Page 72 of Bullet

“Not if you were the one wearing them and cuffed to my bed.” I growled and wrapped my arm around her neck, pulling her flush against my side.

Voices came from the living room.

She paused before we joined Bristol and the other girls. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to take you on a date to the club.”

Chapter Ten

Stormy

We stood in the foyer of High Protocol.

“Relax.”

Holy shit. Bullet’s voice, edged with smoke and whiskey, sent a shiver along my spine, and his lips against my bare shoulder whispered silent promises against my skin. His fingers slipped into the cutout made by the straps of the dress, his touch branding me as his.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

With his hand on me, and his body pressed against me, my nerves were more about us than the reason we were here. I swallowed my anxiety and leaned into him.

We were about to meet people who knew Emerson. What if Torch was wrong? What if whoever we were meeting were associates of the same mafia bosses that owned Emerson? What if they tried to take me from Bullet? What if they hurt him for helping me?

The what ifs had my chest tight and my stomach in knots.

“Breathe, Stormy.”

“I’m trying. I’m scared.”

While Torch spoke with the security guard at the door, Bullet pulled me closer and aligned my back to his chest.

I wasn’t bulletproof. The scent of leather, cigarettes, and the spice of his cologne hit my nostrils and slipped like an intoxicating elixir through my veins. I pressed closer, nudging the ridge of his dick with my ass.

“A shark can smell blood in the water,” he whispered close to my ear. “He’ll feed off the fear of his prey. He’s fast, and he’s smart. And he’s deadly in his element.” His lips stole along my neck. “I’m the shark.”

Torch laughed at something the guard said. I was too focused on Bullet’s breath and words, using them to calm the chaotic pounding of my heart.

“The Boss is ready for you,” the guard said.

Wearing black jeans and black shirts, Torch and Bullet made an imposing presence. Like Bullet, tattoos covered Torch’s arms and crawled up his neck. Neither wore their cuts. But both wore rings and scanned their surroundings.

Torch kept one arm around Gabi as he led us into an interior office. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t plush carpeting, luxury leather furniture, and sculptures on glass tables.

Bullet released me and stepped ahead with Torch. Two men occupied an interior office. Gabi hooked her arm with mine at the elbow and smiled.

“I know you’re nervous, but you look incredible.”

I smiled. Gabi had helped me get ready. The dress and Bristol’s lace-up boots fit the scene in the club. But Gabi had taken my look to another level. Dark liner smoked my eyes, my lips were deep red, and my hair was slicked back from my face.

She wore a leather skirt that barely covered her ass and rode low on her hips, revealing a tattoo on her pelvis of a crow with chains in its beak and wrapping its wings. Torch had a similar tattoo on his shoulder.

Gabi was nearly as tall as Torch with legs that went on for miles. Model thin, stunning features, she was an Italian beauty. She could’ve stepped out of the pages of a magazine, wearing a black half jacket over a red bra.

“The Boss is in his private dungeon,” one of the men said. “Everyone is here.”

I held tight to Gabi as we left the office through a private door and entered a corridor with polished marble flooring, black doors, and chrome fixtures.

Gabi lowered her voice. “High Protocol is a cross between a bar and an X-rated circus. After the meeting, we’ll go to the main room. It’s where the entertainment is. That was Ronan,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to the closed door. “He and Alex own the club. Alex is called Boss. The other guy is known as the Professor. He specializes in training subs.”

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