I want to stay here in the lounge and watch her. God, I could watch her all night. I’m already high on the thought. But, I need to get the fuck out of here before my erection becomes noticeable. I haven’t brought her here for a damn peep show, though we do have openings. I brought her here to fuck up her life the way she fucked up mine.
A slow ache spreads through my ribs. “Yeah,” I say quietly, stepping in her direction.
And God help her.
I keep my eyes on my new pet as I walk through the tables, nodding a brief greeting to the guests following every measured step.
The little traitor straightens, swallows, takes a step back. Butstillshe doesn’t remove her fucking gaze.
She either has a damn death wish or she’s brazen as all hell.No onestares at me for this long.
My molars grind hard, my fingers flexing and curling in an agitated manner. I want to grab her, drag her, scream at her, break her into pieces, but then she closes those staggering eyes, shuttering herself behind those carefully bronzed lids.
I keep walking, my heart hammering, trying to wrench itself out of my chest, and I don’t slow until I reach my office and lock the damn door.
A punch bag hangs in the corner, unused until now.
I throw my jacket to the floor and tear through the buttons on my shirt, then I unleash over a decade of pent up aggression on that bag, pounding it over and over and over.
Sweat pours down my face and my muscles burn from the unexpected exertion, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not until I’ve thrashed every fucking demon with her name on it, with ungloved knuckles.
It takes at least twenty minutes of controlled violence to finally feel normal again.
I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower I had installed next to my office, then dress in fresh slacks and a cashmere turtleneck sweater. The offices are cooler than the main lounge and I want to be comfortable, because I’m going to be here for a while.
I lock the door to my office and head down the corridor to the control room—a space filled with screens showing live feeds from all the cameras we’ve installed throughout the club.
The guy on duty sits up straight when I enter. “Evening, sir.”
“Evening,” I clip, distracted. I search across the screens then I find it. The one trained on the host podium.
“Take the rest of the night off,” I say without looking at the guy.
“Oh, um sure. Thanks sir.”
I hear his chair scrape back but I can’t drag my eyes from the screen. She’s laughing now at something Hallie said. It lights up her whole face—no darkness anywhere in her features. That alone is disarming.
I sink into the armchair and settle down. “In fact,” I add. “Take off the next three nights—paid. I’ve got this covered.”
He freezes behind me. He’s right to question if he heard correctly. Monitoring screens is not the job of a don—a club owner. I have far more important things to do. But I don’t want to do them. I want to do this. I want to watch Pfeiffer McAllister become acquainted with my world.
“You’re welcome,” I finish, hoping he gets the message and fucks off.
“O-okay. Thanks boss.”
As soon as the door closes, I let out a long breath.
Finally, I can do exactly as I want for as long as I want to.
So, for the next three nights, I do it.
I watch.
CHAPTER FOUR
Pfeiffer
A week has passedand every single night of that has been owned by Velvet.
