Page 40 of Hunted Obsession

Uh-oh.

In my cockiness, I hadn’t really thought about this. My eyes widen, and I can feel my face heat. I know that Theron is going to be fucking pissed when he realizes I went to a bar specifically for the purpose of flirting with this man and bringing him home. Granted, it didn’t go that far, but still.

“You?” Theron asks. His feet are planted, but he holds his arms loosely at his side as if he’s ready to pounce.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Emmie shouts. She sways slightly, and I realize that if she’s not drunk, she’s really damn close.

Charlie turns his head, looking over his shoulder at Theron and Emmie. “We met in a bar a few nights ago.”

Theron’s eyes widen, then narrow on me. He’s telling me everything that I need to know with just a look, but I ignore it. He can be pissed at me later. He can yell at me and hate fuck me all he wants.

In fact, I hope he does. And soon.

Chapter Eighteen

THERON

What the actualfuck is Lucille doing here?

I want to ask her just that, but if I do, I’ll be raising suspicion, and I’ve done such a great job tonight acting like the perfect fucking asshole for Asher and the unplaceable Victor Marlowe.

In fact, Asher has asked me some more questions about security and wants my company to look into his home as well as Charlie and Emmie’s apartments.

He also said that he wishes to discuss possibly the art gallery, but it’s a sensitive matter. And that has piqued my curiosity. I can’t imagine what would be more sensitive than the human trafficking that I assume he’s doing out of this place tonight.

This whole thing is not only fascinating to me, but it’s also fucking scary.

How many times has this happened?

How many people are involved?

If we stop it here, are we just stopping it at the lower level, and nobody is going to give a shit because the wheels will keep turning?

All questions that my brothers and I have been asking, and none of us knows the answers. Not a single one of us. I’m not sure we’ll get them tonight, either, which makes me goddamn sick. I don’t want to continue this charade for another moment.

I don’t want Ravet to get away with hurting one more boy. Never again.

I am completely lost inside of my own head as I think about everything that could go wrong tonight, and now the wrench in the evening is Lucille. Not to mention the fact that she was at a bar with Charlie. That shit does not sit well with me at all.

Emmie kisses me on the cheek, and I watch as she bounces over to the waitress, who is taking orders again for the group. I take the moment of distraction to close the distance between me and Lucille.

I wrap my fingers around her bicep, tugging her closer to me. Dipping my chin, I place my lips on the shell of her ear. “What the fuck are you doing here—and in that dress?” I growl.

Lucille laughs softly, and I’m about to shake her, strangle her, or kiss her. I’m not sure which one. But that dress makes my cock twitch, and I want to tug it over her hips, bend her over, and fuck her right fucking now.

Maybe all three.

“Emmie invited me,” she says, trying her hand at sounding bewildered that I’m even asking such a question.

“Do I want to know how you got the invite?” Arching a brow, I grasp her arm a bit firmer and shake her once. “Lucille,” I warn.

She smiles coyly, then leans into me a bit farther. She’s staring straight ahead, and I assume she’s watching Emmie. We only have a few more moments, so she needs to talk really fucking quickly.

“I happened to be at the salon station next to Emmie when I was getting my nails done earlier today.”

That makes me snort. Releasing her arm, I take a step backward and tip my chin so that I can look my nose down at her. “You’ve never had your nails done in a salon in your life.”

It’s her turn to arch her brow as she peers up at me. Fucking hell, she’s gorgeous. I want to fuck her right here in the middle of this club, not a damn care given if anyone sees it. They can all fucking watch for all I care.

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