Page 34 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

“Good girl.” I hated how those words made my stomach twist, but not in the way they did when Shooter said them. My father reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a black card, holding it out to me. “I upped the limit on your credit card but I’m sure Shooter has kept his word and is taking care of you.”

I stared at it for a second before taking it. “Yeah. Mm-hmm,” I said, my voice flat.

He cupped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I love you, Parker. I’ll call you soon.”

Then, just as quickly as he came, he pressed a kiss to my forehead and turned, striding back toward the elevator. The doors slid shut behind him and I was left standing there, gripping the card in my fingers, my emotions a tangled mess. I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or laugh. So I did none of the above.

Nothing about that visit sat right with me, but it wasn’t anything new. His love had always come in the form of power moves and dollar signs. Not affection, not real concern—just control.

I dropped the card on the counter, shaking my head as I pushed off toward the bedroom. I needed a shower. I stripped down in the bathroom, turning the water up as hot as I could stand it before stepping in. The heat eased the tension in my muscles, but it did nothing for the thoughts running rampant in my head. Shooter. That was my biggest problem.

I leaned against the tile, letting the water run over me as I exhaled. I had never felt like this about a man before. Not the two I had been with before him, not any of the ones who tried to impress me over the years. Shooter was different. Dangerously different.

Last night had been everything I didn’t know I needed. Raw. Intense. Passionate. But I hated that I wanted more. And even worse? I hated that I was sitting here in this penthouse, bored out of my mind, waiting for him to come back like some desperate housewife. Oh, hell no. That wasn’t me.

I turned off the water, stepping out and wrapping myself in a towel before heading to the bedroom. I wasn’t about to sit around all night twiddling my thumbs. If Shooter could go about his day doing whatever he pleased, then so could I.

I threw on a pair of fitted lounge shorts and a cropped tank top, comfortable but still cute. My hair went up into a messy bun, and I swiped on some coconut oil, letting my skin glow. Then, I grabbed my phone and hit the group chat.

What y’all bitches on?

It didn’t take long before the responses started rolling in.

MECCA: Ummm, where you been??

RETIA: Right, you been ghost. That nigga got you locked in a cage or sum?

I rolled my eyes, smirking as I flopped onto the bed.

No, I been chilling. But I’m tryna drink and catch up. Y’all pulling up or what?

KALEA: Say less. I’m bringing the Casamigos.

RETIA: And I got the hookah.

Bet. See y’all in an hour.

I tossed my phone on the bed and headed back to the kitchen. Wine. Snacks. Music. That’s what I needed. A Saturday to unwind with my girls, sip some wine, talk some shit, and remind myself that I was still that bitch Parker with or without Shooter Mosley in my head.

Shooter

A s I d r o v ethrough the city, smoke rolling from the cracked window, I thought about waking up next to Parker’s ass. Her smooth leg draped heavily across my waist, her thick thigh pressed against me like she hadn’t planned on letting go. Her messy hair was spread out across the pillow.

Last night flashed vividly through my mind, every filthy word, every scream of my name, every time she tried to prove she could dominate me. I smirked, tugging on my goatee. Parker was one stubborn-ass woman, but that shit only made me want her more. Her smart-ass mouth, that defiant spark, the way she challenged me at every turn. She drove me fucking crazy—but damn if she wasn’t worth every headache.

Shit, a part of me wanted to turn the fucking car around and slide right back between those sheets to remind Parker exactly why she belonged to me. But business always came first, especially over pussy—no matter how good that pussy was.

This meeting wasn’t just politics and bullshit—this was power, influence, and money. My father had been pushing this deal for months, knowing we needed a politician firmly in our back pocket. Councilman Jacobs had been playing hard to get, trying to flex his weak-ass moral code. I chuckled. Everybody had a price and today I planned to find his.

I pulled up to the sleek high-rise building that housed our downtown offices. Stepping out, I flicked away the blunt, adjusted my clothes, and headed inside. Security nodded respectfully as I passed, tension filling the air as the elevator took me straight to the top floor.

I pushed open the door to the executive suite, already spotting my father and Jacobs seated at the conference table. Seth’s sharp eyes landed on me instantly, narrowing with annoyance. “You’re cuttin’ it close,” he barked coldly.

I stared back, unfazed, sinking into a chair and spreading my legs arrogantly. “I’m here, ain’t I?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t press the issue further. He knew better than to challenge me too openly in front of outsiders. Jacobs shifted nervously in his seat, already looking uncomfortable. Good. That’s exactly how I wanted him. I stared the councilman down, taking my time, letting silence stretch. He fidgeted, sweat already dotting his forehead.

“What’s the hold up, Jacobs?” I finally spoke, my voice low, dangerous. “You been draggin’ your feet. We got money on the line, nigga.”

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