Page 130 of Stranger to Love

By the time the heavy oak doors finally thudded shut and the harsh overhead lights flickered on, the magic vanished, replaced by the grim reality of sticky floors and broken glass. We cleaned in record time, desperate to clock out. My hands were shaking with anticipation; I knew that black Mercedes was idling outside.

"Have fun, Alex," Mia teased as we stepped out into the biting midnight air. "Try not to let her 'discipline' you too hard for giving out free drinks."

The sleek shape of the car waited in the shadows. The door clicked open, and Carrie stepped out into the orange glow of the streetlamp, her long coat fluttering. Her eyes found mine instantly—cold, laser-focused, and cutting through my midnight haze.

I was halfway to her when a hand caught my arm. "Hey, bartender."

I froze. It was the blonde from earlier, swaying slightly. Behind me, I felt Mia go rigid.

"I never got your name," the woman coaxed, sliding her hand up to my shoulder, her fingers dangerously close to the necklace hidden beneath my coat. "And I definitely didn't get to thank you properly for that drink. Your ride can wait five minutes, can't he? Is that your boss?"

"Alex."

Carrie’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. It wasn't loud, but it possessed a clinical authority that struck the street dead silent. She walked toward us, her heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement—a slow, predatory march. Mia immediately took a massive step back.

Carrie stopped three feet away, ignoring the blonde entirely. Her eyes were fixed on mine, dark and unreadable. "Get in the car," she said quietly.

Too drunk to sense the danger, the blonde took a stumbling step forward, cutting off my path and pressing her body flush against mine. "Don't be like that, darling," she slurred against my ear. "I think you and I have much better ways to ring in the New Year."

My heart thrashed violently. I threw my hands up, palms out, desperately trying to create space without touching her back. "No—stop," I rasped, keeping my eyes pinned on Carrie, pleading.

Carrie stood perfectly still, but her gloved fingers flexed. Her jaw was set so tight a muscle leaped in her cheek as her gaze dropped to the woman’s hands resting right over the silver pendant.

The blonde giggled, oblivious. "You smell like vodka and trouble."

"Get. Your hands. Off her."

Carrie’s voice was a low, vibrating growl. It wasn't the voice of an academic; it was the voice of a woman whose property was being touched by a stranger.

The blonde blanched, finally sobered by the sheer coldness of the tone. Carrie stepped into her personal space, looming tall and infinitely terrifying. "She belongs to me. If you so much as breathe in her direction again, I will make sure your New Year begins in a very unpleasant manner. Do you understand?"

The woman scrambled back into the shadows with her friends. Mia was already halfway down the street, practically sprinting away. I was left standing there, my breath hitching.

Carrie turned her gaze back to me. It was burning with a dark, possessive fury. "In the car. Now."

The passenger door slammed shut like a gunshot. Carrie rounded the bonnet, shed her long coat with terrifying efficiency, and slid into the driver's seat. She looked powerful, lethal, and utterly pissed off in her deep red silk blouse and high-waisted trousers.

"Carrie, I swear, I didn't—"

"Not a word, Alex."

I shut my mouth instantly. The silence during the drive to the estate was suffocating. I smelled like cheap vodka and a stranger's perfume, and I knew she could smell it too.

When we pulled into the garage, Carrie killed the engine; with long strides she rounded to my door and opened it. "Out," she said quietly.

I followed her into the house. In total silence, she unzipped my coat, peeled it off my shoulders, and hung it up. She stood tall, smoothing her blouse, her gaze locking onto mine like ice. "Go into the lounge. Sit on the sofa. Do not move until I come in.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I sat ramrod straight on the edge of the cushions, my hands buried in my lap to hide their shaking. Carrie entered, dragging the heavy mahogany coffee table directly in front of me to sit on the edge of it. She set down a glass of peaty whiskey with a sharp clack.

"You’re a flirt, Alex," she said, her voice a low, smooth vibration. "I know how beautiful you are, and I am not naive enough to think other women won't try to claim a piece of what belongs to me."

I opened my mouth, but she lifted a single finger, silencing me.

"However, we had an understanding. You wear my silver. You sleep in my bed. If you allow a stranger to touch your skin while you are under my protection—it is you who pays the price." She reached out, her thumb catching my jaw to force my eyes to hers. "Mommy is very unhappy, Alex. And I think you know exactly what happens when I’m disappointed."

My breath hitched as her hand slid down, tightening around the pendant. "Tell me. Who do you belong to?"