Page 27 of Phantom Mine

She’s running her hands brazenly down her body as her eyes challenge me. It’s almost like she’s dancing just for me. It’d be unbelievably hot if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m far from the only one with eyes on her.

Not for fucking much longer.

“Guido,” I warn.

Her eyes flash when she sees him leave my side and come towards her. She lowers herself down to her knees, her head tilting to the side as she listens to whatever he whispers in her ear, and then she shakes her head.

She shakes.

Herfucking.

Head.

I’m out of my seat and storming down to the stage before I can second guess the wisdom of my decision. I’ve taken three steps when a hand clamps down around my elbow and stops me.

Enzo appears, the congenial smile on his face meant to signal to everyone around us that nothing is wrong. He must have been keeping an eye on me from the shadows, intervening when he saw it was needed.

“If you cause a scene, you’ll be painting a target on her back. And yours,” he whispers, that performative smile still on his goddamn face. “Think.”

I’m fuming, my nostrils flaring as I stare her down. But she’s still dancing, ignoring my obvious rage.

“Get her down from there,” I repeat for the third time, as irate as I’ve ever been that she’s still on that fucking stage.

If he doesn’t do what I ask, if he makes me repeat myself a fourth time, I’m going to fucking explode. No one wants to see that, I guarantee it.

His grip on my shoulder tightens painfully. He tries to reason with me but I’ve had enough. “Matteo, think about what you’re doi—”

The words claw past my throat. “It’sher, Enzo.”

His brows knit together, his face twisting in confusion. It takes him a second to process and then his features smooth out in understanding.

“It’s her,” I repeat, somehow out of breath.

He looks at Melody for long seconds, grimaces, then turns back towards me.

“I’ll take care of it,” he announces, abandoning his previous rationalization tactics. “You sit back down.”

Without waiting for an answer, he saunters to the platform and jumps onto the stage. He faces the audience with a cocky grin on his face and wraps his fingers around Melody’s wrist.

“Sorry boys,” he swaggers arrogantly. “Think I’ll keep this one for myself.”

The men erupt in raucous laughter and bawdy cheers as he tugs Melody off the stage.

She resists, tugging against his hold. Enzo wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her backstage. Just seeing his hands on her makes me want to pummel his face in, a reaction that’s doubly concerning for its very existence and the fact that I have absolutely no right to be possessive of her.

I should be thankful that Enzo pulled the attention away from me and over to him. Instead, seething, primal jealousy slithers into my chest.

I drop into my chair and down my drink, motioning for another. The waitress sets it on my table just as Melody reappears and heads for the bar. She’s in a new outfit that covers all the important bits except for a plunging neckline, but I consider it a win.

With her clothed and back under my watchful gaze far from Enzo, I feel my pulse settle, my anger slowly dissipating. It’s replaced by hot, sizzling excitement as she storms my way with a tray in hand and an expression on her face that suggests she might attempt to beat me to death with it.

Gladly. If she does, I’ll use it to spank the ever loving shit out of that tight ass of hers.

“What the hell is your problem?” she hisses, electrified by her anger. Her lips are a dark shade of red, the color of spilled, drying blood.

The waitress who was previously serving me appears and politely tries to point out that this is her table.

“I’ll take care of him,” Melody snaps at her.

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