Page 43 of Into the Woods

I swallow the lump in my throat and sink into the chair.

He’s right.

I have to put on my armor and prepare to shine.

Chapter 19

Determination

Christophe

I thought Winnie,braless in a tight, cropped shirt and booty shorts with her ass peeking out would be the death of me. But this…?

This version of her is so much more lethal.

Every lock of hair brushed, and curled, and coaxed into glossy golden waves. Pristine skin polished and buffed to perfection. Dark, dramatic eyes with lashes thick and black. But those lips…Her plump lips that beg to be kissed, tasted—devoured—are painted deep crimson.

She’s flawless and all I want to do is mess her up. Smudge the red from her mouth—leave her lips bee-stung and swollen.

Watch her mascara run, black pooling under her eyes as she stares up at me from where she kneels between my feet.

I watched her paint it all on. Every stroke, every line. I sat in my chair, phone in hand, legs crossed, and dick hard as steel.

As if her everyday clean face and messy hair isn’t enough to make me fall all over myself, each layer she applied was likea shield of armor, a cloak of confidence wrapping around her. Shoulders back. Spine ramrod straight. Sexy as fuck.

And then she dropped the last vestige of sweet, young Winnie. She unzipped the garment bag—the fucking garment bag that held a sorry excuse for a dress. More like silky straps that crisscross her body, scarcely covering her tits. Barely reaching low enough on her hips to keep her pussy from view. She’s a fucking wet dream.

She stood in front of the mirror adjusting the lie of the straps, ass popping from the black stilettos, the red soles perfectly matching her dress. And her lips. And the heat burning through me.

I had to tell her twice to put the detachable skirt on for her arrival at the club. And then I still had to physically wrap it around her waist, fastening it securely.

I would love nothing more than to kill the bastard who selected this poor excuse for a dress for her. But I’m not ready to die.

I have too much yet to do.

I step out of my town car, positioning my body strategically as Winnie emerges, to ensure no one gets a view of what they’re here to fight for. We’re barely out of the car and I can already feel hungry eyes clocking her every move.

Interest is at an all-time high tonight.

Even moving the auction up with no notice, has the Honey Pot filled well beyond capacity.

The Glock at my waist, Teague at our backs, and the knowledge that every single asshole inside has been stripped of whatever weapons they were stupid enough to think they could smuggle in safely is locked away only offers a marginal sense of security. I know who these people are—I grew up in the company of a good number of them—and I don’t trust them in the least.

I plant my hand on Winnie’s back and guide her inside where she’s whisked away by the auction hostess.

“You planning on following her back there?” Teague asks. His question stops me in my tracks, and I realize I’m halfway down the wrong hallway. “We have shit to do. We need to assess the room, check the guests, and make sure we’re up and running for wire transfers before this thing starts.”

I pause, waiting for Winnie to disappear from sight before stalking toward the office. I don’t spend much time here at the club—no time, if I can help it. The Honey Pot is not my scene, seedy and distasteful. Bad for even a strip club.

We check the guest list, the financials, and finally, the security feed. Images of the main room from various viewpoints fill the wall of monitors.

Tonight’s take promises to be through the roof.

To maximize revenue, the hostess has the girls mingling with buyers prior to opening the bidding. Which is one of the reasons the event is heavily guarded bymypeople. I stand to gain tremendously tonight; I won’t trust the security to anyone else’s men.

Short skirts and sky-high heels are easy enough to spot in the crowded club. My eyes dart from screen to screen, scanning the faces, the bodies, forher.

“Whoa,” Teague mumbles, standing straight and backing away from me. “You want me to get you a drink, boss?”

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