Page 50 of Major Penalty

The bartender slides a glass toward Ares as I make my way to the other side of it, where the second bartender greets me. I quickly order a mojito and turn to face the guys, who are already popping bottles. Stone is walking up the stairs with a group of women, all giggling and talking as they trail after him.

Ares doesn’t sit and doesn’t laugh. He just stands there, watching the room, brooding and detached. The moment security lets Stone in along with his entourage, it starts. I have never seen something like this. The women split up, circling the whole team like they’re about to steal their lunch money.

They stay away from Damien and Rowan, but the rest of the guys are being swarmed. I don’t want to look; I know I shouldn’t. But before I can stop myself, my head turns in Ares’ direction just in time to see three women walking toward him. They descend on him like moths to a flame. Hands brush his arms, and fingers trail his chest. Loud, giggling voices reach my ears above the music.

And Ares does nothing. He doesn’t encourage them, doesn’t pull them closer, doesn’t flirt back. But doesn’t pull away from either.

And I don’t like it. I don’t like watching it. I don’t like seeing their hands on him. I don’t like knowing that this happens all the time. I don’t like thinking about how many times he’s let it happen, how many women have felt their hands on him just like I have. The thought alone is enough for my chest to tighten painful.

I grab my drink, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else, but my stomach twists.

Get a grip.

I turn away, adjusting my dress and forcing myself to look unbothered. Then a gorgeous brunette cuts through the crowd like a heat-seeking missile—straight to Ares. She slides in close, plants a hand on his chest, tips her head up to say something. He doesn’t smile back, but he leans in, jaw tight, to catch whatever she’s saying. His brows pinch as he straightens, frowning down at her—right before she tosses her head back and laughs like she just won a prize.

I can’t watch this. My stomach is hot and tight. A feeling I don’t recognize, don’t know how to handle, don’t know how to suppress. So, I do the only thing I can.

I say screw him, stand up, and walk out of the VIP area, my mojito long forgotten.

I push through the bodies, my pulse pounding in my ears, fast and erratic. Bodies move around me, neon lights flashing over bare skin and low-cut dresses. I head straight for the big bar in the center by the dance floor, weaving through the chaos. I need a stronger drink, something to cool the fire in my veins.

I slide onto a stool and press my palms against the counter.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” The bartender notices me immediately, stepping closer.

“A shot of tequila. On the Panthers’ tab.” I point toward the VIP area where I just came from, expecting the bartender to argue, but he just nods.

A deep chuckle sounds beside me. I glance up to see a man take the seat beside mine. He’s tall, blond, and ken-doll perfect with a charming boy-next-door smile.

Soft hands, no scars. The kind of guy who never raises his voice—or your pulse.

A guy who looks safe.

A guy who looks nothing like Ares.

He leans in slightly. “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing drinking alone?”

“I’m not alone,” I tell him, watching the man behind the bar pour my shot.

“Well, now you’re definitely not.” Ken smirks.

The bartender drops a shot in front of me. I grab the glass, swallowing it down in one go, the heat burning my throat.

“You look like you need another one.” Ken grins.

I force a small smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit.” He laughs, his dimples on full display. He leans in a little more, casually, but I know he’s done this a million times before. “Come on, let me get you a drink.”

I hesitate, just for a second. And that’s when I feel it. A force so strong I don’t even have to look up to know.

My breath stalls, and my skin prickles. And when I finally lift my eyes and look up, Ares is staring right back at me.

He looks ready to kill. His gaze is locked on me, hard and cruel, a laser through the neon haze of the club.

I don’t know how long he’s been looking. But I know what that look means. It’s a silent warning.

Don’t you fucking dare.

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