Page 10 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Mecca, the quietest of the group, side-eyed me. “Your crazy husband ain’t gonna pop up at the club and snatch your ass up, is he?”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Shooter is busy. He ain’t worried about me right now.” That was partly true. But I already knew when he found out, it was going to be hell to pay. But tonight? Tonight, I was outside.

The driver pulled off, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the car as the city lights blurred past us. For the first time in days, I felt like me again.Let’s see what the night brings.

G y p s y B a r & L o u n g ewas packed, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, liquor, and the bass of a trap song vibrating through the walls. The lights were low, casting everyone in a sultry glow, and the energy was just right.

I leaned against the bar, sipping on a strong margarita while my girls huddled around me, laughing and talking over the music. The tequila burned, but in the best way, loosening the last bit of tension in my shoulders.

“This is what I’m talkin' about!” Mecca shouted, throwing an arm around me. “Girl, I was worried about you, but you came out and showed the fuck up.”

Retia smirked, her nails clicking against her glass. “Mmmhmm. But Parker, real talk. you been lookin' stressed. What’s up with that?”

I exhaled and swirled the ice in my drink. “What do you think? I’m married to a Mosley. It ain’t exactly sunshine and roses.”

Kalea arched a brow. “Yeah, we peeped that. And Shooter?” She whistled low. “That nigga ain’t normal.”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Retia frowned, taking a sip of her drink before nudging me. “But real shit, though… is he, like, hurtin' you?”

I hesitated. Not yet. But he was definitely playing the long game, asserting control in ways that didn’t require his fists—just his presence, his demands, his goddamn blue eyes on me like a predator waiting for its prey to wear itself out. I forced a smirk. “Nah, he’s just… intense.”

Mecca snorted. “Intense? Girl, that nigga is fuckin' scary.”

I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she wasn’t lying. “Let’s not talk about him tonight. We’re supposed to be turning up.”

“Period,” Kalea agreed, raising her glass. “To me, bitches!”

I clinked glasses with them, knocking back the last of my margarita. The liquor spread warmth through my veins, making me forget, for just a moment, who I belonged to now. We made our way to the dance floor, bodies swaying, hips rolling, the music taking over. I was mid-spin when I felt a presence behind me.

“Damn, ma. You always dance like this?”

A deep voice, smooth as honey but with a dangerous edge. I turned and tilted my head up, meeting the dark gaze of a man who looked like trouble in a tailored shirt. He was tall, caramel-skinned, with broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a smile that promised toxicity.

I smirked. “Depends on who’s watching.”

His lips curled into something wicked. “Lucky me, then.”

I raised a brow. “That so?”

He nodded, stepping closer but not touching. Just enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Yeah. Lucky you, too. ‘Cause I was just about to leave, but then I saw you.”

I shouldn’t have entertained him. But I was lit, tipsy, and reckless. “So what, you gonna stand there and admire, or you gonna dance?” I challenged.

He grinned, stepping into my space, hands skimming my waist as he moved with me. He smelled good—like expensive cologne and bad decisions.

“What’s your name, ma?”

I smirked, letting him spin me, but before I could answer, I caught Retia’s expression shift from carefree to something worse. Then I felt it. A shift in the air. A slow, creeping chill that curled around my throat like an invisible hand. I turned my head to see Shooter at the entrance of the lounge, clad in all black, blue eyes locked on me with a look so lethal it made my breath hitch and my stomach drop. If looks could kill, I would’ve dropped dead on the spot.

Kalea grabbed my wrist. “Parker,” she whispered, voice urgent.

Mecca , standing beside her, wasn’t even trying to be discreet. “Oh shit, bitch. You fucked up.”

I swallowed hard. My pulse spiked, adrenaline roaring through me like a warning siren. My feet refused to move, even as the fine-ass man in front of me took one last glance at Shooter before stepping the fuck back. Smart.

Shooter’s steps were slow, deliberate, as he prowled through the lounge, the crowd instinctively parting for him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. His eyes never left me. Cold. Dark. Deadly. My breath caught when he stopped in front of me, so close I could feel the heat of his body, the restrained fury radiating from him like an open flame. For a long, thick moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared down at me, jaw locked, lips pressed into a hard line. Then, Shooter finally spoke with his voice deep and low.

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