16. Kovu
Anger like I’ve never felt before beats down on me, and I mentally make a list of every person in this place because they have to die. They cannot continue to breathe when they’ve seen my woman look like this.
It’s clear as fucking day to me that she’s scared, uncertain even, but the mask she keeps in place for the rest of the world doesn’t falter.
She shakes her ass like she was made to do it, and if it weren’t for the fact all these assholes were staring at her, I’d be throwing her down on that stage and fucking her so hard she’d still be feeling me in her cunt three days from now.
Unfortunately for us both, Kaos is holding me back, his entire weight pressing into my chest to keep me from plucking my woman off the stage and dragging her out of here.
If it weren’t for the fact his body is vibrating with rage, I’d be reconsidering my decision not to kill him for what he did. But he’s just as pissed as I am, and some of my anger toward him begins to diminish.
Camilla turns again, and she moves her hands up her body, making a show as she leans forward until her tits almost fall out of the ridiculous dress she’s wearing. If I can even call it that.
“Relax,” Kaos murmurs.
“Fuck off,” I snap.
“You losing your shit is exactly what he wants, Kovu. He wants us to retaliate because that proves to everyone here that we had her at the complex and lied about it. We have to remain calm until we see an opportunity to get her out.”
I glare at him, but he’s right. Fuck.
I blow out a breath and force the tension in my shoulders to release.
Camilla meets my eye, and the deep gray does something to settle me, and with those few seconds of eye contact, I realize she’s telling me she’s okay. It sounds fucking bonkers, but I know she’s trying to communicate with me without words.
She looks away, and I glance over at where Crew and Bishop are watching the little show Davenport is putting on for us and notice the same amount of tension in their perfectly-suited bodies.
Usually I’m the clear choice for who is going to lose their shit first, but right now, it’s a wild card.
The song ends, and Camilla moves toward the edge of the stage, her body appearing slightly more relaxed for the first time since she walked up those steps.
“Stop,” Davenport commands, and she pauses, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “Did I tell you that you could stop?”
She opens her mouth to respond but quickly snaps it shut again, instead choosing to silently shake her head. Probably a good choice. My girl has quite the mouth on her, and the last thing we need is for any of us, her included, to escalate an already tense situation.
“Strip,” Davenport says, leaning back in his seat.
Camilla stares at him for long seconds, waiting for the punchline, but when the next song comes on, she looks up at the ceiling as if she’s trying to talk herself into actually going through with this.
But she’s not the only person he’s baiting, and all four of us now have our glares set on the man in question. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and if he thinks his eyes are remaining in their sockets once he sees my little lamb naked, he’s sorely mistaken.