Page 9 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Parker

I t h a d b e e na full week since I became Mrs. Mosley, and I had done nothing but lay around, watching TV and writing in my journal like some caged bird waiting for its chance to escape. The penthouse was luxurious, filled with the finest furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a kitchen that probably cost more than some people’s entire homes. But it wasn’t home. It was a fucking prison.

Shooter had been busy, handling business. After what I witnessed at the barbershop, I had done everything in my power to avoid going anywhere with him. The next time he told me to get dressed, I faked a headache. The time after that, I claimed my cramps were too bad. He didn’t argue or force me but I saw the way he looked at me, like he was giving me space but wouldn’t allow it for much longer. But tonight… tonight, I needed a fucking break.

I was curled up on the couch, flipping through channels with my phone in my lap when it started ringing. I glanced down. Mecca. I sighed before answering. “What?”

“Bitch, don’t ‘what’ me. It’s Saturday. And not just any Saturday—it’s Kalea’s birthday, and you already know what that means.” Her voice was filled with excitement, and in the background, I could hear the music bumping.

I groaned. “I don’t know, girl…”

“Nope. Don’t even finish that weak-ass excuse you were about to give me,” she snapped. “You been MIA all damn week, acting like a housewife all of a sudden. We haven’t seen your ass. You owe me and the girls a night out.”

I sighed, glancing at my reflection in the mirror across the room. My hair was up in a messy bun, my oversized tee swallowing my frame. I looked like a woman who had given up. Sasha must have sensed my hesitation because she went in for the kill.

“Parker, listen to me. I get it. You married the big, bad wolf or whatever, but bitch, you need to breathe. One drink, a little dancing, and some fun ain’t gonna kill you.”

Shooter’s voice flashed in my head. “Keep all that ratchet shit to a minimum.”

But he wasn’t here. He was off somewhere handling business, probably doing something bloody and illegal. And I was supposed to just sit here like a damn Stepford wife, waiting for him to come back? Fuck that.

“What time y’all heading out?”

Mecca squealed. “That’s my girl! We’re leaving in an hour. You got time to get fine as fuck, but don’t play around, okay?”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be ready.”

The moment I hung up, I felt that old familiar rush of adrenaline—the one I used to get before a night out. It had been too long since I had dolled myself up, slipped into a sexy dress, and reminded the world exactly who the fuck I was. I tossed my phone onto the bed and headed straight to the bathroom. If I was going out, I was going out looking right.

After a hot shower, I stood in front of my mirror, naked, studying myself. My body was still toned, my curves still lethal. I wasn’t about to let this marriage dull my shine. I styled my hair into soft curls that framed my face perfectly. My makeup? Flawless. A smoky eye, long lashes, and a glossy nude lip that made my pout look downright sinful.

I slipped into a black bodycon dress that hugged every curve like it was made just for me. The hem stopped just below my ass, and the neckline dipped low enough to be dangerous. Diamonds glinted against my brown skin, and when I stepped into my red-bottom heels, I knew one thing for certain—I looked good as fuck.

Shooter might’ve thought he had me on lock, but tonight, I was free. The real challenge was getting out of the penthouse. He had goons stationed everywhere, but I had already studied them like a damn science project. And right now, my best bet was Marcus, the youngest and most easily distracted of his security team.

I found him near the elevator, standing post with a serious expression. I smiled sweetly. “Hey, Marcus.”

He turned, eyes widening slightly as he took me in. “Uh, Mrs. Mosley.”

I almost rolled my eyes at the name. Instead, I tilted my head, playing innocent. “So, listen… I just wanted to let you know I’m heading out for a little bit. To the movies.”

Marcus frowned. “Uh… does, uh… does Shooter know?”

I placed a delicate hand on his arm, letting my fingers trail lightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Of course. I wouldn’t just leave without telling my husband, now would I?” My voice was soft, sweet, dangerously convincing.

Marcus hesitated, then looked me over again. I knew what he saw. A bad bitch in a tight dress, looking like trouble. “You just going to the movies, right?”

I smiled, touching his chest lightly. “Mhmm. Just a simple girls’ night. Nothing crazy.”

He exhaled, nodding. “Alright, alright. Be careful out there, Mrs. Mosley.”

I bit back my smirk as he swiped his keycard and let me pass. That shit was too easy. I stepped into the elevator, and as the doors closed, my smirk stretched into a grin. Freedom. When I climbed into the awaiting black SUV, my girls screamed.

“Bitch, look at you!” Retia grinned, reaching over to grab my wrist and shake it. “I knew you weren’t about to sit up in that penthouse and rot.”

Kalea, the birthday girl, clapped her hands. “You came! I was not about to celebrate without you, bitch.”

I laughed, my earlier tension slipping away as I settled into the seat. “Of course I came. Y’all know I can’t resist a turn-up.”

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