, I get ready to drag her away if I must.
I search for her, but don’t find her anywhere.
Calling her personal guard, Kirill picks up right away.
“Where is she?”
“She’s heading to Debauchery.” He clears his throat, pausing before he says, “With Tristan.”
With that vermin? You want to play, baby girl? Let me show you the rules first.
“Would you like me to take care of him, boss?” Kirill asks.
Not killing that asshole becomes increasingly hard.
“No, make sure nothing happens to her. I’ll be there in a few.”
“Got it, boss.”
I hang up, body pulled taut like a rubber band ready to snap.
Hmm, what are you playing at this time, Dahlia?
You could have taken him anywhere, yet you brought him to my club. Even if I wanted to kill him, I can’t. Even when she has the chance to go for the good guy, she prefers the bad one, loving to drive me insane.
She knows me, so why would she want me to lose my fucking mind.
Because if Tristan touches her, he won’t get out of my club alive.
She wants to torture me? Fine.
But no one else is allowed in our sick game. And I will make it fucking clear tonight.
Not wanting to lose one damn minute, I speed down the streets. Once I park in the underground garage, I step inside the elevator. Straightening my suit jacket, I try to appear more composed than I am.
A ball of pent-up frustration shoots up and down my spine. By the time the elevator opens on the third floor, I am so pumped up, I could take on an army.
I step inside my office, going straight to the bar, knowing I will need a drink for the scene I am about to witness. I want to see how far she will take it and test whether she has the stomach to witness what she caused.
This is the big league, baby girl, and playing with a monster is not for the weak of heart.
I press the button on the wall, and the tinted, bulletproof glass clears.
I want her to see me watching her. Scanning the partygoers, my eyes find her in the corner in a secluded VIP booth.
Perks of being who she is. My men look lost, as if they don’t know what to do and are waiting for instructions while the server takes their orders.
I wonder if she would have been this brave to be near Tristan if my men weren’t making sure no one could touch her. She came here because she knew she’d be safe.
That knowledge warms the ice block that has become my heart.
Palming the glass, I mouth, “You’ll always be safe, baby girl.”
As if she hears me, she looks up, locating me behind the glass. And then she fucking slams her lips onto his.
I crack my neck, growling low. The instant rage raids the last of my sanity.
Her eyes round into doe eyes, blinking.
Acting impulsively, huh?
Bring her to me.
I type to Kirill.
Oh, baby girl, you fucked up.