Yeah, we’ll fucking see about that.
It’s almost two hours later when there’s finally movement at the front door.
Thoughts of them up there rolling around in Brianna’s bed had my stomach twisted up in knots, jealousy surging through my veins, slowly poisoning me from the inside out. But even still, I never moved a muscle.
I couldn’t.
But the second they both emerge from the building, I lean forward, my eyes eating up Brianna’s body.
“Fuck me, Siren.”
The black fitted dress is so tight, it shows off every one of her mouth-watering curves. But that’s nothing compared to the fuck-me shoes on her feet.
“Shit,” I hiss, shifting around in my seat and tugging at my jeans to give the big guy a little space to breathe.
With his hand resting on her lower back, Brad guides her toward his pretentious Porsche. My teeth grind, my eyes locked on that one innocent bit of contact he has with her. The desire to hack that limb off with a blunt saw washes through me until I realise that I sound about as deranged as Daemon and I lock it down.
I don’t need any reminders of what a twisted motherfucker my sister is currently in bed with. I just need to focus on the fact he’d protect her until his dying day. And seeing as he seems to have as many lives as a cat, we should be good for a while.
Brianna disappears inside the prick’s car before he closes her door and stalks around the front to the driver’s side with a smug-as-fuck grin on his face.
He can’t have any idea he’s in the middle of a battle here, so he has no reason to believe he’s winning anything other than her company for the night, but he seems to be celebrating nonetheless.
Yeah, let’s see how long that lasts.
I don’t see Brianna’s security detail anywhere, but that doesn’t mean he’s not here.
We pay the best for a reason. There’s every chance that when all of this is over, she won’t even know someone was following her around. Well, aside from me, obviously.
The second his car comes to life, so does mine, and I take off, following him at a distance.
If I get too close then I’ll ruin my chances of a surprise because one look at my Mustang Shelby GT500 and she’ll know exactly who is on her tail.
He cuts through the busy Friday night traffic with ease as the image of his hand resting on the bare skin of Brianna’s thigh exposed by the high split in her dress keeps my blood simmering at dangerous levels.
I’m hardly surprised when he pulls up into an awaiting space outside Twenty-Five.
He’s really going all out tonight.
Thoughts of how Brianna might repay him for spoiling her so thoroughly flicker through my mind as I’m forced to park a little too far down the street. By the time I climb out of my car, they’re being greeted by the maître d’.
Glancing down at my jeans and polo shirt, I take off in the opposite direction.
Twenty-Five might be a Cirillo business, but I’m not sure even I will be allowed inside without adhering to the dress code, it’s that exclusive a place.
In only twenty minutes, I’m marching back down the street decked out in a black Armani shirt and a pair of Dolce and Gabbana dress trousers.
Smoothing the fabric over my stomach, I hold my head high and saunter toward the maître d' with a dangerous smirk playing on my lips.
“Mr. Cirillo,” he greets, which shocks me.
I can’t have been inside this restaurant more than a handful of times. But it’s nice to know that my reputation precedes me.
“What can we do for you this evening, sir?”
“The couple that just came in. Woman in the black dr—”
“Bradley Whitlock?” he interrupts bravely.