Collin is already moving. “Cyan,” he points, crouching beside the wreck on the floor. “Looks like Jacob’s arm broke when he fell. I’ll lend a hand.”
He reaches down as if to help and with another sickening crack, he shatters Jacob’s other arm.
Jacob lets out another raw, wounded, animalistic sound. His friends freeze in place, horror carved into their faces. Every one of them looks like they’re praying they won’t be next.
Cyan straightens and addresses them. “Your friend seems to have broken both arms when he slipped and fell. He needs medical attention.” His gaze hardens. “Sebastian, and some of my men, will escort you lads to the hospital… because of the fall.” He pauses and lets the statement sink in. “You understand how gracious I’m being; don’t make me regret it.”
They all nod, then two of them scramble to lift Jacob, while the third stammers out apologies, thanking Cyan as if gratitude might save him. Ignoring him, Cyan turns to me, his blue-green eyes narrowing and his jaw hard. I don’t even realize I’ve stepped back until my spine brushes Tasha. Cyan stalks forward and grabs me, yanking me into him. “Thomas’ keys.”
He catches them mid-air, already turning, dragging me with him as the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Every nerve in my body lights up, fear and heat tangling into dangerous, electric excitement. We hit the stairs, pushing through an EMPLOYEES ONLY hallway, and I try to pull my hand free, my jealousy from earlier flaring.
“Don’t fucking test me, Aria, or we’ll have it out right here. I don’t care who the fuck sees.” His voice is rough, like coarse sandpaper as he continues dragging me along. For a split second, I’m tempted to yank my hand back again in protest, yet uncertainty makes me pause.
The prospect of further embarrassment claws at my thoughts, the fear of staff witnessing my… My what, exactly? What is Cyan planning? Knots tighten in my stomach. Did Cyan see my lapse–the way I ground my hips against Jacob?So, what.It was just a dance.
Elana’s taunts intrude, her smug smile, her words slithering back into my head. The image of Cyan tangled with her in sweaty sheets turns my stomach, bile burning my throat. He stops so abruptly I nearly crash into him.
Cyan jams the key into the lock, punches in the code, and yanks the door open, dragging me inside before slamming it shut behind us. The door locks automatically with a decisive click. The air crackles.
My gaze flicks around the space, taking in the opulence: an expansive VIP suite of glass and dark wood, a commanding desk at its center, a sleek bar lining one wall, the club pulsing just beyond the glass like a living thing. I feel it–his eyes on me. “Strip.” The word cuts through the room.
“What?”
“Aria, I said to fucking strip… or I’ll rip your clothes off myself.” His teeth are bared in a grin that chills me to the bone. My arms hang tense at my sides. Cyan stands still, his piercing gaze burning with an intensity that roots me to the spot.
I should refuse. But my fingers move, pulling the blazer off my shoulders, and it pools at my feet. My breath pulses as the memory of the car that day flashes through me and my core moistens despite everything. I bite my lip, my thoughts pushing and pulling at me. Uncertainty gnaws at my insides. Each choice is tantalizing and overwhelming. My fingers move, tugging at my corset and shorts, dropping them to the floor, until I stand before him in only my gold thong. I’m shivering, not from the cold, but from anticipation. Cyan prowls around me, saying nothing. His silence seems to amplify the tension. His footsteps are just as silent. This is what it must feel like being circled in the ocean by a great white. Knowing the shark will attack but knowing you have no clue when. Every walk around he makes is slow and calculated; my tongue seems frozen on the roof of my mouth.
“C-Cyan.” I manage, my tongue thick. “This is why the bachelor doesn’t attend the bachelorette party, or–um–vice versa.” He keeps circling. “It meant nothing,” I rush out. “It was just a dance.”
He stops behind me. “You’re telling me it would be fine for me to have another’s woman ass writhing against me, and it means fuck-all because it’s just dancing, yeah?”
I whirl on him, jealousy detonating. “Fuck you, Cyan. It was just a dance. Unlike you. I’m not fucking someone else while I’m fucking you.”
His brow creases. “What?” He must be pretending.
“Elana,” I snap, the name tasting like poison. “She cornered me in the fucking ladies’ room. She gloated about you. About her.”
His eyelids squeeze shut, then snap open, but it’s not guilt I see in his face. “How much time, Dove?” he says coldly. “Are you going to let others’ slithering words matter more than mine?” I blink.
“Yeah,” he continues, voice sharp as glass. “I fucked her.” Those three words land like a sharp slap in the face. My gaze drops. My chest caves. Breath lodges painfully in my throat.
Just like that, Elana’s victorious smirk wins the moment.
Fifty
“A queen surrendering to her king is fierce and unbreakable. But provoke the monster, and you’ll learn exactly what it means to beg with your mouth full.”–Aria Boschett.
For one terrible second, I convince myself that Cyan is different from the rest. But he isn’t. Another man who made a fool of me.
“Dove.” My nickname on his lips is a whispered caress. “Look at me.”
I do my best to keep from crying as I raise my head. “We went through this before… why don’t you believe me? The last time I fucked Elana was about a week before I met you.”
“What about the night you took her to the mayor’s party?” The way she said it–Cyan being back in her bed just like always. “You expect me to believe you just talked?”
Cyan’s expression darkens, his entire body tightening. “Nothing happened at that party. We were there thirty minutes. Fuck Elana, she’s just spewing lies trying to undermine what we have? That bitch. I’ll make sure she never comes near you again.”
He takes a step closer to me, the heat of his rage translating into an almost tangible presence. I step back. “I’ll say this once more, Dove.” Cyan inclines his head so we’re face-to-face. He leans forward, bites my bottom lip, tugs, then lets it go. “She’s nothing but a pathetic puppet, trying to hold on to something you already own. You should’ve known better than to give her the time of day.”
