Her head fell back, and her fingers massaged the way Noah’s would have. No way would she get there unless Roy interacted. She breathed deeply, circled her clit, and staged a good act.
Without warning, a hand brushed her breast and returned for a squeeze. She jerked, slapped it away.
Chair legs screeched. The table wobbled, and teacups tipped in their saucers.
“Don’t, Wes.” Nathan’s command reverberated in her chest. Oh no. Was his reaction the right one? No, he should’ve stayed out of it.
Wes smiled, oblivious to his fuck up. “My God, how could I resist? She’s a sexy little thing.”
He was dead. He was so fucking dead. Her fingers froze as the pressure built in the room, seeping from the corner Roy occupied.
“Salvador.” The one word held finality. Salvador’s exit through the kitchen door confirmed it.
“Sir? What’s wrong?” Lines etched Wes’ forehead. A heartbeat later, his face paled. His brain must have caught up.
The kitchen door swung open, and Salvador walked through clutching a meat cleaver. The men huddled together, backing up and forming a wall of death, all eyes on Wes.
She slid off the table and panted through uncontrollable tremors. “Sir, don’t do this. He didn’t know.”
Roy leveled her with a look so menacing, she regretted opening her mouth. “One more word, Charlee, and this time, I will not replace your teeth.”
He grabbed the cleaver from Salvador, his other hand circling Wes’ wrist. Salvador slammed the man’s arm onto the table, stretching it as Roy pinned Wes’ bucking body and heaved the ax-like blade in a downward arc.
Wes’ screams shook the chandelier crystals. Blood soaked the white linen. He stumbled to the floor, convulsing and pawing at his fingerless hand.
Roy turned, his expression terrifyingly blank. His movements were so fucking methodical as he wrapped his fingers around Nathan’s arm.
No. No way in hell. She moved to them, driven by sheer purpose. Holding her mouth and cheeks slack, she tried like hell not to let him see how concerned she was.
For a fleeting moment, Nathan’s eyes narrowed on her. Disapproval? Then it was gone, replaced by a Marine with a raised chin, hardened jaw and rolled back shoulders. “You hired me to protect her.”
Wes let out a long, lamenting cry from the floor.
Roy pressed the cleaver beneath Nathan’s chin. “And you failed. What do you think, Charlee?” He didn’t want her to defend the Craigs. He wanted her to fear them. “I gave you permission to speak. Do so.”
She traced the edge of the table. “The truth, Sir?” His glare struck her like a fist in the chest. Deep breath. “I don’t give a shit about your Craigs. Do whatever you want. You’re going to anyway.” She sniffed for effect. “Sir.”
His laughter drowned out Wes’ moaning. Then it cut off and his dark eyes pinned her. “Apparently, my time would be better spent beating the impertinence out of my beautiful girl.”
A rush of air punched from her lungs.
He passed the blade to Salvador and gestured to Wes. “Take care of this.” Then he coiled her chain around his arm and prowled over to her. Hooking his arms beneath her thighs, he lifted her to straddle his hips and carried her out.
She looked over his shoulder. Nathan bent above Wes, talking to him, but she knew he was aware of her gaze. It was in that moment, clarity struck. The dinner, the maiming, it was all recorded. Roy would revisit the video feeds and scrutinize every detail, every glance. Nathan knew it and ignored her deliberately.
She dropped her head on Roy’s shoulder. Had she sabotaged Nathan’s efforts? As far as punishments went, maybe she deserved this one.
He carried her into the stockroom, and she assembled her shield. This time, she did it with hope, and all the messy emotions that came with it.
13
The crowd roared. “Encore. Encore. Encore.”
Jay clung to a shadowed corner behind the drum kit on a makeshift stage. His body trembled from exhaustion after playing a two hour set. Or maybe it was from the everlasting misery he struggled to mask.
They were somewhere in rural Texas, compassed by endless fields and a low hanging ceiling of clouds. The muggy atmosphere clung to his skin and the exhalation of cigarette smoke vied with the earthy aroma of loam and dug up peanuts.
Several hundred fans congregated on the acreage, keyed to a state of crazed anticipation. Sexy people. Ugly people. Posers. Punkers. All ages and stages of life rocked and bobbed beneath the temporary field lights and the haze of smoke. The atmosphere was buoyant, hearty, and energetic. All the things Jay was not.