A man—some kid in a designer shirt—steps up behind her, hands inching toward her hips like he’s entitled to touch her.
My vision tunnels.
She laughs, tossing her hair back, pretending she doesn’t notice. But I see her eyes flick sideways, searching. For me, no matter how much she pretends to hate me, no matter how much venom drips from that sharp little mouth, she knows who she belongs to. She can taunt me, defy me, push until I’m ready to snap, but she won’t let another man lay a finger on her.
I move before the kid even realises what’s about to happen. My hand closes around his wrist, iron-tight, stopping him cold. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Back off.”
He stammers something, but I’m not listening. I lean down until my mouth is at Brooklyn’s ear, close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Her body stiffens, just for a second, then she tilts her head back and smirks, lips curling like she’s not the one trembling. “Why, jealous, Mr Walker?”
I want to drag her out of here. I want to bend her over the nearest table and fuck that smug little smile right off her face.
Instead, I press harder into the boy’s wrist until he yelps and pulls back, disappearing into the crowd. My hand slides dangerously close to Brooklyn’s hip, not quite touching, but claiming all the same.
“Careful,” I growl into her ear. “You’re one more stunt away from me fucking you in front of everyone here just to remind you who owns that body.”
Her laugh is low, wicked. “Maybe I want them to watch.”
My cock twitches, my vision blurs, and for the first time all night, I almost lose it.
Almost.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Because when I take her tonight, it won’t be in front of these people. It’ll be where no one else can hear her scream my name.
And she will.
She’ll scream until her voice breaks.
She slips from my reach, vanishing into the sea of bodies, but she’s not fast enough. Not for me.
Brooklyn thinks she can play this game—teasing me, baiting me, running—but she doesn’t understand. I don’t chase. I hunt.
The crowd swallows her for a moment, lights strobing across her bare legs, the glint of her hair as she spins with Kate. My blood pounds harder with every second she’s out of my sight. My knuckles ache from clenching into fists.
I see her again near the bar, leaning in close to whisper something to Kate, that dress pulling tight across her ass when she bends slightly forward. Every man within ten feet is staring. My chest heaves, heat clawing its way up my spine.
She does it on purpose.
My little rebel. My little brat.
I move through the crowd slowly, deliberately, letting her feel me before she sees me. Every step timed with the thrum of bass,every inch of me wired tight with the need to pin her down and remind her what happens when she tests me.
She sensed me first. I can tell by the way her spine stiffens, her head tilting just enough, eyes darting across the room like she’s not searching for me—but she is.
And when our eyes finally lock, it’s like the whole fucking club disappears.
Her lips part, a flash of breathless defiance, but she doesn’t look away. That’s what kills me. That’s what makes me want to ruin her. She could make this easy—drop her gaze, tuck her chin, pretend she isn’t mine. But she doesn’t. She holds my stare like she’s daring me to come and take what’s already mine.
So I do.
I stalk closer, never breaking eye contact, pushing through the bodies like they don’t exist. Her hand curls tighter around her glass, knuckles white, but she doesn’t move. She waits.
