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A few hours later, “Babylon” by Babychaos pulled my attention to my friends, and I allowed the beat to consume me. My last drink was long gone, and I was on my way to sobering up. Too bad. Oblivion felt pretty damn good.
My cell buzzed against my ass cheek again, and I removed it from my back pocket. I squinted at the screen, attempting to read the blurry letters. Apparently, I wasn’t that close to sober.
Unknown:
I thought I told you no one was allowed to touch you, my pet.
Looking up slowly, I scanned the crowd. The Black Mamba had told Anderson to leave me alone?
My fingers tightened around my cell as I considered my reply. I stared at the message again, then typed my response.
Me:
A girl has needs, and you’ve been MIA all week. That shit’s on you.
I waited for his response, goose bumps dotting my sweaty flesh. I was well aware that my message would most likely push his buttons. That was my goal anyway. Maybe he would tie me up and spank me for flirting with Anderson. I would totally be down for that.
Unknown:
You tell yourself whatever you need to in order to feel better. Reality? I’m a busy man, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior. You will be punished.
What the hell did that mean? I didn’t do anything wrong.
ChapterEleven
Jagger
Every nerve in my body stood on end as I caught sight of Phoebe across the room and watched Anderson walk away from her. I would have to deal with him later.
She looked stunning in her sheer top, with her jeans clinging to her curvy hips and luscious ass. My stomach flip-flopped as a harsh truth crashed into me. I had set my beer down the second I spotted her at the party. I needed a clear head to study her and make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. As the hours ticked by, I was sure of one thing: Phoebe wasn’t who she said she was. The moment I convinced myself of that, I questioned how in hell it was even possible.
My feet were frozen to the ground as I observed her, the tiniest details setting my heart on fire—the familiar waves of her long blonde hair, the glint in her blue eyes, and that perfect smile—the one she used to flash me when she snuck into my bedroom when we were teenagers and our lives were still uncomplicated. A sharp pain tore through my chest, and I slammed my eyes closed, barely able to breathe as a thousand questions raced through my brain—why would she do this? Why would she want to deceive me about something so damned serious? The voice in my head reminded me that it wasn’t plausible for Phoebe to be who I so desperately needed her to be.
Doubt seeped inside me like a deadly poison, and once again, I questioned my sanity. Maybe Gunner was right. Grief could bend you over and fuck you in the ass without lube.
Clutching my burner phone I used for society business, I text Anderson.
Me:
Phoebe is off-limits. Stay away from her.
Anderson:
Dude, she’s not even your type. She’s a total book nerd and doesn’t know a damn thing about sports. She didn’t have a clue I even played football until I told her.
I quirked a brow at his assumption before I replied.
Me:
She’s my girl at the society. End of discussion.
I tucked the burner phone away, still seething over Anderson’s attempt to make a move on Ariana.
I stepped back into the upstairs hallway and grabbed my personal cell. Typing a quick message to Gunner, I kept my eye on Ariana.
Me:
I’m 95% sure it’s her. I need to know the truth.
