Page 39 of Thorns of Silence
SIXTEEN
DANTE
Another week had gone by since my last interaction with Phoenix. I had made my intentions clear to the fucking world—hands off Phoenix Romero.
But then she started fucking with me.
I brought the cigarette to my mouth and inhaled a puff of smoke. The taste hit my tongue, filling my lungs, and I blew it back out, immediately relaxing.
Parisians passed me by, rushing to their homes, dates, or nightlife as I stood outside Phoenix’s apartment, watching her shadow flit around her bedroom.
I’d been following her as usual, back and forth from her apartment to her rehearsals. It was second nature to shadow her every move and lurk in the darkness, although now I knew she was aware of my presence. All the better. I couldn’t give a fuck about hiding my tracks.
She might as well get used to me watching her, because she’d be mine.Eventually.I had no fucking clue why she fascinated me. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes or the way pain marred her face when she thought nobody was watching. The woman was an expert at keeping her facade firmly in place.
And then there was this stubbornness she insisted on when it came to this attraction between us. She’d rather spite me and go on more dates. Most men bolted the moment I uttered my first threat, but this last one… or rather the first one… was back. Fucking Baptiste.
Not only did he touch that which didn’t belong to him, but he blatantly ignored my warning and went on a second date with her.
He’d be dealt with.
I blew out the smoke, flicking the ash off the cigarette, but it was impossible to shake off the ash that dried my mouth.
Propped on my bike, I watched her window, waiting for her figure to appear. I didn’t even bother hiding or finding a discreet spot. She knew I was stalking her, and she continued to taunt me.
With her dating life. With the smiles she suddenly bestowed on the men in her ensemble. Jesus, I wanted to murder the entire orchestra.
Phoenix stepped into the window, wearing little shorts and a tank top. Her wet hair cascaded down her back, past her shoulders. Her eyes drifted over the street, and I wondered if she was looking for me.
You’d think she’d have learned her lesson after what happened at Sphere, but no. She had to test me. Fury shot through my veins all over again, remembering how she’d sat across the table from her date tonight, staring at him. How she ignored everyone—the entire fucking world—as though he were the most interesting piece of shit to ever utter the wordsfilet de boeuf.
And when they parted, that fucker touched her ass.
Touched. Her. Ass.
I was so close to walking up to them, slicing his throat, and then fucking her in the mess of his blood. Before I could act on it though, she left him and headed home. Aborting my plan, I opted to follow my woman home instead.
But no matter, I’d still make him pay. Right after I ensured Phoenix was tucked safe and sound in her bed.
I clenched my fists at my sides, the voices demanding I show her exactly what she denied us both. Who she belonged to. She was mine, always had been and always would be.
The outline of her body shifted and I followed it. Her eyes found me and my breath caught in my lungs. She stood still, too fucking far away from me. I could feel the sizzling attraction even with the distance separating us, but I could also feel how much she hated me.Why?Why did she hate my guts?
My molars ground together, and I resisted throwing my helmet across the street. I’d wanted to fuck her since the first night I saw her in the club. She’d sealed the deal when she performed her little act of self-care, knowing I was watching. But it was more than that.
She wanted me too. Deep down, I knew it. If only she’d come to the same conclusion and meet me halfway. Sooner rather than later, ideally.
I didn’t know how long I’d be able to keep my impulses at bay.
Then the lights went off in her room and I revved my motorcycle.
I was about to purge the energy buzzing through my veins.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be between Phoenix’s thighs, but I was told beggars couldn’t be choosers.
* * *
It turned out Baptiste was a coward who had some pull. Not that it fucking mattered.
