Chapter 17
February
If that skirt goes up any higher, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
It’s been months of limiting myself to just stalking her.
Restricting our interactions. And my control is starting to unravel.
That one touch of her skin at Silas’s wedding and all the lust inside me mutated into something more substantial, sharper, than before.
I was ready to take her, drag her out of Jace’s house and onto the back of my bike, fuck her in that blood red dress, and damn the consequences.
Tonight, there’s something different about her.
Sloane Alexander approaches me, and he looks as hungry as I feel, staring at the curvy red head in the baby blue dress. Men are approaching her, and I feel for him. You can see that she belongs to him, and I can’t figure out why he won’t claim her.
“Stone.” He lifts his glass, but his eyes are still on the freckled redhead.
“If you stare any harder, you’ll pop a blood vessel,” I mutter, sipping the excellent glass of bourbon.
It’s the only thing in this club, besides her, that’s worth staying for.
I must be getting old if the loud music and grinding bodies are getting to me.
The same shit happens when I’m at the clubhouse.
But I sure as fuck didn’t say no when Riggs casually mentioned that he was going to meet up with Jace to go to the club.
I knew what he was doing when he mentioned it last night at the shop.
Cagey bastard. He’s poking a bear by taunting me about Camryn.
Although he has his own motives for coming out tonight.
He’s attracted to the woman Dru calls Jacks.
Not sure why Onyx went along out of boredom, perhaps.
“Is it that noticeable?” At my nod, Alexander sighs, facing me, sipping from his tumbler. “She works at my son’s school. So she thinks we should be off limits.”
“And you don’t?”
“Fuck no. I want her. We met over a year ago before I knew she would be in New York and part of my new damn friend circle. If I had my way, she’d be in my bed right now instead of on a dance floor.
I can’t think about anyone else, but I respect her choice.
And she’s probably right. I have too many complications already.
Shitty ex-wife skulking around for more money. I’m fucked.”
Same, is all I can think. I’m equally fucked.
I look over at Camryn dancing. I watch the seductive way she moves and hate that she’s not dancing for me, alone, only my eyes devouring her.
But I’m not. Every other man in here is looking at her, and it pisses me off.
A younger man, with a polo decorated with tiny lobsters all over it, khaki pants, and loafers, approaches Camryn, and fury engulfs me when he touches her back.
Her naked back. My naked back. The one I imagine bent, her delicate spine visible, as I fuck her from behind.
I could kill him easily. My knife is strapped to my back under my shirt.
One well-placed puncture in the mid-back, left side.
The blade would easily cut through the latissimus dorsi.
His heart rate would increase. His breathing would speed up.
He’d start to sweat and feel weaker. His skin would become clammy and bluish.
He’d feel cold and not understand it. Then the dizziness would start.
And finally, an intense abdominal pain would grip him.
The swelling would last; a final sign that the soft tissues were bleeding out.
Thirty minutes later, he would be dying by my feet on the dirty dance floor.
The fantasy continues with me holding Camryn against my chest, her legs around my waist as I watch his body.
I could slip my hard cock under that short red skirt, slam into her pussy while I watch death take him.
Each of my thrusts, hitting the deepest part of her pussy, getting faster and faster, in time with the beat of whatever song came over the speakers.
I’d hold her close enough that I could whisper in her ear how good she feels while my knife is wet against my back, covered in traces of his blood.
I’d listen to her climax as his body gets colder and colder.
Once she calmed down, I’d take her somewhere safer, then dispose of his body, return to her, and fuck her again.
Unfortunately, it probably wouldn’t happen that way; the men I destroy don’t have people who will miss them.
This yuppie bastard probably has people who would call attention to his death.
Cameras everywhere, and I don’t exactly blend in with most of the people here.
Too big, too tall. My tats are everywhere.
Some of my rage ebbs when Camryn scowls and shrugs off his hands, before turning away from him to rejoin the group of women I’ve come to recognize. They are all here, two of them heavily pregnant, along with Jacqueline, Tatum, and the young woman with the purple glasses and long braid.
“What are you going to do?” Sloane’s voice pulls me out of my black rage.
“Nothing. She’s 24 years old and I’m over 40 with too much baggage, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to kill every motherfucker in here who even dares to approach her.”
“Does Jace know?”
“No.” I scan the crowd, making sure to keep an eye on any other asshole who wants to approach her.
“What is there to tell? I won’t touch her.
” I have to be content with watching her from afar.
Every aspect of her life is on my radar, and a few days ago, when she attempted to drive that vintage piece of shit she called a car, I’d had enough.
The wheels are shitty. The transmission is even shittier.
It was also leaking a ton of oil. I broke into her friend’s indoor garage and replaced gaskets and seals.
I had new tires added and replaced the worn transmission parts.
“I thought I had a mess on my hands,” Sloane says, wincing. He raises his drink in my direction, taking a long sip. “We’re both fucked.”
He leaves me, heading straight for his gorgeous red-headed complication.
They start dancing, and Sloane’s face is filled with lust. The same shit that must be mirrored on mine.
He has the freedom to approach his woman.
I, on the other hand, have to take scraps like watching her from afar, lusting in secret because of the shit in my life.
But I move closer and settle against the wall next to Onyx.
Keeping an eye on her. Her tinkling laughter reaches me, and as much as I hate that I can’t touch her, I like that she’s enjoying herself.
She’s only had two drinks, but lots of water between. She’s also not leaving her drink alone.
Smart woman. Our eyes meet across the sea of people, and I see the moment she steps into the power she has over me and begins to dance. For me.
Good, girl. Keep dancing. Show me you’re mine.