33
Griffin leaves, slipping back down the way he came. My mind goes over all the information he gave me, Marcus, the Syndicate. There’s so many pieces of this puzzle and no image to follow.
“Can we dance?” Wren asks.
I look over to her, “You want to dance?”
She nods slowly and then shrugs, “I just want to relax a little.”
I glance down at the dancefloor, at the mass of bodies, writhing and pulsing on the dancefloor. I spot my men, posed like security around the club and then glance at the door, at the three guys there searching bags and bodies before they can enter.
She’s safe here.
I tip the remaining dregs of my scotch into my mouth and push up from the couch, taking her hand and gently tugging her up with me.
“You’re dancing?” Ryker laughs.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I jerk my head for two extra guys to follow us down. Ultimately, I could protect her better than any of these but knowing I have back up helps ease the sense of doom currently taking up residence in my stomach.
I don’t scare easily. Fear isn’t an emotion I’m used to, it was trained out of me at a young age. I don’t get scared, people are scared of me. I was taught that the monster under the bed was myself and the only way to survive in a world like mine was to be the villain.
But Wren Valentine terrifies me.
She questions everything, she turns everything I’ve learned on its head and replaces it with shit I’ve never even dreamed about having.
She tells me I’m her nightmare but this little bird has it all wrong.
She’s the nightmare.
Her hand is soft in mine, loose but there and I grip tighter as we descend the stairs and sink into the heaving crowd.
Finding a spot close to the back of the club, I pull her in close to my body, her breasts pushed against my chest as my hand slips around to hold her at the base of her spine. I feel the warmth of her skin soaking through the silk of her dress, her fragrance assaulting my senses.
I move against her, pressing further into her welcoming body. She’s soft where I’m hard, warm where I’m cold. She’s everything I can never be, making her the perfect fit by my side.
My lips tease across hers as we dance and her hands slide up my back, the muscles jumping, welcoming her touch.
With a sea of bodies and lights all around me, all I see is this woman. All I feel is her. She has come in and disrupted my controlled chaos, turning my life into a frenzied blur of images.
She has become my weakness and for that I am doomed.
There’s absolute zero chance I’d let her go. I’ve tasted and I’ve teased, I’ve fucked and loved and cared for her and now she is mine.
Not Valentine’s. Not Griffin’s. Not even the fucking Syndicate’s.
Mine.
My cock grows hard between our bodies, the shaft pressing heavily into the soft curve of her stomach. A stomach I’ll have swollen and round as soon as possible.
She’ll carry my child and she’ll carry my name and she’ll rule this city by my side.
She’s the queen and all these fuckers can bow down to her.
“Lex,” she whimpers against my mouth, the taste of cranberries lingering on her lips.
The air conditioning blows overhead, carrying a cool breeze onto our bodies. She captures my lip between her teeth, biting down hard enough to make it bleed and then she licks away the sting, sliding her hand between our bodies to grip my dick through the material of my pants.