Page 11 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

“Let’s go.” Two words. No argument. No negotiation. Just a command.

I hesitated—big fucking mistake—because the next thing I knew, his hand was wrapped around my wrist in an iron grip, and he was moving. Dragging me through the club, through the gawking crowd, past my stunned girls who knew better than to get involved.

The bouncer at the entrance barely stepped aside in time before we were outside, the night air hitting my skin like a slap. Shooter didn’t stop. Not until we reached his choice of car for the day, which was a black Maybach parked illegally at the curb like he wished someone would try him.

Then, without a word, he yanked open the passenger door and all but shoved me inside. The door slammed shut, and seconds later, the driver’s side opened, and Shooter slid in.

The car was silent, except for the sound of my rapid breathing. I forced myself to look at him, my mouth parting to speak— but one glance at his face had my words dying in my throat.

His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, his tattooed fingers flexing, betraying the restraint it was taking not to snap.

I wasn’t sure which scared me more—the storm brewing in his icy blue eyes or the fact that he hadn’t said a single word since dragging me out of the club. But one thing was for damn sure. I had fucked up.

SHOOTER

P a r k e r s a t i nthe passenger seat with her arms crossed and her bare leg bouncing like she was trying to burn off the nerves crackling beneath her flawless skin. She was bad as fuck in that tight little dress, her makeup perfect, her perfume thick in my nose—something soft, feminine. And I was fucking vexed. She hadn’t said a word. Neither had I. Didn’t need to.

My fingers flexed on the steering wheel, still feeling the phantom grip of her wrist in my palm. She thought she was slick. Thought she could lie to my guard, sneak out, parade her pretty ass for other niggas. Parker had no idea who she was fucking with.

I pulled up to the penthouse, shutting the engine off with one smooth movement. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Parker exhaled sharply and pushed the door open. She stomped ahead of me, those heels clicking against the marble floors when we stepped inside. She didn’t even stop in the foyer. Went straight for the kitchen, yanking open the fridge like she had something in there that could cool her attitude.

I shut the front door, slid my gun from my waistband, and set it down on the console table by the entrance. Rolled my shoulders. Tipped my head side to side.

I was calm but my patience was hanging by a fucking thread. “Let me ask you somethin'.” My voice was low, even. She ignored me, twisting the cap off her water bottle and taking a slow sip. I took a step further into the kitchen and her ass still didn’t look at me. “So you don’t know how to listen and follow rules, huh?” I asked, leaning against the counter, arms folded. “Tellin' my guards whatever the fuck you want, sneakin' out, runnin' around like you ain’t got a husband?”

Parker let out a sharp, humorless laugh. Finally turned to me. “You’re far from what a husband is, Sebastian.”

My eyes locked on hers. “I’ve been your husband since I claimed you, Mrs. Mosley.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re mycaptor. Big fucking difference.”

“You say that like you ain’t get up there and say them vows with me.”

She scoffed, shaking her head, taking another sip of water. “I was forced last time I checked.”

I stepped closer. “You’remine, Parker.”

Her nostrils flared. “You don’t own me, Shooter.”

I arched a brow. “Don’t I, though?”

Parker tried to step around me, but I moved too fast. Blocked her path. She let out a frustrated breath and tried again, but I backed her up until her spine hit the fridge. Her breathing changed. Not from fear but from something else. I caught that shit immediately. I tipped my head, inhaling her. Watching the way her chest rose and fell, how her fingers tightened around that water bottle.

I leaned in. Not touching her but mouth was close to her ear when I murmured, “Chill the fuck out and be a good little wife before I have to tie you up.” Parker shivered and I liked that shit. Smirking, I pulled back, my eyes scanning her face, my tongue sliding over my bottom lip. “Oh, you’d like that, huh?”

She swallowed hard. Her pulse jumped in her throat. I tilted my head, watching her. Watching her reaction. “That’s what’ll make you follow the rules, Mrs. Mosley?” My voice was low, taunting. “You want a nigga to tie you up and eat that pussy until you beg me to stop?” I let the words linger, heavy and thick in the space between us. “Until you obey me?”

Her lips parted. A slow blink. I could see the war in her eyes. Pride. Anger. And something darker, something she wasn’t ready to admit. Parker yanked the water bottle up, taking another sip. But her hand shook just the slightest bit. Then, with a sharp inhale, she shoved past me. Not hard. Not enough to move me. But enough to make a point.

She turned at the kitchen entrance, her brown eyes locking with mine, pure fire in them. “I’llneverobey you.”

I chuckled, slow and deep, shaking my head as I watched her storm off. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Mrs. Mosley.” I watched Parker disappear down the hall, her back stiff, her head held high like she had the upper hand. Like she had actually won something. I wasn’t tripping. She could stomp around all she wanted, roll her eyes, and throw her little tantrums. But at the end of the day, she was still mine, and she was still here.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face as I turned toward my bedroom. The day had been long as fuck. Between handling business, securing Silas’s old position, and making sure our operations kept running smoothly, I barely had time to breathe. And then I checked Parker’s location.

Saw her ass was in a bar, a lounge, most likely shaking that fine ass in some tight little dress while thirsty niggas tried to get at her. I damn near lost it, speeding to that location like I had a death wish at the same time Antwon called me “checking in”. And when I got to the bar? Saw her dancing and smiling in some nigga’s face like she wasn’tmyfucking wife? The rage that tore through me was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it onto the bed as I stepped into my bathroom. I turned the shower on, letting the water run hot as steam curled through the room. My hands went to my belt, undoing the buckle, my mind still reeling, still processing.

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