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I’d called it a night when she’d swayed in my arms, asking adorably if the room was supposed to spin. The way she’d relaxed in my arms against my chest, dropping every barrier she always seems to keep in place around me, I knew she was well past intoxicated. I also knew I had to get her home before Ilya showed up to the party.
The last thing I wanted to do was go head-to-head over a woman with the head of the Russian Bratva. Even I’m not that crazy, but for her, I thought maybe I’d do it.
That’s why I have to get her gone from my life.
Having Ilya take her wouldn’t do. I needed her gone in a way that I’d never have to see her again. Never hear from her or of her.
I’d gotten her home last night, watching in amusement as she stumbled around the house, blabbering on about how fun my friends were and how lucky I was to have them. As though I don’t already know.
When she’d gone to the kitchen, pulled the cranberry juice from the fridge before plucking the bottle of vodka I keep on hand for Kane, from the pantry, staring at it like she wasn’t sure how to open the twist off cap, I knew I had to shut it down.
She’d whined when I took away her bottle.
I told her to go to bed.
She stomped her foot and folded her arms as glassy eyes met mine with unpracticed defiance.
I threw her over my shoulder, giving her plump little ass a slap for good measure.
Her fists connected with my back.
I laughed.
She cursed me all the way to her room where I threw her onto her bed, tossing a blanket over her before shutting off the light on my way out.
She didn’t make an attempt to escape. I figured she was too drunk to try. The girl is a lightweight.
I’m pretty sure even now where she stands in the crowd, nursing another drink, that she’s still half smashed. I don’t mind, though. She’s kind of cute when she’s tipsy.
Pounding the drums as Cash belts out the song he wrote for Wrenlee—one of our biggest hits along with the song Kane penned for Nevaeh—I revel in the sound of the crowd screaming. The hairs raise over my arms and the drumbeat thunders inside my veins.
Nothing consumes me quite like this, being here like this with my brothers, on stage. It’s life.
Still, even though this is my place, and I’ve always been firmly in my place when I’m here on stage with these men, I find myself doing something I’ve never done before. I look for her. I search the crowd for big blue eyes and pouty lips and dark chocolate waves I want to wrap around my fist.
The thought has my dick growing hard as the song ends. A mist of green and orange lights shine down on the stage, hovering over the crowd. But I find her. She’s standing at the side of the stage, closer to where Kane stands with his guitar. The women surround her, and they’re all dancing as a new song begins.
I play the drums from muscle memory as my eyes stay fixed on her.
Like all deadly things, she’s devastatingly beautiful. When she throws her head back, arms lifting high, hips swaying, I can’t help but clock the way she moves. Every move she makes as her body sways to the music I helped to create.
She’s like a siren, luring me in. Luring me to my demise.
I’d jump into the deep for a chance to possess her.
Shit.
Tearing my eyes from her, I think again how I have to get rid of her, before she becomes even more dangerous. Before she came into my life, I’d thought myself strong of will. Turns out, I’m not so strong, after all.
She’s going to destroy me.
I won’t let her.
Anger overrides my fascination with the little siren now that I’m not watching her, transfixed by her. I pound the drums until sweat coats my flesh. And then I pound more. I give everything I have to this show until Cash sings the last song, and the melody fades into a roar that rises from the crowd for us to feast on, and feast we do.
* * *
“Still trying to get rid of the girl?” Cash shoves his arms into a black leather jacket backstage.
