Page 101 of The Delta's Rogue
Dominic huffs out a wry laugh.“Ain’t that the truth?”His fist tightens on his beer, a wry smile on his lips as he jerks his free thumb at me.“I’d drink to that, except Sebastian over here ordered us not to.”
I shake my head at him.“I’m not in charge of you or above you in rank. You’re a royal warrior on a special assignment for the king. I’m just the delta of a small pack. If anything, you outrank me. If you want to take the risk of being drugged, be my guest.”
He cracks his neck and pushes the bottle further away. Then he leans back against the seat, crossing his arms.“You’re our leader for this mission now. I don’t have to follow your orders, but it would be disrespectful if I didn’t.”A spark of humor flashes in his eyes, but it darkens and vanishes a second later. “Incoming.”He straightens his posture.
I follow his gaze towards a male crossing towards our table. He’s got slicked-back hair, a gold chain necklace, and a white shirt with one too many buttons undone. His pace is casual as he stalks over to us, but his eyes lock on me like a hawk. A cruel grin splits his lips in two, and a gold tooth that matches the chain hanging down his bared chest flashes in the dim club lighting.
“Henry Brown?” He reaches our table and holds his hand out for me to shake. “My name is Nuncio. Welcome to my club.”
I flick my eyestowards Nuncio’s offered hand as he waits for me to shake it, but I don’t grab it right away. I don’t want to appear too eager.
Instead, I take the moment to study his ugly face. I memorize every wrinkle and every mole, the way his left eyebrow is shorter than the right, the cocky way he holds his hand out to me. I memorize every fine line of the scar on that hand—the way it spiderwebs from the tip of his index finger all the way across his palm and up his wrist, the way the skin is pink and raw. I collect every detail, pasting a photograph of him next to his name on my mental hit list.
I don’t take too long to return his gesture, either. I don’t want to appear standoffish or for him to notice my distaste. There needs to be the right amount of time between his offered hand and mine grasping it to show him I consider us equals—even though I think he’s lower than the lowest pits of the underworld. But I can’t let him know that. I have to pretend I’m like him if our plan is going to work.
“Yes, I’m Henry Brown.” I rise to my feet.
Clasping his hand, I give it an extra, unnecessary squeeze—anything to assert a bit of dominance over him. A pulse of my aura would spark his suspicions and make him wonder why I am pissed off. We don’t need him questioning our motives. We need him relaxed and off guard, and willing to tell us what we want to know.
I step to the side and gesture at Dominic. “This is Nic Waters. Forrest and I are bringing him on as a third investor as we branch into these new offerings for our club.”
“And your other companion?” Nuncio’s beady eyes gloss over Dominic and land on Cassandra and Nolan in their intimate embrace.
“Ulysses Felix.” I take my seat once more, a cocky grin forming on my face, fueled by both the need to play my part and the amusement at how easily Nolan slipped into his “act” as Cassandra’s exhibitionist Dom. “He’s just here for a good time.”
Nuncio licks his lips, his stare locked on Cassandra’s body as it squirms in Nolan’s lap. Her pulse races and her shoulders heave as she tries to keep still after Nolan scolded her for moving. Nolan tenses, sensing Nuncio’s eyes on them—onher—but Cassandra takes that moment to arch her back and neck so her hair falls behind her shoulder and down her spine, revealing the gold collar she wears to Nuncio.
It won’t prevent him from watching, but it will keep him from touching without permission. Hopefully.
He better keep his hands to himself. Or, between the four of us, we’ll tear him apart and hide his remains. His ugly face will end up in the dumpster behind his club, with the rest of his body strewn around the city and his scarred hand brought back to Crescent Lake as a trophy for the evening.
Nuncio snaps his fingers. The server from before—the female with the jeweled collar—approaches him with a chair, setting it down behind him. Once she’s kneeling on the floor in a perfectly practiced submissive pose, he takes his seat and leans back in the chair, legs spread and pants visibly tenting. His eyes never stray from Cassandra’s performance.
Goddess, I hope Nolan can keep it together.
Nuncio plays with the strands of his pet’s hair as Nolan traces along the golden choker wrapped around Cassandra’s neck. Nolan’s body is still tense, but he ignores Nuncio, keeping his eyes on Cassandra as he too focuses on watching her reactions to his touch.
“You didn’t bring a companion with you tonight, Mr. Brown?” Nuncio directs his words to me, but his attention is solely on Cassandra.
The longer he stares at her, the hungrier his gaze grows. It’s different from the intrigue I feel when watching other couples. The lust reflecting in his eyes is dark, twisted, and barely leashed. All he wants is for others to think he is powerful. Strong. Dominant. If there’s even a hint of opportunity for him to join them or borrow Cassandra, he’ll take it without hesitation.
None of us will let that happen, though. Cassandra may not be mine, but she’s part of our pack. She’s family now. Any of us would lay down our lives for each other’s mates.
“Not tonight, no.” I spin my glass tumbler side to side.
“My pet can entertain you.” Nuncio jerks his head towards me as he tugs on the strands of her hair. “She’s wonderful at following orders, and she never puts up a fight. She can be yours for the evening. She’ll do whatever you want her to do.”
Her eyes widen and lift from their demure angle. It’s the briefest of actions—so quick Nuncio doesn’t notice, preoccupied as he is with watching Nolan play with Cassandra.
But I notice. The writhing rage snaking through me rears its head as, once more, her face becomes Sarina’s. The coiling anger urges me to strike and take him out, but the flash of Sarina’s face reminds me why we’re here: to save all of them. To do that, we must all play our parts. Lashing out now risks our entire plan and the life of every female in this building and beyond.
I take a breath in through my nose, examining the empty shell of a girl kneeling beside Nuncio. Even if I’d never met Sarina, I wouldn’t touch another male’s sub, wouldn’t play with her the way he’s wanting me to play with this favorite of his. I may be into watching and being watched, and have on occasion helped restrain another male’s sub, but sharing doesn’t suit my tastes.
I lift my glass to my mouth and pretend to take a sip, smacking my lips as I set it back on the table. “As tempting as that offer is”—I lean back and throw my arm across the cushions—“I’m here for business, not pleasure.”
Nuncio chuckles and shrugs. “Sometimes, the two can mix.” His fingers trail down his sub’s neck and chest, tracing along the top of her breasts. He wipes his palm on the top of his thigh, adjusting the fabric of his pants, as his fingers dip into her cleavage and his hungry gaze bores into the side of Cassandra’s face.
I hate how he’s looking at Nolan’s mate like she could be his next meal. But he’s distracted by her—entranced by her, almost—and I can capitalize on that interest.
