That’s new.
So is the way she’s got me hard without even looking my way, and how easily she flipped some switch I didn’t know I had, making me want to pull her out of the lights and noise, not to kill her, but to mark her. Claim her, so no other piece of shit ever thinks of putting his filthy hands where they don’t belong.
I don’t know what the hell she is.
But I know one thing for sure?—
I’ve never been one to like sharing.
The guy?
He’s nothing to her, that much is clear.
Just something she’s using.
And I fucking hate that I’m already counting how long he has before I step in.
The red outfit she has on flashes under the lights, tight as fuck and doing its job. It hugs her everywhere it should. No effort and no fucking shame. It looks darker under the strobes, like fresh blood clinging to her skin.
My eyes stick to her without me even trying. Waist. Hips. Thighs. The way she moves like she knows people are watching and doesn’t give a shit, like she expects it.
Yeah. She’s hot as hell, and she fucking knows it.
But that’s not the part that gets me.
It’s the way she’s acting like nothing happened as she grinds against this guy. Like what she witnessed in the alley was just another part of her night. Like she didn’t look at us, hands coated in little miss trackstars blood, and grin instead of scream. That’s the part that has me all kinds of fuck up.
So I stand there and watch.
She laughs at something the guy behind her says, loud and careless. Her head tipped back like she doesn’t give a single fuck who’s staring. Her pretty little throat’s wide open as her hand drags down her own thighs, slow and lazy, like she’s touching herself just to see who notices.
I fucking notice. My jaw tightens again before I can stop it.
It’s stupid how easy it is to picture my hand there, squeezing her throat while I hold her right where I fucking want her. I can’t help but wonder how fast that laugh would change to a moan if I acted on all the things I want to right now.
Then she feels the weight of my gaze and her eyes suddenly lift.
She clocks the wings first, then the mask. And there it is—that smug sexy little smirk. Like she just proved something. She doesn’t look away. Not even when she leans in and murmurs something in the guy’s ear. Instead, she continues grinding against him, rolling her body like a fucking pornstar while keeping her eyes locked with mine through the mask.
She leans back, whispering some more bullshit in his ear, and whatever she says makes him grin like a dumbass. Fuck.
Then she pulls away from him, still watching me, backs into the crowd, and takes off.
Not panicked or scared like I’m used to, but just fast enough to make sure I chase.
Bet.
I laugh under the mask, already moving.
This girl knows exactly what she’s doing, and fuck me… I really want to see what she does next.
I slip through bodies easily, wings knocking shoulders, bow bouncing against my back. I keep flipping the switchblade open and closed at my side just to feel it, like a nervous habit I never bothered kicking. Someone spills a drink down my spine,someone else shoves into me, high and drunk off whatever toxic shit they have pumping through their veins.
I don’t slow down for either of them, but I lose her when the lights flare and the crowd surges. For about two seconds, I’m fucking annoyed. But then I grin behind the mask.
Because this is the fun part.
I keep moving, trusting my hunter instincts, the direction she went, and the fact that shewantsto be followed. Sure enough, after what feels like hours but was likely no more than a few goddamn minutes, I find her near the back of the warehouse, where the lights are dimmer and the bass feels thicker in your chest. She slows down on purpose this time, backs up until she hits the wall like she’s setting a stage.
