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Stupid. Little. Bitch.
Pussy boy was dancing next to her, both of them leaping around to dickhead’s punk rock shit as I weaved my way closer. She didn’t even know I was looming. Didn’t care.
That only made me want her even more.
I was planning on leaping out and grabbing her as soon as she was off that dancefloor, just as soon as that Hawk prick said his goodnight to the crowd, but I didn’t get the chance. No sooner had the stage cleared than pussy boy took hold of Elaine’s hand and raced her through the doors backstage, and the two of them were gone. Gone and out of sight.
No fucking way. I’d missed my grab and take.
I should’ve walked away rather than using my name to clear my route to my prey, but I didn’t. I was straight on after her, slamming into the security bouncers as I pushed my way backstage.
“Get the fuck off me,” I hissed at them, but they didn’t move, just took my arms in theirs and pinned me back against the brickwork.
They should’ve known who I was. They should have seen it in my fucking eyes, but they didn’t. They were fucking fools who fucking didn’t.
“Backstage is off limits,” the one fool grunted, and I lashed out at him, kneeing him hard enough in the groin to watch him fall.
“I’m Lucian fucking Morelli,” I snarled, with my foot on his chest as he squirmed. “I’m Lucian fucking Morelli, and you’ll let me through backstage or regret it for the rest of your sorry life.”
I knew my name would spread. There was no way word of my attendance at this dive wouldn’t make its way uptown as well as downtown, and it was the last thing I needed, shit from my father on top of the shit from my event cancellation. My father was a man of steel and Morelli law; he didn’t suffer fools, not even when those fools were blood related. Especially not when those fools were blood related. Hell help me. Hell save my filthy damn soul. But I didn’t have time for that now.
The doormen weren’t fools enough to challenge me. The guy on the floor kept on squirming, letting out another groan as I planted my boot in his ribs on my way over him. The other guy swung the door backstage wide open, tipping his head down low as I passed.
I paced through, head turning frantically back and forth to find the bitch I was hunting, but I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear shit. No backstage voices, or backstage anything down the corridor ahead of me, there was nothing but a round of empty bottles in the dressing room.
That’s when I heard her laughter – just one small giggle through the rear door to the parking lot, and the sound of a car door slamming shut.
I caught one glimpse of her in the cab as it pulled away. She was sitting in the backseat next to her brutish prick from onstage, with her pussy boy mate and his dick conquest piled in along with them.
Damn it, they had somewhere to be going.
So did I.
I pulled up the tracker, and then I called a fucking cab.
My Constantine bitch didn’t have long left to play with strangers. I was on my way to hunt her down.18Elaine“Remind me, baby girl. What’s your name?” the guy asked me in the backseat.
He was Stephen. Stephen from London. My head was lolling against his shoulder as we drove through the streets.
I conjured up a title.
“I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Marsh.”
“Rebecca Marsh,” he repeated. “I want a piece of your pussy, Rebecca Marsh.”
My drunken mouth smiled.
I looked at him, illuminated by the flashing lights of the city through the windows. He was everything I wanted. Dark and strong. Fierce.
Lucian.
I looked past Stephen from London, and Tristan was all over Blue, both of them hands on and heated. I was jealous. Just like always, I was jealous. I wanted to feel hands on me.
For once in my life, I got them.
Stephen from London lowered his head and kissed my neck. Wet, warm lips that tickled. His hand slipped down my arm, and his fingers pushed their way inside my dress, squeezing. Squeezing my tits nice and hard.
Lucian.
I found my back arching, seeking more. I wanted rougher. I wanted hurt.
I didn’t get it. The cab pulled up outside some house in the middle of a backwater city hovel, and there were lights on inside. Lights and open doors and bass thumping loud.
“House party, let’s rock!” Blue shouted, and both him and Tristan bailed out of the cab.
“Let’s go,” Stephen whispered, and tugged me out by my hand, offering me another swig of vodka as we went. “Can’t wait to show you off at this party, Rebecca,” he told me. “You’re one hot little bitch, you know that?”
