22
Every eye is on her,and it’s fucking unraveling me from the inside out. I haven’t had a second to go to her since she caught me with Melanie in the pool house. That wasn’t supposed to happen—not like that. I needed an outlet, and she was there, offering herself like a quick fix.
But the look on Peyton’s face when she walked in, the devastation carved into her features, it branded me deeper than the climax ever could. For the first time in a long damn time, I felt something sharp pierce through the ice I’ve been living behind.
Now, watching her descend the stairs of my father’s stately mansion, every feral instinct I’ve spent weeks suppressing around her, claws to the surface. The itch to tear the smile off every man in this room, to put bullets in the skulls of every fucker who so much as lets their gaze linger on her, floods me with violence I can barely leash.
She moves like sin dressed in silk. The gown hugs her body like it was poured on, clinging to curves I’ve memorized in shadows, and yet here she is, wearing them like a weapon. Her dress is a deep burgundy, the color of wine, the color of blood. It makes me think of her mouth when she bites back the words shedoesn’t dare speak. The neckline plays at innocence, wide straps skimming over her shoulder like she’s untouched. Innocent. But the way the fabric spills behind her, pooling at her feet, says otherwise.
It screams defiance.
It screams mine.
Peyton is a goddess, and gods don’t walk into rooms like this without setting fires.
I toss back the whiskey, the burn useless against the need ripping me apart. Every sway of her hips taints me, every glance she throws around the ballroom makes my jaw tighten. She doesn’t even realize the power she carries, the storm she’s dragging behind her. Even the women notice. But it is the not-so-subtle stares of the men which has my blood boiling.
Her hair is swept up, sleep and elegant, but those loose tendrils teasing the nape of her neck make my fingers twitch with the urge to wrap them in my fist and tilt her head back where it belongs.
Under me.
She stays close to Pace and Sutton, her wide eyes darting overing the glittering, hollow spectacle my mother has dressed this place in. She smiles tightly when my father greets them. But then she turns.
And then I see it.
The back of the dress.
The plunge is obscene, a daring V slicing low, baring the elegant line of her spine down to the base, silk nestled right above her ass. My vision goes red. Heat roars through me so fiercely it makes me want to fuck her so every man here knows she is mine. It’s a heat that makes me want to break necks. There is too much of her on display. Too much of what’s mine dangling like bait in a shark tank.
I choke back the violence rising in my throat as I watch my father introduce her to the prick Oliver Maine. His eyes crawl down her back ike a fucking disease, his mouth parting, practically drooling. My father says something, introduces them, but all I see is red. The image of gutting him from stem to stern is so vivid I nearly take a step forward before I catch myself.
What the fuck was she thinking, walking in here in that dress?
I put my glass down on the bar and adjust my cufflinks before striding toward Peyton and my father.
“Sutton,” I greet John’s wide with a small nod. Without saying anything else, I slip my hand to the small of Peyton’s back, right above her tight round ass and tug her to my side. My thumb runs along her soft, silky skin making my desire spike ten-fold.
I let my gaze roam her face, which has a subtle glow to it. Just the right amount of make-up to compliment the natural beauty underneath. Leaning down, I press a soft kiss to her temple, the scent of her vanilla innocence filling my lungs.
Fuck.
I’m not right for her. My brother is better suited. He’s less lethal. Tamer. Not groomed to be the head of the family. Not the one with blood on his hands and death in his veins. She’s not going to be able to understand how fast I’ve fallen and possessive I’ve become in a few short interactions.
What she doesn’t know, though, is I’ve been watching her every move. Even when she doesn’t see me, I have eyes on her. Always. Peyton won’t be able to handle the possessive side of me. The one that wants to chain her to my side forever.
Peyton tries to subtly shrug me off. The little minx. It won’t work. Once we talk, she will get over what happened with Melanie and understand there can be nothing between us. Thatdoesn’t mean she isn’t mine to protect. To repair the damage caused by her mother.
But having her would make her a target. I refuse to do that.
I tighten my arm around her, eyeing Oliver with a dark glare. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously until his gaze lowers to the ground, defeated.
Chicken shit.
“Now, Colter.” My father shakes his head, disappointment painting his features. His eyes meet mine. A silent reprimand. “Oliver is a good boy. I don’t see why the two of you can’t get along.”
Because he’s a douche wrapped in Armani.
“Who said we don’t get along.”
