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“That isn’t your issue.”
The hell it wasn’t.
“Are you going to let her participate?”
“She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants.”
“She’s mine. No one touches her but me.”
“You don’t get to make that call, Pierce. She does.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“If you want her, I suggest you find a way into the club.”
“Did you forget you revoked my membership?”
“When has rules of any kind stopped you from doing what you wanted?”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re looking for some excuse to shoot me.”
“I don’t need an excuse. What I want is for my sister to be happy. Figure it out, jackass.”
Lucian hung up.
I stared out from my kitchen into the expanse of my living room. A well of possessive agitation churned inside me. Why would Sophia go to Violent Delights without me?
Had she decided to move on? Was she looking to replace me?
I’d assumed we’d crossed some barriers the other night.
Dammit. What was happening right now? I had to get it together.
No, this wasn’t Sophia. Something was driving this.
I would find out what it was.
She was fucking mine. Mine.
* * *
I pulled into the parking lot of Violent Delights, taking a spot near the entrance of the brownstone building. Stepping out, I tossed my keys to one of the attendants. She knew who I was and wouldn’t say anything to me. As far as most people were aware, I was still a member.
What I needed to worry about was the security wall I’d have to pass through to enter Violent Delights. And this barrier was guarded by the managing partner and gatekeeper, Clark Ventana. Lucian may own the place, but nothing happened inside the club without Clark knowing.
We’d been friends at one point, but now that remained to be seen. The incident with Sophia caused a strain between us that seemed to grow wider by the day. I wouldn’t deny that I deserved it.
I’d broken the club’s rules under Ventana’s watch and ignored Sophia’s safeword. Even if I staged the situation to fit a plan, I’d broken my oath as an original club member.
As if waiting for me, I’d barely taken two steps toward the glass doors of the lobby when they opened. In front of me, Clark leaned against a counter with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Positioned behind him was a wall of security guards who somehow managed to seamlessly coordinate their uniform colors with the mahogany walls of the club.
Clark’s frown grew into a sneer as he stood, and his tailored suit gave him more the aura of a hit man than the head of a kink club.
I strode toward him, ready for this confrontation.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Clark asked, standing to his full six-foot-two height.
If he intended to intimidate me with this stance, then he’d failed miserably. We were about the same size in build and height. And we’d mastered hiding the danger we posed to people under our expensive suits.
