Page 2 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

His lips twitched—barely. Not a smile. More of a flicker of something unreadable. A shiver crawled down my spine. And for the first time in my life, I realized—I had spent so much time hating the idea of being with the wrong Mosley brother. Because Silas had been somewhat dangerous. But Shooter? The man with the cold, blue eyes? Shooter wasdeadly.

PARKER

I w o k e u pin the morning, gasping. For one blissful second, I thought it had all been a nightmare—the funeral, the whispers, Shooter. Everything. Then my eyes adjusted to the dim morning light filtering through my bedroom window, and the illusion shattered.

Silas was still dead and I was still promised to his brother. I sat up too fast, my head spinning. My silk sheets were tangled around me, evidence of a restless night filled with half-remembered dreams. The air in my room was thick, suffocating, and I needed out. I shoved the sheets aside and stumbled toward the ensuite bathroom, gripping the sink as I met my reflection in the mirror.

I looked like shit. Heavy bags sat under my eyes, my usually flawless complexion dull and pale. My long hair was a matted mess. Now, I wasn’t some naive little bitch. For the last twenty-six years, I had been raised in a world where business and blood ran side by side, where deals were sealed with handshakes and quiet threats rather than love or sentiment. I had always known my marriage would be strategic, that my choices were nothing more than carefully arranged steps in a game I had never wanted to play. But not like this. Never like this.

I turned the faucet on, splashing cold water on my face as I tried to ground myself because there was no way in hell I was marrying Shooter Mosley. Leaving my room, I slipped into my silk robe and slippers and took the staircase down to the dining room. My father was seated at the head, reading the morning paper as if everything was business as usual. And, for him, it always was. As if I hadn’t been pawned off to the deadliest man I’d ever met less than twenty-four hours ago. Hell no, I didn’t have an appetite.

“Daddy, tell me this isn’t happening,” I said finally, breaking the silence.

He didn’t look up from his paper. “You know it is.”

My grip tightened around the stem of my untouched mimosa. “Silas is dead. The deal should be void.”

He sighed, folding the paper neatly before setting it beside his plate. “The contract was never about Silas Mosley. It’s about securing our future, strengthening our position. That hasn’t changed.”

I stared at him, waiting for something—anything—that resembled fatherly concern. Some acknowledgment that I wasn’t just a bargaining chip to be passed off to a Mosley, no matter which one it was. I got nothing.

“So that’s it?” I said, voice razor-sharp. “I just… go live with Shooter and everything will be fucking peachy?”

My father’s expression hardened. “Watch your mouth, Parker Alize Whitmore.”

“Watch my—” I laughed, but there was nothing amused about it. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m marrying him, Daddy. He’s… crazy! I won’t do it.”

“You will.” His jaw clenched. “The Mosleys are expecting compliance. You will give them that. While I am overseas, I don’t wanna hear no shit either, Parker. End of discussion.”

I pushed my chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the polished floor. My father didn’t stop me as I stormed from the dining room. He didn’t need to. Because the moment I stepped into the hallway, I ran straight into a wall of muscle and expensive cologne.

Shooter’s large frame towered over me, his frame relaxed but undeniably dominant. He had been waiting for me. Of course, he had. My breath hitched before I forced myself to meet his gaze. Those icy blue eyes studied me, unreadable, calm. Too calm. I wanted to claw that calm right off his face.

“You,” I spat.

His lips twitched, like he was almost amused by my fury. “In the flesh.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m gonna marry you.”

Shooter closed the small distance between us with the ease of a man who had never heard the wordnoand accepted it. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Look, I don’t care what myfatheragreed to,” I snapped. “Idon’t agree, and that shit should matter.”

Something dark flickered in his gaze, but it was gone before I could name it. He studied me like I was a puzzle, something to be solved and claimed in equal measure. “You think this is about what you want?” he asked quietly.

I hated the way his voice sent a shiver down my spine. “That’s usually how marriage works,” I shot back.

Shooter hummed, his fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to touch me. “This marriage was decided long before you or I had a say in it.”

“Then let’s un-decide it,” I challenged.

“Not an option.”

I glared up at him, frustration and panic warring beneath my skin. “Why? Why are you doing this? You never wanted this arrangement before. Why take Silas’s place?”

His gaze sharpened, his presence suddenly suffocating. He leaned in just enough that I could feel the heat of him, the quiet, leashed power coiled beneath his skin. “Because I can,” he murmured. I sucked in a sharp breath. Shooter tilted his head, studying me. “You can scream, threaten, cuss me out. Whatever you need to do but it won’t change a fucking thing.”

“Muthafucka,” I whispered. He smirked. I hated him. I hated him more than I had ever hated my father for putting me in this position in the first place. Shooter wasn’t just accepting this arrangement. He was reveling in it. I forced myself to stand tall, even as my entire world tilted beneath my feet. “You think you own me, don’t you?”

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