Chapter 17 Everett
Don’t Blame Me, Taylor Swift
My mind is not here.
Not here at this godforsaken party, with these godforsaken people.
Michael Sabini’s low voice drawls out in the background along with the energetic band and gathering of people. He desperately attempts to speak business with me but I just can’t focus. I’m walking through my metaphorical mind forest, settled on Brielle.
Her soft lips.
The curve of her body.
How my fingers twitch beside me; they long to trace her supple skin.
The horrible things I want to do to her .
Calculating the next time until I can next see her.
Maybe I’ll just go to her home after this and wrap my arms around her. Draw her close and begin etching myself into her scars. I shall seep into her soul, all consumed by me until she remembers nothing of her past.
“The next shipment of spirits may be late, alongside the shotguns.” Michael’s voice cuts through my all-consuming thoughts. I’m finally staring at him as his slick smile etches across his face.
His eyebrow raises. “I see that got your attention. I was contemplating how long you were going to disrespect me for. I will not tolerate it.” He places a large cigar within his hands and cuts the end, then begins to light it.
I shoot an icy glare at him. “Is that why my shipments will be late? Because your ego can’t stand not having undivided attention for four minutes like a toddler? Jesus, you’re almost as bad as a fucking Kraut.”
A large funnel of smoke billows in my direction as Michael obnoxiously exhales in my direction.
Before I can retort with a sarcastic expression, my eyes deceive me, for I see a gorgeous woman dressed in a black-and-red sequined flapper dress. The dress hugs her in a seductive fashion. My heart begins to race as I scan her face.
She looks just like Brielle, but I’m hoping it is just a delusion, for she cannot be here.
“Excuse me,” I curtly state and move away from Michael. Kenneth moves in to take charge of the conversation and hopefully talk sense about this shipment dilemma and question the missing merchandise.
Grabbing a glass of whiskey from the waiter crossing me, I down the liquid, never taking my eyes off her.
Her emerald eyes lock onto mine.
Then I move, after my last drop hits my tongue.
Each step pounding with my heartbeat.
Slick malice courses through my veins as silence falls upon the vast room. Nothing else exists.
No music. No corral of voices. As my footsteps march toward her. Fists clenched at my sides.
My nostrils flare as my control wavers.
I stand across from the beauty. Perfectly in my view, no delusion, no deception within my sight. My darling dove is in this gruesome den of sin and gangsters.
For fuck’s sake.
Her emerald eyes look up at me with a mix of fear and eagerness.
“What are you doing here?” I growl between my teeth while keeping my stoic facial expressions, placing my tensed hands within my pockets.
“Why did you keep this party from me? Wanted to keep your girlfriend off my radar?” she retorts with a small feint of passive aggression.
I swallow a chuckle at her increased confidence. I slowly lower my body, catching the hitch in her breath as I whisper in her ear, “I wanted to keep you out of the eyes of my enemies and all to myself.”
Still leaning in toward her, I feel her regain her breath against the side of my neck. I spot Michael’s glance from across the room, his scowl visible from this distance. Clearly Kenneth isn’t providing an engaging conversation.
“I was going to come to your apartment after this bloody gathering, but it appears you couldn’t keep yourself away from me.
Or did you want to defy me and see how I would react?
” I lean back to see the expression on her face, crimson adorning her cheeks.
She appears embarrassed for a split second but regains her stubbornness.
“What if I came here to find another gangster to be a rival suitor?” Her narrowed eyes sparkle with challenge as she folds her arms across her chest. I maintain eye contact as we stand there for a pregnant pause.
Internally I war with myself, denying the temptation peering up—for in my peripheral, I can make out the exaggeration of her curves from the tight brassiere.
I groan.
I raise my eyebrows at her, irritation crawling up my spine.
“So you want to date another gangster?” I tilt my head to the side in question.
“Maybe.” She pulls her shoulders back and stands tall, still stubborn as ever.
“This posturing is adorable, dear, but remember what happened with Dr. Shit Bag?” I call her out then lean in again to whisper into her ear.
“I know you feel the pull. The pull between our bodies. No matter whom you date, you will never rid of me. How do I know this? Because you’ve injected yourself into mine and I’m fucking addicted. ”
Swiftly, before she can make a smart-ass remark, I hoist her over my shoulder as she yelps.
“Put, me, down!” She emphasizes each word by pounding into my back with her fists.
My hand trails down the back of her thigh, fighting the urge to grasp her ass.
“Everett, I swear to God!” Brielle growls at me, her anger thundering with each step I take. Before I can make it halfway out of the vast room, someone dares to grab my arm.
A heavily breathing Biscuit clutches my forearm. “Sir.” He tries to slow his hyperventilating by placing his hands upon his knees. “Sir, Kenneth needs ya. Michael… Michael and him are about to go to blows.”
I cease my pounding steps and stare at the door thirty yards away from me, then sneer, trying to swallow my frustration. “Why can’t he get the situation under control?”
Brielle squirms atop my shoulder and I flex my hold, my hand now grasping her ass. “Biscuit, help me down!” she mutters at him, her hands braced on my lower back. I move to face him, swinging her legs, so Biscuit has to swiftly duck in order to not be kicked in the face .
“Sir.” He peers at me then at Brielle’s dangling body. “Sir, his patience has run thin and now he wants to end the conversation by placing a bullet in Michael’s head.”
I can feel Brielle reaching for Biscuit so I turn the other direction, causing him to duck under her legs again.
“For fuck’s sake,” I state, then, with as much grace as possible, I set Brielle onto the floor. She stands in front of me, a scowl painting her beautiful face. I want to reach out and touch her, to explain what’s going on, but too many people are watching us. I can feel their prying gazes upon us.
Placing either hand on Brielle’s shoulders, I give her a warning as those emerald eyes peer into my soul, questioning me.
“Leave” is all I state. Then I turn to Biscuit and order, “Watch her,” and march away from the most beautiful woman I have ever seen to go deal with a fucking bellend.
For fuck’s sake .