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I stalk after her.
No one dares utter a peep. No one fucking dares to stop me. They already know.
This is between us.
11
SYDNEY
The backroom doorslams shut behind us. Suddenly, the enclosed space couldn’t feel like a worse idea—two people who can’t stand the sight of each other trapped inside a cramped room, fuming to the point of deep, ragged breaths and clenched fists.
I round on Mason, refusing to back down. I don’t give a fuck if he’s the acting prez, or that I’m an ‘outsider.’
The disrespect willnotbe tolerated!
“Who the hell do you think you are, Mason Cutler?” I shout. “Because you damn sure don’t get to bark orders at me—that’s the last time you embarrass me in front of everybody!”
He steps toward me so aggressively, I instinctively take an equal step back, even through my anger.
“I’ll order you around anytime I want. You work for me. You listen to me!” he rants at a volume that drowns me out. He takes another step, forcing me back again ’til I’m bumping into the cases of beer stacked on top of each other. His eyes have darkened so much, they’re no longer a shade of green—in the dim backroom lighting, they almost look black with sheer fury. “If I tell you to do something, you’ll do it! You’ll fucking shut up and listen to me. And if I don’t want you out there giggling at Johnny fucking Flanagan, you’ll do as I say!”
“I was on break. This is a free country. I can do whatever I want in my free time!”
“I SAID NO!” he roars with the ferocity of a lion. He slams his fist into the beer case to the left of me and sends the entire case tumbling to the floor. The cans hiss and explode into a puddle at our feet.
I’ve jumped at the sudden violence—his large fist pummeled into the case with so much aggression it thickens in the air.
My heart’s beating dangerously fast in my chest as I look up into his angry face, his features handsome even in their fury, and I see something I’ve never seen before.
A certain emotion burning in his hard gaze.
Jealousy.
Not just jealousy but… desire?
It only makes my heart beat faster. If at all humanly possible. It’s thumping so hard inside my chest that Mason’s has to hear it.
Neither of us looks away. We’re locked into a prolonged glare as I become acutely aware of how close we’re standing. Of how I’m losing myself in the dark, heated, hate-filled pools that his eyes have become.
“Why do you care?” I ask simply. My tone’s quiet. “Why do you give a fuck, Mason, if I laugh at Johnny’s joke? If I want to be with him? Is that what the problem is?”
He bares his gritted teeth like an animal. “You’re hired as a barmaid. You’re not a fucking club girl. You don’t go around fucking any of the members.”
“But if I do—if I want to be with them—you wouldn’t like it?”
I’m playing with fire. As the taunting words tumble past my lips, I’m aware I’m starting shit I might not be prepared to finish, but I can’t help myself. Mason’s been an asshole from the moment I showed up.
He deserves whatever I dish out.
For a split second, he seems tempted to answer. His mouth moves as if he’s about to speak, then he clamps down on it. He settles for another scalding glare that probably makes grown-ass men weep for their mamas.
But, for me, in the moment, feeling as bold as I do, I scoff and shake my head.
He won’t answer. He can’t admit whatever this is.
What a waste of my time. I’ve had enough of the games.
I move to go around him and walk away. I make it only a step and a half before I’m being gripped by the arm and wrenched back. My balance completely thrown off, I stumble backward with the panicked thought that I’m about to fall on my ass.
