Page 69 of Obey

“Don’t even think about it, Half-Pint.”

The way he uses that term of endearment tugs on my insides. Hasn’t he lost the right to be familiar with me when he walked away last week?

I don’t even know what he’s talking about. Think about what? I’m not thinking about anything except perhaps kneeing him in the nuts.

Then it hits me like cold water to the face, and I spin to the table of women watching the exchange with amusement. “Did you say your friend Archer was here tonight?”

Jagger grunts behind me.

Slade erupts into a deep chuckle. “I like this one.”

“He is.” Mackenzie’s nod is solemn, like she knows exactly what I’m doing, and she’s playing along.

“Could you introduce me?” I can’t stop my fingers playing with the bottom of my shirt.

Slade slaps his thigh, doubling over as he’s laughing.

“Talia.” It’s a growled word, almost under his breath, but it sends a cascade of goosebumps all over me.

“Yes, Jagger?” I keep my voice level and sweet and don’t turn to look at him. If those brown eyes were to stare me down, I’d lose my nerve. And right now, I’m on my last nerve. I need it.

“Why do you need to talk to Archer?”

I shrug, nonchalant, my eyes locked in a “do not laugh, do not laugh” grip-stare with Mackenzie.

“What’s it to you anyway?” Paige kicks her foot up onto the table, revealing the tallest heels I’ve ever seen. Those should be classified as a weapon.

“Stay out of it, Paige.”

That doesn’t make her back down. In fact, I’m pretty sure he waved a red rag to a bull. She bounds out of her chair, pulling outher cell phone from her cleavage. She presses something, puts the phone to her ear. “Hey, can you come out to the bar please?”

I can’t see Jagger, but I can feel his frustration bubbling like someone shook up a pop bottle. “Why do you need to talk to Archer, Talia?”

Clearing my throat takes an age. “The girls tell me he’s a relatively new dominant.”

“This is true.” Slade points at me, then ushers me to continue.

I spin to face Jagger, my chest is getting hammered by the erratic thump of my heart, my ears are ringing, my lungs tight, and all I want to do is kiss him.

Dang it. Why do I still want to kiss him? I cross my arms. Maybe whatever juju he’s working on me won’t be able to penetrate my forearms over my chest.

“So, I was thinking, maybe he could help me with completing my bucket list.”

His frown gets frownier, and that super sexy glower gets almost a dangerous edge to it. In the moment, everyone else disappears, the bar, the ambient noise, everything. It’s just him and me, staring each other down in a long, drawn-out moment of chicken.

“Like hell he will.”

“Just because you don’t want me, doesn’t mean no one else will, Jagger.” As soon as the words slip out from between my lips I want to cram them back inside. Someone gasps, pretty sure it’s Mackenzie because she seems such an emotional sweetheart that my words probably smacked her pretty good.

Jagger’s face twitches, and his foot moves toward me like he’s contemplating closing this distance. “You’re not playing with Archer, Half-Pint.” His voice softens when he uses the nickname, but it only makes me madder.

“And why the hell not?” My trembling hands are on my hips. I’ve never been one to air my dirty laundry, it’s not the southern girl way. Mama would spank my butt if she were here, not least of all because I said hell, out loud, but it actually felt pretty good, and if I’m honest with myself, the situation calls for much worse.

“Because you’re mine.” He punctuates each word, like he’s struggling to keep his composure. Good. He should be mad. I’m mad too.

“Ha.” It’s out of my open mouth before I can engage my filter. “I’ve seen how you treat your toys, Jagger. And your toy box isn’t where I want to be.” I kinda went too far with the toy thing, but I ran out of steam halfway through the sentence and didn’t know where to go with it.

I’ve barely rotated my body, the intention was logged in my brain but my feet hadn’t yet made the movement, when Jagger lurches forward, scoops me up, and throws me over his shoulder.

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