Page 102 of War and his Queen

“What?” He doesn’t move his focus from Billy, but then his eyes land on mine and the rage that tightens between us tugs at my chest. “You were gonna anyway. Did you not just threaten to fuck him again? On my lap? After coming all overmydick?”

Ah. So this is what this is about.

“Steady…” The subtle warning from Priest would usually raise my hackles, but all I see is War.

Now I want blood.

Billy moves, lifting his hand to where the hole in the mouth of his mask is. My jaw seizes when his finger disappears, along with my emotionally charged turmoil.

I will not cry from anger or cause a scene. I will just kill him. Yes, I will. Murder. Murder is the answer. Aunty Tillie always says that.

The reverberation of War’s snicker almost matches the baseline of the current song playing.

“Tsk, tsk, Malum. You lit a fire I’m not sure you’ll be able to put out…” Stella teases from somewhere near Priest.

War ignores her, his attention solely back on his target. “You taste that?”

The guy doesn’t answer.

Fingernails bite the palm of my hands, leaving clefts of crescent moons.

He drives his intention home. “That’s the taste of who the fuck she belongs to.”

The resistance against War is obvious when he disappears from my view. It’s admirable but stupid. It’s not what should bother me that does. It’s that he’s implied to everyone that I’m yet another girl he plays with.

“I’m glad I’ll never date a King.” River’s eyes roll, shifting her legs that are slung over the side of her chair.

“I hate you.” Humiliation strangles the words as my eyes prick with unshed tears.

Asshole. It wasn’t enough.It will never be enough for him.

“We know.” His stare holds me in place. “And if you keep it up, Priest’s trophy will have a mate.”

“Why do you care?” I’ve never been a yeller, but my arms fly out to my sides and the anger surging through me has no other outlet. I can’t let him have the last say.

A gentle tug on the leash that’s connected to my collar. “I don’t.”

“Liar!” The whisper leaves behind a residue of ash from my charred voice box.

With one hand tight on the leash, he reaches over to the side with his other, swiping the bottle of liquor. He draws my body close before our fingers weave together. I want to pull away.

I want to fucking punch him. Still might.

But for now, I follow his lead through the sea of people. War and I haven’t had much of a friendship in recent years, but there was one thing that has been constant, and that was how safe I felt around him. It didn’t matter that he was a bad person, or that he had even done anything bad to me.

I loved him. That may have changed after the public humiliation tonight.

Beneath the turmoil of tonight, I can’t hide the way my skin continues to burn and how fast my heart beats.Why the fuck do I like it?

If love is freshly plucked flowers on a Sunday morning and being told how lovely I am, then I don’t want it. I wasn’t made to be handled with care. To me, love is the wilted flowers from last month when most would call them less desirable. It’s being craved to the point of insanity, and the only way to feed the primitive nature of his hunger, is by giving him one simple thing.

Yourself.

His six-foot-four frame towers over almost every guy here, his wide shoulders stretching under his hoodie.

The longer our fingers are laced, the heavier the weight I feel over my chest. Shit. This feels a lot likeI fucked up.

I follow his lead, through the playroom and to the elevator in the corner. It’s giving Little Red Riding Hood if she was in love with the Wolf.

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