His fingers bite into my neck, interrupting my breath. “Words, baby. I need words.”
“I understand.”
“You listen so well when you’re being told what to do,” he praises. “Don’t even think of trying to go behind my back, either, Collins. I’ll find out. And you’ll see how trulypossessiveI can be.”
He drops me on the bed, turning toward my closet, grabbing something. “Now that’s settled,” he retorts, returning with a blue dress. “Get dressed. Tonight is the voting for the contenders and I’ll need my lucky charm on my arm.”
I ignore the energy in my gut from his words and touches, focusing on the dress. “I can’t wear this.” It’s a skin-tight blue bodycon dress I use to work the floor atThe Dock.Hardly acceptable for clan matters.
Hayes’ deliciously dark grin dares me to object. “Put it on, baby. This way there’s no mistaking who you are and what you are tome.”
He lifts his shirt over his head, turning toward the shower as I call out to him, exasperated. “I can’t wear this, Hayes. Maeve will see me. It’s not appropriate.”
He shrugs, unaffected. “That’s kind of the point.” Then he winks, closing the bathroom door with a soft click.
Flopping back, I scream into the dress.
I’m not going to survive this.
15
HAYES
The Wharfalways brings up pleasant and horrible memories for me.
This was the place of my salvation, where I escaped the Hell of Roman Senior’s cruelty, and found a real family.
This is where my life began.
It’s also my damnation. This is where I came, night after night, watching as kids I ran with either died or went to prison. The few remaining kids are adults like me, left in this life with no other alternative.
It’s bittersweet. Our freedom became our prison.
Walking in, I straighten my back and paste on my trademark smirk. The room is filled with men, all dressed in expensive suits and doused in powerful cologne. But I only have eyes for the woman on my arm.
Dressed in a vibrant blue dress, Collins clings to me. With long legs and elegant shoulders, Collins is sin in physical form. Everyone stops to admire her beauty.
A tendril of possessiveness curls in my gut. I want to hide her away, keep her beauty just for my eyes. But I don’t. Not tonight. They need to see who I’ve come with even if I want todig my knife into every man’s throat for daring to breathe in her direction.
The only thing that keeps me moving to the bar, is knowing that once this is over, I won’t let Collins go. With my ring on her finger, I’ll hold tight, keep her close, regardless of what she thinks will happen when the Games end.
By then, hopefully, my fiancée will feel the same about me. I mean, she won’t have a choice.
We stop at the bar, Meg, her cousin, slinging beers. Leaning close, my lips brush her ear, and I inhale her Parisian scent. “Easy, viper. You can at least look like you want to be here.”
She pushes her glasses up her nose. She tried to go without—but I forbade it. I love her glasses.
“But I don’t want to be here,” she sasses, pulling down her skirt. “Why am I dressed like this?”
“Trophy, mostly.” I tsk when she jumps as I wrap an arm around her waist. “That won’t do. You need to want me to touch you.”
“Touching is new for me.”Yeah, it is for me too.
I remember when touches meant pain and grief. The loss of innocence. With Collins, it’s like I can’t get enough.
“Don’t do a lot of touching with your fuckboys?” I quip, ignoring the jerk of my cock as her hips settle between them.A perfect fit.
Her green eyes flash, that crash of silver making me smile. “Are we really discussing this? Again?”
