“Shit,” I grunt.
He holds my eyes, backing away, and heads to his crew who just rolled up to make a mess of the Falls tonight. Holding out his hands, he shrugs, and it’s amazing how easily he can pretend to have a one-track mind when he’s actually quite good at multi-tasking.
I watch Weston bulldoze their way into the crowd, taking over the music and amping up the thunder as rain spills on skin and bodies sway together.
I gaze out at the crowd, now so thick you can’t make out individual faces as they hover close, hold each other, and the rain soaks their hair to their faces.
Chaos.
What a perfect opportunity for Hugo to strike. Or Drew.
One breath, then another, and another, and I feel the target branded onto my back, but I weave through the dancers, finding her at the edge, near the sidewalk.
The strap of her dress slides down her arm, and I’m no better than Drew Reeves. Panting after a girl way too young for me.
I knew I smelled her.
I stare at her, she stares at me.
I take a step toward her, and she takes one back.
Did she hear what we said up there? How would she get up there without us seeing? How would she have gotten down so fast?
One thing is likely, though. If she followed me here, then she heard what Farrow and I were talking about back at the house.
I move toward her, and she moves away again, holding my eyes. Dylan and Aro dance a few yards behind her, and I softly jerk my head, telling them to leave.
This is what it would’ve felt like to embrace Green Street. To be the villain and take what I want.
They stop moving, looking to her for direction, but she’s unaware of anything else but me.
Tears fill her eyes, even as she clenches her fists.
I’m not the best choice for her. I’m not a choice at all.
But twenty-thousand breaths and they’re all going to be for her.
Closing the distance, I press my body to hers, holding her waist tightly. When I look over her head again, Dylan and Aro are sinking into the crowd, giving us privacy.
“Who are you?” Quinn chokes out.
Yeah, she heard everything.
Lifting her up by the backs of her thighs, I slip my fingers under her dress, close enough to feel the heat pouring out of her.
She lets out a groan, squeezing my shirt in her fists as rain pours down her arms.
“You’ve got ass at your beck and call, I hear,” she grits out. “Call one ofyour girls.”
I love the flush of anger in her cheeks.
She jerks her chin to the crowd, the two of us just figures in the mass. “They all want you.”
But I want you.
Sliding my fingers into her panties, I rock with her to the music as I lick her mouth, coaxing her fucking tongue out. I don’t care who sees us, who’s watching, or about the cameras all over the street.
Everything is about to end anyway, one way or another.
