I snap. “She’s a person of interest for the business. Nothing more.”
“For them, maybe,” he agrees before shooting me a look. “But not for you. What’s the harm in fucking her?”
What’s the harm indeed … something tells me that even two seconds in bed with Avalon Manning could cause a lot of fucking harm. She’s the type of woman that topples hierarchies for fun. And though she doesn’t know it, I know her dirty little secret. I know what gets her blood pumping. I know that parts of her records were expunged and I know why. Not even her mother can say she knows her daughter as well as I do. Then again, addicts don’t know shit else but their drug of choice.
Now that I’ve found Avalon’s, I wonder what’ll become of us next.
I’m considering that when I chance another look down and watch as another man moves in behind her. His hands settle on those perfect hips of hers and his head tilts down until his lips graze her neck.
I see red.
22
Avalon
Sweat turns my hair into wet tendrils that stick to my flushed neck. Yet, still, there aren't enough shots and alcoholic drinks in the world that can dull the ache of fury in my veins. I dance next to Corina, my body moving easily to the beat of music that thrums beneath my feet and in the surrounding air.
"Now this is what I'm talking about," Corina yells over the music.
I ignore her. Fueled by rage and alcohol, I let my eyes close and I just move the way I want to. I arch my back and lift my hands to my hair, pulling the strands away from my skin. When my eyes reopen, I notice that Corina's gaze is zeroed above my head. I don't need to turn around to know who she's looking at. She grins when she looks back at me, her smile making a few guys to the left of us take notice. They move closer, making my spine stiffen. I'm fine as long as they keep their distance. A scowl overtakes my face as she leans forward, her lips grazing my earlobe when she says something in a voice barely a level above the music pounding in my ears. "He's watching."
Good, I think. Let him. Right now, the thing I want most in the word is Dean Carter's eyes on me. He might've put a claim on my ass to the rest of the school, but he and I both know the truth. He doesn't own me and he's going to regret pissing me off. No matter what I have to do to make that happen.
Feeling wicked and naughty, I lose myself in the dancing. I've been to backwoods parties with bonfire dances run by rednecks with jacked up monster trucks and radios blaring music meant to get people fucked up. A club is different. The beat of the music mimics the same pace of a good, hardcore fuck and the people seem to realize that.
Girls grind on girls. Guys watch. Guys with girls move slow—regardless of the pace that the music takes. Hard hands find my hips and I freeze. Corina's paying no mind; her own attention has been diverted to one of the lingering guys from earlier as he pulls her into a dance.
I stop dancing immediately. The desire to rip the guy's arms out of his sockets and beat him with them swells. "Get your fucking hands off me," I snap.
Mr. Idiot doesn't do that, though. No, he's not that smart. Instead, he leans closer, pressing an obvious erection against my ass as he dips his head and presses his mouth to my neck. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't be like that. I was watching you dance. You're pretty agile," he says. "Tell me something, you dance like that for a guy if you're all alone too?"
Cold rage spirals through me, but I don't even have the opportunity to react. All of a sudden, his hands are gone and I'm thrust forward. My palms hit the floor as I go down, my knees skidding against the rock hard surface of the dance floor where the sound of fists hitting flesh reaches my ears. I slowly get to my feet, turning back to see what the fuck just happened.
Dean stands there, his chest rising and falling rapidly—eyes wild and furious. What the fuck does he have to be furious about? That emotion should be solely reserved for me. Asshole. My thoughts are disrupted