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I’m already moving, not bothering to hear the rest of his argument. Weaving my way through the crowd, the storm building inside me. The guys stalk closer to their prey, unaware that a deadlier predator is on their trail.
The crowd parts when I reach them, sensing my fury. I ignore them. They are just more prey scurrying out of the way. I focus on Jeniah. Her long braids cascade down her back, swaying as she moves. Under the flashing neon lights, her brown skin is smooth mahogany, and the red dress—fuck, that dress—it’s something holy. Commands worship of its owner. I can barely think, barely breathe, as her hips roll with the beat. She doesn’t even know I’m here yet, completely lost in the music.
But the jackasses surrounding her? They notice me. Theyspotted me immediately. I saw it in their body language—the way they stiffened, glancing over with narrowed eyes. Jealousy flared in their gazes as Jeniah laughed at…something. Hell, if I knew what, because all I could think about was how these fools were going to lose their shot. Whatever attention they thought they were getting, that was going to end. Right fucking now.
I get closer until I am nearly behind her, close enough to catch the subtle scent of her perfume, sweet and intoxicating. Some guy standing in front of her—broad-shouldered but soft around the middle, steps a little too close, like he is about to get handsy. In that instant, everything inside me coils tight, a tension that begs to be released. I might’ve done something reckless, something violent, when—
She turns.
Jeniah stops mid-movement, her long braids swishing as she spins around and spots me. And just like that, the tight, clawing knot I’ve been carrying around all night…loosens.
Her eyes light up, and her warm smile spreads across her face like the dawn breaking over the goddamn horizon. Not angry, no annoyance. Pleasure. Pleasure, at seeing me.
For a moment, for a single breath, it is us—with her happiness soothing the raw edges of my anger.
“Gio,” she practically shouts over the music, closing the space between us. She looks up at me like I am the only person in the room. She sets one of her hands against my chest, her slender fingers pressing right where my heart beats too fast.
My rigid shoulders finally relax, barely. That wild, suffocating possessiveness in my chest isn’t gone, but it is quieter.
“Did you change your mind?” she teases, her hand still resting there, still steadying everything inside me.
I open my mouth to respond but catch the dark looks from the guys around her. The moment she turns to me, the moment she smiles at me like that, bitterness flares in their expressions. Three of them are now watching me like a rival, eyes narrowing, fists forming as if they’d staked a claim on her.
One of them—a wiry fuck with hair gelled back like some wannabe model—scowls, stepping closer. He is pissed, pissed that I’ve taken her attention.
Part of me relishes it.
“Who’s this guy?” Model Wannabe sneers, looking me up and down like I don’t belong. He doesn’t like this new development at all. And I give zero fucks about what he likes.
My eyes stay locked on Jeniah. “It’s time to leave,” I say loud enough for her fan club to hear.
Her expression doesn’t falter. She doesn’t roll her eyes or argue. Instead, her smile softens.
“I’m not ready to leave yet,” she says, teasing me again with a playful edge. “Come on, Gio. Dance with me.”
She isn’t purposely igniting the firestorm brewing behind my ribs, but she doesn’t understand what is happening here. One man, his mouth opens like he is about to say some slick shit.
Try it, I think.Fucking try it.
“Babe, I’m not the dancing type,” I shoot back, struggling to keepmy tone level, but fuck, the tension is spiraling fast.
Then, the idiot makes his move.
“I’ll dance with you,” he says, touching her. The fucking idiot’s hand touches Jeniah’s waist, light at first, like he thinks he can make a play without me noticing. Like I don’t already see the whole damn thing.
Before I think, my body moves. Reacting on instinct. Pure reflex. I reach around her—firmly pulling her away from him.
He blinks in surprise, his hand dropping when I step between him and Jeniah, keeping her behind me. She lets out a tiny confused mew but doesn’t resist. She is safe and away from the mess that is about to unfold.
“I said,” my voice a low rumble, barely cutting through the heavy bass of the music, “We’re done here.”
The wiry bastard doesn’t like that; he steps up with the kind of swagger that comes from too much cheap liquor. “You got a problem or something?” he asks, crossing his arms in some half-assed attempt to save face in front of his boys.
My eyes flick to him, then to his hand—the one that touched her—and I see red.
“Yeah,” I growl, edging forward, “I have a fucking problem.”
Then it happens. The push on my shoulder from behind me, some dumb prick thinking he can take me. The second that hand connects my vision tunnels, my instincts click into action. Without hesitation, I spin and clock the guy square in the jaw—hard enough to make his eyes roll back for a flash before he crumples to the floor. He is done.
