Once.
Twice.
Heat coils in my chest, tightening until I can barely breathe.
For the first time since meeting him, I let my finger drift across the screen…
...and decline his call.
Chapter Eight
Thebrothersvoicesdissolveinto a low, static hum. My hand drifts to the plushie on the table, fingers sinking deep into its cheap, synthetic fur.
Those damn eyes. Glassy, haunting, and too familiar for comfort.
I shove the little cat into my pocket, feeling its small weight bump against my thigh with each step. It becomes a constant, physical reminder of the woman who’s been living under my skin since she arrived at Coral Cay.
Scanning the room, my neck tightens when I don’t spot my particular brand of chaos. I haven’t been near her enough today. It’s a literal fucking itch in my blood. No matter where we stand, she always shows up. Every damn time. Only my brothers have ever given me that kind of loyalty and getting it from her feels like a debt I can’t begin to repay.
Prowling through the clubhouse, my eyes combing every corner as I walk by each group. Nobody’s seen her. Birdie saidshe left a while ago but didn’t say where or why. A thin wire of unease pulls tight in my chest. I hate not having eyes on her. It’s a damn primal malfunction in my system. If I can’t see her, I can’t protect her. If I can’t protect her, I’m failing at the only thing that matters. Marigold wouldn’t have left without a word. She’s here, creeping in the dark somewhere.
She has to be.
I lean against the bar, the cold sweat of a beer bottle slick in my palm. I wait for the air to shift the way it always does when Marigold is near, but instead, Hoover’s perfume crashes over me, synthetic and fucking desperate, as if demanding attention I shouldn’t give.
“Hey there, handsome. You’re looking a little lonely.” Her finger slithers over the leather of my kutte, dragging down to the metal of my belt buckle. “What do you say I keep you company for a bit?”
I don’t move. Don’t even breathe. My pulse stays flat, uninterested. My lips twist into a smirk that never touches my eyes, a mask I’ve worn too many times. I catch her hand, grip just shy of crushing, and bring her knuckles to my mouth. My teeth graze her skin, a sharp, clinical nip she mistakes for something else, before I press her own fingers to her lips.
“Tempting as it is to let you use this mouth you're so good with to help me forget shit…” I keep my voice easy, unhurried. “...don’t really have the inclination today, darlin’.”
She pulls back, her face twisting. “Because ofher? I don’t get what’s so special about her. She doesn’t even let you touch her. How many times have you come to me to work her out of your system, Tomcat? She’s just a hangaround, taking what she can from the club.” She tries for a flirty tilt of the head, but the smell of her jealousy is rancid as fuck. “I’m right here, baby. Ready to give you whatever you want, whenever you want it. Let me be your person.”
The air in my lungs freezes. Pure, lethal rage hooks beneath my ribs.
I step into her space, slow and sure, tension crackling between us. My hand tangles in her hair, knuckles brushing her scalp. I don’t yank, just tighten, control humming in my veins as her head tips back, throat bared, pulse flickering. I lick up the side of her throat, chuckling with menace when she shivers.
My mouth drifts close to her ear, voice a low, gravelly rumble. “Don’t you realize that if I wanted to be with you, I would? You’re good with your mouth, sweetheart, but that’s the sum of it for me.” I pull back just enough to force her to look into the dead space in my eyes that I’m sure she assumed was filled with hunger for her. “Let me be perfectly clear. You don’t ever fucking speak about Marigold like that again. You do, and I’ll personally make sure you walk out of here without a tongue to wag. Understood?”
She’s frozen, her pupils blown wide. When she doesn’t answer me, I let a growl tear out of my chest, a sound meant for the woods, not the clubhouse bar. “I said, do you fucking understand me?”
Hoover nods, her head bobbing in frantic, jerky bursts. I let go of her hair, the strands slipping from my grip like something rotten I can’t wait to drop.
“As for what’s so special about her? She’s mine. That’s a title you’ll never touch. Don’t come to me again. Don’t speak to me. You see me, you move. Go the long way around. Clear?”
“Perfectly,” Hoover whispers, her voice breaking.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
I drain the beer in one long, bitter pull and slam the glass down, the crack of it ricocheting through the room like a warning shot.
No one dares breathe a fucking word against Goldie. Whether she’s tangled up with me or running wild, I claimed her themoment I laid eyes on her. She just hasn’t figured out yet that in every possible world, she belongs to me.
The itch crawling beneath my skin erupts into a wildfire when Marigold still doesn’t show.
I yank my phone from my pocket, thumb trembling over her name for a heartbeat before I stab at her contact.
The ringtone bores into my skull, relentless and sharp.
