Page 36 of Claimed By Rage

She keeps trying to remind him.

Rebel walks past me on the way to his bedroom, pausing when he notices me lingering in Rage’s doorway. “What are you doing?” Not only is he shirtless, but he’s stripped completely bare, uncaring about the chill in the air. He brushes his hair out of his eyes and walks closer. “Is that ahole?Rage is gonna flip his shit.”

“She’s in there.” I press my body flat against the door, staring through the hole. Celia and Rage haven’t moved, but they must hear us, because they’re not really asleep. They’re still pretending, with Celia wrapped around Rage’s back like she’s holding him.

I wonder what that feels like.

“Are they fucking?” Rebel shoulders me, but I don’t budge. “Hey, let me see.”

“They are not.”

“I want tosee.”

I take a step to the right and Rebel takes my place at the door. Cursing at what he finds within, he screws his eyes shut and rubs the back of his eyelids. “They should be fucking. They need to get it out of their system before they explode all over the fucking place. The club went crazy after they left.” He tears himself away and goes back to the kitchen for another bottle of water. Chugging half of it, he huffs out an exhale. “I had to break up three fightsandrevoke someone’s membership. Then, my clients were—” his face scrunches up—“more handsy than usual. I barely got away without someone tearing my dick off.”

We stare at each other for a heartbeat.

“Which ones?”

Shrugging one shoulder, he tosses his half-empty water bottle to the couch. “Too many to name, man.”

I catalogue this info for later.

“Don’t worry about it.” Rebel’s eyes search mine, his fingers twitching by his sides. “Seriously. We can’t have another incident.”

I disagree, but I don’t tell him that.

Rage will be waking soon. Even without an alarm, his body works off of a routine he’s spent years perfecting. Event nights don’t interrupt his body’s internal rhythm.

My shift is ending, too, so I stare through the hole again as my skin starts to itch. “I haven’t seen her today.” Or yesterday. Although Rage and Liara handle the logistics of the club and its events and Rebel slips between roles to fill in any gaps in the line, my work never stops.

Last night’s shift began before I was ready. I got caught up the job and wasn’t able to visit Celia at all while she slept… which means that, aside from holding her steady for Rage earlier, I haven’t touched her in over twenty-four hours.

That little stunt in the ballroom earlier tonight doesn’t count. I barely remember the feel of her beneath my fingers. The sounds of her breathing. The scent of her desire. All of the things I crave about Celia were lost in a sea of red, so I’ve missed the pieces that matter most.

Now is the time to rectify that.

Reaching my hand inside the hole in the door, I tear through as far as my body will allow, pulling past the wooden splinters to grab the handle. My fingertips graze it, slipping over the tip, my arm on fire as my skin peels back in jagged grooves. The metallic scent of my blood fills the air. A dull sense of pain radiates up my arm.

I couldn’t care less.

I try for the handle again, grunting when my fingers slip over the metal, both slick with blood.

“Ruin,” Rebel hisses, smacking my shoulder. “I wanna see her, too, but you don’t see me tearing my fucking arm off to get in there.” He frowns at me before turning around. “I have the key.” Leaping for his clothes, he pads his pockets before running back to me with his cell phone. The screen lights up the room as he clicks open our security app.

Out of paranoia, Rage keeps the apartment off limits for the security system. If anyone were to hack into our system, they could run through the club and all of our adjoining propertieswith relative ease until the system automatically resets. I watch with little interest as Rebel taps a few buttons on his screen. It’s not surprising that he found a rule to break, but it’s surprising that Rage hasn’t caught it yet.

What’s even more surprising that when Rebel unlocks the door and I peel my arm back, Rage doesn’t move.

Maybe heissleeping.

We swing open Rage’s bedroom door, both of us hovering on the other side. The room stands still like it’s holding its breath, waiting. Neither of us speaks.

Neither of them moves.

Blood drips down my arm, the subtletaptapon the hardwood barely audible over the deep breathing inside the room. Rebel’s breathing quickens, his leg jerking forward. I doubt he’s seen this side of Celia before. It’s the one I usually keep for myself, tucked away beneath the sheets.

She looks different here, in another room, with another man.

---