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Colt
Mine.
That’s the only word running through my head as I kiss her.
She’s finally mine.
It’s about fucking time.
No more games. No more running. We’re going to do this, and we’re going to do it right from here on out.
Which starts with claiming her in front of our friends.
Easier said than done.
Nash is banging on my bedroom door before I can help Scarlet out of her heels, let alone her dress. We have a set to finish, fans to entertain.
“I’ll just wait right here.” There’s a devious smirk on Scarlet’s face as I force myself to back away from her. She knows she’s tempting me. She’s probably doing it on purpose.
I have to trust that she’s going to be here when the show is over. That when she said she wouldn’t run anymore, she meant it.
“Not coming back downstairs?” I ask, adjusting myself so my dick isn’t pressed directly against my zipper.
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll make myself a little more comfortable.”
There is no way on Earth people aren’t going to notice my erection after that little comment. I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about what I might find when I get back.
Walking away is torture.
But I do it. With the promise of returning as soon as I can.
Which would have happened sooner if a fight hadn’t broken out in the middle of the last song.
Max has Beau pinned on the ground, trying to slam his fist into his face over and over again. Kane and Oliver are trying to break it up while others cheer Max on. Including Brady who seems to be enjoying the show more than he should. Especially when Beau flips Max over and is able to get a few punches of his own in.
Tapping the mic, I attempt to draw everyone’s attention back up to the stage, but it is pointless. Instead, I motion for Nash and Ace to follow me to the laundry room where Max promised he’d hide all the money for us.
A few people acknowledge us as we weave our way through the crowd.
“Great show.”
“Loved that last song.”
Nash is the first to speak up once we’re behind closed doors, the fight still going strong judging by the commentary.
“What the hell, Colt?”
“Why are you making it sound like it was my fault a fight broke out? Plus, it’s not like that hasn’t happened before at one of our shows. Hell, that’s mild in comparison to some of the shit we’ve seen.”
“Just give me my money so I can get the hell out of here,” he states, anger rolling off him in waves.
I have no idea what his problem is, but he’s been an ass most of the night.
Opening the dryer, I pull out the wad of cash Max hid in a sock and divvy it up. It’s a hefty sum for each of us, more than I was anticipating. Max must have let more people in than were on the list.
I’d say it was a bad idea, but he’s the one fighting right now, not the uninvited.
Ace and Nash dip out the back door, leaving their gear for later. When I make it back to the kitchen, most of the crowd has dispersed and Max is leaning against the counter with a bag of ice to the side of his face.
