Page 14 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

I smiled, laughed at the right moments, and let Shooter’s hand rest heavy on my thigh under the table. And as the afternoon wore on, one thing became painfully, undeniably clear. There was no escaping this. No waking up from this nightmare. I was really married to a Mosley.

SHOOTER

B r u n c h w a s apower play. A gathering of people who ran this city in different ways—some in suits, some in the shadows.

I sipped my Remy, barely listening to the conversation at the table. My hand rested on Parker’s thigh beneath the table, an anchor, a warning. She was playing the role, smiling when necessary, nodding at the right moments, but I could feel the tension in her body, the way she wanted to shrink away from me.

Good.

She needed to understand that this was her world now. My world. And in my world, I set the tone. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced down at the name. I exhaled sharply and stood, sliding my chair back. Parker looked up, a flicker of confusion crossing her face as I leaned down, my lips barely brushing the shell of her ear. “Don’t move.”

She tensed, but I was already walking away.

I weaved through the tables, past waiters carrying silver trays, until I reached a private alcove near the back. Leaning against the wall, waiting, was a man I had no patience for today—Carlo DeLuca.

He straightened as I approached, smoothing out his tailored suit, a snake dressed in designer.“Shooter Mosley,” he greeted, smirking. “Figured you’d be too busy playing house to handlerealbusiness.”

I stared at him blankly, pulling a blunt from my pocket and lighting it. “Fuck you want, Carlo?”

He grinned like we were friends. “Just making sure things are still running smoothly now that Silas’s gone. He and I had a good thing going with the security firm. I don’t know if you got the mind for this the way he did.”

I let the smoke roll from my lips, my expression unmoving. “Business is runnin' just fine,” I said coolly. “But you already know that.”

Carlo tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Do I?” He took a step closer. “See, I’m not convinced. You’ve been real busy elsewhere instead of locking down shit that actually matters.” I let him talk. Let him dig his own grave. “But that’s fine,” he continued. “Because maybe you’re not built for all this. Maybe you should focus on being a husband, let the real men take care of things.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Then Carlo chuckled, shaking his head. “And speaking of being a husband… Parker Whitmore? Jesus. That’s a lot of woman for a man like you. You sure you know what to do with all that?” I took another slow drag of my blunt as Carlo’s smirk widened. “I mean, if you ever need someone to take her off your hands—”

My gun was out before he could finish the sentence, the muzzle pressing right beneath his chin. The smirk vanished, and the color drained from his face. The restaurant was still loud, full of laughter and clinking glasses, but in this little corner, the world had gone silent.

“Say that shit again,” I murmured.

Carlo swallowed hard, eyes darting to the side, as if looking for an exit. There wasn’t one. “You’re crazy,” he whispered.

I pressed harder. “Say… it… again.”

His breath hitched. “Shooter, come on—”

“You don’t speak on my wife.” My voice was even, unbothered, but the weight of it settled deep in the air between us. “You don’t look at my wife. You don’t fuckin' think about my wife. Understand?”

Carlo nodded, hands slightly raised. “Yeah. Yeah, man, I got it.”

I let the moment stretch, let him feel the weight of my words. Then, slow as hell, I lowered my gun, tucking it back into the holster beneath my jacket.

Carlo exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. “My bad, man,” he muttered. “I was just—”

“Goin' back to the fuckin’ table,” I finished for him.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t make another joke. He just turned and walked away. I exhaled, rolling my shoulders back, pushing away the irritation thrumming in my veins. I turned—and that’s when I saw her.

Parker was standing just a few feet away, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. She looked shaken, breath shallow, and when I took a step forward, she took one back.

I tilted my head. “What are you doin'?”

She swallowed hard, then spun on her heel, disappearing toward the bathrooms. I smirked and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to come out. She flinched, stopping short. I took my time letting my eyes drag over her, taking in the heave of her chest, the way her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the edge of the door.

“You were just... gonna blow his head off?” she breathed.

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