The way she moves, the way she touches him … I know I could do him better, and damn it, he’d fucking love it. That should be me.
Fuck. No, it shouldn’t.
Where the hell do I get off feeling all kinds of entitled to DeAngelis cock? They’re not mine, and while they claim that they own me, I’m sure as hell not about to start spreading my legs for them and becoming their little whore … you know, apart from that one time with Marcus. That was just a moment of weakness that will never happen again, but fuck. This chick just ain’t it. She’s not working her tongue, she’s not using her hands, she’s not giving him anything that he needs, not like I could.
“Hey, bitch,” comes a loud voice, cutting through my foggy mind. “I’m talking to you. Where’s my fucking drink?”
My head whips around to find my pissed-off customer staring at me like he’s picturing just how quickly he could skin me alive and my gaze drops to the empty glass in my hand.
Ahh, shit.
I never took myself as the kind to get so distracted by a big cock and a girl doing it wrong.
“It’s coming,” I snap back at the guy as I get busy filling the glass.
I place it up on the counter and try to remember what the skank next to him had ordered, and when I grab the bottle of vodka and start mixing her drink, a big hand snakes forward and snaps around my wrist, squeezing it so damn tight that I’m certain it will bruise.
A pained gasp pulls from between my lips as the big man yanks me forward, pulling my body toward him as my head snaps back against the tight chains. “You’re fucking pathetic,” he murmurs low, his sick, dark eyes staring into mine and giving everything he’s got to try and intimidate me, but after spending the last few days with the DeAngelis brothers, very little can phase me right now.
Who would have thought that on a night like this, the one thing that has me triggered is not being the bitch down on her knees?
My fist tightens on the glass full of vodka and without thinking, my hand snaps out and I throw the contents at the man. “LET GO OF ME,” I snarl, yanking my arm right back as he fumbles back a step, his eyes pulsating with rage as his woman shrieks beside him.
In one smooth motion, the man catapults himself over the bar and drops down beside me, his hand immediately going to the base of my throat before slamming me up against the back of the bar. Bottles smash and rattle behind me, rocking on the shelf and threatening to fall, and as he leans into me a knife is pressed to my throat, right above the fucked-up choker. “Any last words, bitch?” he snarls, spit spraying over my face.
Well, fuck. This isn’t how I thought this was going to go.
I push against his rock-hard grip as it becomes harder to breathe, yet somehow, I find enough oxygen to mutter the sweet, sweet words of “Fuck you.”
His grip tightens and I feel the blade of his knife digging into my fragile skin as my fingers slip into the top of my thigh-high boots.
A shadow appears at my side, and just as he’s about to slit my throat open for the world to see, the shadow moves in closer and his ferocious gaze snaps to the terrifying man hovering over us. “She’s mine,” Marcus growls, his tone so low that it rumbles right through my chest.
The guy backs up a step, but the restrictive bar only allows him to go so far. “I … I … I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes filled with a crippling fear. The knife drops and clatters to the ground as the unaware partiers continue around us, gyrating to the music and fucking up against tables as their partners pop pills into their mouths.
Fear rattles him, and for a fleeting moment, everything becomes clear.
I’m theirs.
In this room, among these people, I’m the one with the power. If they take DeAngelis property, they’re fucked. If they hurt me, they’re fucked. If they even look at me wrong, they’re fucked.
They can’t touch me, not without consequences.
I pull myself off the wall and the shattered glass of the bottles at my back fall around me, cutting my skin as it goes, but I put myself in front of Marcus, for the first time, stupidly trusting him at my back.
The man looks between us, unable to work out what the fuck is happening here, but honestly, same. This whole situation is fucked up, and for those who know the DeAngelis brothers well, they would know that they don’t often get possessive over a toy.
“She … she …”