Page 6 of The Delta's Rogue
“Fuck it,” Sarina growls outside, followed by the sound of fabric tearing.
I exit the tent in the clothing she selected for me, adjusting the collar of the leather jacket, and raise my brow at her as she rips the bottom half of her dress off, turning it into a crop top. The dark, golden-brown expanse of her stomach—between the waist of the tight black leather pants she put on and the bottom of the shirt she created—catches my eye, teasing me with its luster. Combined with the exposed skin of her chest and shoulders, and the heeled boots she wears, I can’t keep my eyes off her.
I’m sure that’s what she intended.
“I didn’t like that dress anyway.” She shrugs, tossing the fabric at me after balling it up.
I sidestep it, and it falls to the ground at my feet in a crumpled heap.
She winks at me. “That’s for you. So you can remember me when I’m gone.”
I glare at her and clench my jaw, saying nothing. She’s trying to goad me into a reaction, and it won’t work.
Sarina smiles wider and whips around, the car keys I gave her earlier this evening dangling off her finger. She struts off towards my pack, once again knowing I’ll follow her.
I wait a few moments until I’m sure she’s out of range, then I tear off a strip of fabric from her dress on the ground and shove it in my pocket, before I follow her to the parking lot.
The thumping of thebass in the club rattles my bones and sets my teeth on edge. I swear it’s louder and heavier than before the outage that sent everyone running in a panic, but then again, we were upstairs in the VIP area, away from the speakers and the surging, swaying mass of people on the dance floor.
The night life is back in full swing here as if the power outage never occurred. Guests dance and drink, crowding us near the bar as we wait for the manager.
Sarina rests her elbows on the bar top, leaning forward and bouncing her head a little to the beat, her eyes as observant as mine as she examines the bartender and the setup he works in.
A male bumps into me, jostling me. I hold in a growl, hovering closer to Sarina to hide her from the crowd. Her body is tucked away between mine and the bar so no one can touch her.
As her scent wafts into my nose again from the swaying of her silky ink-black hair as she dances in her seat, I grip the back of the stool she’s perched on, digging my fingertips into it. The urge to press my nose into the top of her head—to nuzzle it into her hair and breathe in only her scent—overwhelms me. My hand on the seat is the only thing preventing me from doing just that.
Her body brushes against mine every so often as she sways, a smile playing on her lips as she glances at me from the corner of her eye. Those long, dark lashes of hers flutter once as she blinks, and I blow a breath out between my lips, lifting my gaze to the dance floor.
Why did I agree to let her come with me again?
“Lou is busy,” a voice says to me, drawing my attention back to the bar.
Another growl threatens to escape me, and my fingers curl on the countertop, but Sarina covers my hand with hers and squeezes it, hiding the movement from any prying eyes. That touch snags my lycan’s attention, but I push him aside to focus on my task.
I glare at the female bartender, who just returned from the back of the club. “Tell him I will wait until he’s not busy then.” I lean further over Sarina. “I have time.”
I don’t have time. I should be out there hunting down Lennox, not in here playing politics. But someone needs to get answers about the security cameras and the power outage, and I’m the one with the connections. So, Sarina and I are in here while the rest of her pack and Levi are searching the city for Lennox.
I hate doing things this way. We own the club. Lou is our employee and part of our pack. I could barge into Lou’s office and demand he give me answers. I could have my dad call and order him back to the pack to be questioned under alpha command there. But that’s not how we operate. We don’t run our pack with fear and by throwing our power and dominance in others’ faces. All that would do is create distrust and disrespect within our pack.
So, I’ll play Lou’s little game. I’ll wait. Because, soon enough, Lou will play my game. We may not operate on fear, but pack members know I’m the enforcer. He won’t want to piss me off, and he’ll amend his unfortunate decision to make me wait. He also won’t run, knowing that will only solidify his guilt and his fate.
No, even if he is guilty, he’ll hide up in that office of his until he grows large enough balls to speak to me.
“Dance with me,” Sarina says as the female bartender walks away from us.
I frown at her, my jaw clenching.
“What?” She shrugs. “He’s making us wait. We may as well have some fun while we do.” Before I can respond, she hops off the stool, squeezes by me, and takes off towards the dance floor, aiming for the center of the writhing, sweaty throng of guests.
My fingers flex against the barstool as her hips rock side to side with each of her bouncing steps, the leather of her pants hugging her round ass. Her hair shines in the lights, reflecting the red and blue hues as the colors switch with the beat of the music. She spins and faces me, walking backwards and catching my eye, letting the crowd make way for her as she continues on her path.
Males from every corner of the dance floor eye her, their glances lingering on the curve of her butt and the swell of her breasts. That’s when I snap. If I don’t go out there and dance with her, someone else will. But they won’t make it out of the club with their hands attached to their body if they do.
She may drive me crazy, but the thought of anyone else dancing with her—touchingher—has my blood boiling.
I shrug off the way-too-warm leather jacket and toss it on the stool before I follow her, reaching her in record time.
