Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 16: The Nocturnal Animal

DAMON

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Two years. It's been two fucking years and that bastard still gets under my skin. He has no respect. For the code, for the rules, for me. I should turn this car around and gouge out his fucking eyeballs but Vee would ban me if I laid a hand on one of her precious platinum members. It's not illegal to look, Damon. I've heard that one too many times.

My knuckles pale. That fucker wasn't just looking, he was fantasizing, he was stripping her clothes, imagining all the filthy things he could do to her body. I shouldn't have brought her here. Not yet. Not when our foundation is still so shaky, so new. What an idiot. I thought he was back in London. I thought he left for good this time. But he's back. And now he's seen her. How he has a new target. Now he'll—

"Damon!" I swerve between lanes, barely dodging a passing sedan. I blink, eyes adjusting back on the road. Shit. I glance over at Emery's as she holds her chest. "What the fuck! Pay attention! Jesus..."

"I am," I grumble, my gut stirring from flashbacks of the accident. "He came out of nowhere."

In my peripheral, I can see Emery shaking her head. "Maybe you should pull over. Clearly, you're not in the right mindset to drive right now."

"I'm fine," I fume, regripping the steering wheel.

"He really bothers you, doesn't he?"

"Who?" I ask, inwardly raging at her acute observation.

She sighs. "Really? Who? Jesus, Damon...I don't know, maybe the 6 foot 3 asshole who couldn't stop staring at my tits?"

My lips briefly curve up. "Asshole?"

"Yes, apparently you all like to congregate together." My smile zaps away. Emery releases a chuckle. "Wow, you really don't like him, huh?"

"Do not group me in the same category as that man," I spit, blinking away the budding rage. "You shouldn't have been talking to him."

She snorts. "I barely said a word."

I snap my burning gaze at her. "And those will be the last words you ever exchange."

"Why?" She lifts a badly timed taunting brow. "Worried he'll steal me away from you? Green's an ugly color on you, Mr. Cavanaugh."

The tires screech on the side of the freeway as I aggressively pull over, and put the car in park. Emery gasps, staring at me, frightened.

"What the hell is wrong with you—"

I grab her chin, seething as I say, "You are forbidden from speaking with Quinton Marquis, is that understood?" Emery tries to pull away but my hold remains strong, stern. "Do you understand, Miss Jones?"

"You're insane," she mutters under her breath, glowering at me with disdain. "You know that?"

"Do you understand?" The question slips past my lips with malignant enunciation. "I need to hear you say it. Say it, Miss Jones."

Her chest heaves as she remains still in my hold like ice settled in snow, cold and deadly. And she is killing. Burning me with her freezing gaze. It's a simple question. A simple request. Yet, she remains silent, defiant against my wishes. She's no idiot. She can see the fire in my eyes, the inferno of absolute loathing I have for that man, but she refuses to suffocate the flames burning steady inside of me.

"You're crazy..." Her breath clouds in the space between our bodies, and slowly, she melts under my touch. "You're—"

"And whose fault is that?" I rasp, dragging my hand down her chin to her neck, my nails digging into her chest before forcing myself to pull away. "Do you have any idea what you do to me, Miss Jones?" My breathing turns heavy, the air in the car thick and charged as her gaze floats down to my cock. "You can see it, can't you, Miss Jones? Just how crazy you make me."