Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Niall leans in, whispering something in her ear with an affectionate grin. Whatever it is has her stiffening in offense, the lights in her eyes dimming further.
Anger flows through me, hot and vicious, at the sight. What did that prick say to her? How does he not notice how carelessly he hurts her?
I'm moving before I even give myself the command, shouldering my way through the crowd. I ignore the whispers that pop up in my wake, the wide eyes and frightened squawks. They mean nothing to me. But fuck it. If they want to talk, I'll give them a show.
It's what they really want anyway. For the goddamn god of war to entertain them, to prove that they're right about me. Spoiler alert: they are.
I keep my gaze locked on Brynna, drawn to her like a fucking lion to a lamb. She's the only bright spot in this entire shitshow of a gala…the only one deserving of actually being here.
And, for some reason, she's unhappy. I shouldn't care about that. But goddammit, I do.
Her father spots me first, pure hatred rolling through his expression as I approach. He places a hand on Brynna's elbow, a clear warning.
I smirk, truly amused for the first time since I arrived. If he didn't want me to touch his daughter, he should have kept his fucking hands away from my business. The bastard doesn't scare me. I've faced far worse than Nolan Sullivan and lived to tell the tale.
"Leyva," he says, his voice hard. "I don't recall seeing your name on the guest list tonight."
"Last minute decision," I murmur, my gaze locked on Brynna. She's staring at me, too, her expression flickering between wariness, curiosity, and frustration. It annoys her that she's intrigued by me, I think. Cute. "I thought it was time I put in an appearance at one of these things. I have to say, I'm underwhelmed by the guest list." I flick my gaze in his direction. "But then, I've heard you make a habit of attending these, don't you?"
Niall bristles at the insult, but Nolan simply laughs, a deep, humorless sound. "Careful, Leyva. People might think you're envious of what you don't have."
We both know he isn't talking about the reputation to attend these events. He means my goddamn shipping company, the bastard.
"People love to talk, Sullivan. As a matter of fact, we can't have people wondering why you're talking to me, now can we? What would they think?" I flash him a grin full of teeth. It's a promise and a threat all rolled into one. "I'd like to request a dance with your lovely daughter. She should be shown off, not kept hidden in a corner."
Nolan and Niall immediately stiffen, outrage painted across their faces. As expected, they don't make a move to stop me, though. With everyone watching us without trying to seem like they're watching us, these two are too worried about appearances to protect her as they should. In the dark, they'd strike without hesitation. But here, they're too fucking cowardly to do it.
She's a lamb to the slaughter in their care.
I hold out my hand to her, an unspoken challenge in my eyes.
Take it, little one. Come with me.
Her gaze drops to my outstretched hand before flicking back up to mine. A heartbeat passes. And then two. To my surprise, she slips her hand into mine, her skin soft.
I suppress a groan at the contact, a slow burn igniting in my veins. Fuck. This woman may be the death of me. But goddamn, what a way to go.
"Brynna," Nolan says tightly, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "What do you think you're doing?"
She turns to him, her expression serene even as her hand tightens around mine. "It's okay, Dad. It's just a dance."
"Yes, Sullivan," I agree, smirking at him. "It's just a dance. We wouldn't want anyone to think you had business with me, now would we?"
I don't give him a chance to respond before I lead her away, relishing the feel of her body brushing against mine with every step. She follows me willingly, her heels clicking against the marble tiles as I lead her toward the dance floor.
"Do you actually want to dance, little one?" I lean down, placing my lips near her ear.
She shivers at the question, hesitates, and then shakes her head. "No. I hate dancing at these things." That confession shakes on her lips, making my fucking blood roar in my veins.
As soon as the crowd swallows us, cutting us off from Sullivan's view, I cut across the edge of the dance floor, heading toward one of the terraces instead.
We step out, leaving the crowded ballroom and the watchful eyes of her father and brother behind. Out here, it's just us. The way it should be.
Cool night air swirls around us, making her shiver. I don't think she's cold, though. She's nervous.