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To the left is Haydyn, and some of the men I recognize from both the yacht and island. They’re sticking out by holding tickets outside of the bar’s entrance.
I recognize a few others—not by face, but the fact they’re packing. Cops and some others that might be with us or Trent. I really don’t care.
One wrong move and I’ll disarm and shoot.
I don’t give a fuck, and as my gaze hits the prize, the diamond, the sweet morsel I’m protecting—not love, I can’t think that word right now—Dakota knows I will do just that.
I’m not armed. Clean-shaven, in a tailored suit I almost never fucking wear and I’m sure I stick out.
Because I’m not trying to blend.
I know the best exit and place to throw her if I need to, the best place for cover and?—
I stop. Narrow my eyes.
Fuck, she looks delicious.
Not Dakota or baby girl, but the internet sensation, the girl too fucking cool for real life. And she’s wearing a gold and black skirt and top, too fucking low on the top and short on the leg. But her boots are on. The ones I put a tracker on. And she’s clutching her handbag where the other tracker is.
It’s a wonder she’s not clutching what passes for pearls around her neck.
“Hello, little girl. What the fuck are you playing at?”
She shifts back, blinking hard, fear and longing oozing from her. “I thought you’d stop me if I told you. Th-they came up with your part.”
“Of course they did.” I close the gap, the anger beating in my ears as it makes my blood surge. So much for fucking cool determination. “And you’d be chained up in my room if I knew.”
“O—”
“Daddy,” I say it savagely.
She blinks and breathes out. “Jaxson. Mr. Carter.”
She needs a beating but she’s fucking clever. “I assume I’m meant to talk you into coming with me. And you’re going to fight it.”
“You don’t play games, Jaxson. You shoot straight.”
My mouth curves at her unintentional little word play.
“I shoot people who need it.” I take a closer step and her panic flares brighter, her desire beats deeper, flushing her cheeks. “I’m betting you’re wet. Nice necklace.” I touch it deliberately. When I’m done, I keep on touching it until she pulls it back.
“Really?”
“No, it’s fucking ugly and gauche and way too loud in whatever the fuck it’s saying. It isn’t you.”
“Trent gave it to me. I… I’m going to call him and?—”
“He’s at the oyster bar with your friend, Amelia.”
She’s about to turn and I grab her arm.
“Don’t look.”
Dakota doesn’t, but her breath is so uneven and fast I think she’s about to hyperventilate. This is the point Malone told me she’s to pull away, maybe yell, and then I go down, get taken away.
I fucking hate the plan. It might work, but I fucking hate it because it makes her vulnerable.
“Baby girl, I think it’s time for you to make a scene. I’m going to try and kiss you, and I also threatened to chain you up again. Get me?”
