Page 36 of Stolen Voices
Mason chuckles. “Fuck off. Give me about five minutes, and I’ll get you that information.”
“Thanks, Mase.”
“I got you, brother.”
I hang my head between my shoulders and take a deep breath before going upstairs. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Callie took my car and slipped out of the house without telling me.
Where the fuck did you go, Callie, and why did you leave?
I throw open the door to Ricochet Lounge and stomp towards the auditorium.
When Mason told me my car was in Malibu, I almost lost it. Why was Callie in Malibu? Does she have a boyfriend I don’t know about living out there? A million scenarios ran through my head. I fought through them all, and pushed the rage and jealousy irrationally clouding my judgment away, reminding myself that I have no right to be jealous.
Callie isn’t mine.
All morning, I’ve tried to ignore how queasy I feel thinking about Callie in Malibu with who knows who, doing who knows what. I kept my head down and worked. Dez and I met up, got feelers out for Cam’s assistant, and then I checked in on half a dozen of my clients.
Mason called fifteen minutes ago to tell me my car was parked at Ricochet Lounge. Callie does not have rehearsals today because I canceled them, so when I pulled up the security footage and saw her on stage rehearsing like yesterday never happened, something in me snapped.
The drive here was a blur, my anger and worry overriding all rational thought. She is supposed to be resting while her backup dancers practice today. But does she listen? No.
I rip open the theater door and, sure enough, there she is. Callie fucking Wright. Looking sexy as all get-out in a sparkly leotard, nude spandex, and heels, and shaking her ass. She almost fucking died last night, and she’s here dancing and pushing herself to the limit—against doctor’s orders. Againstmyorders.
I practically growl when her back-up dancer puts his hands on her hips and lifts her into the air with a spin. The dancer lands on his back, with Callie on top, her knees at his side. She pushes his face, and stands in a move meant to be seductive and teasing. It works because all I can think about is her sitting on my face and pushing me away to stop me from making her come over and over.
Pushing my dirty visions aside, I stare until Callie catches sight of me. She freezes, and her abyss-like eyes find my seething ones. A look of fear flashes across her face as I come barreling down the stage towards her like a deranged psycho, huffing and puffing, anger rolling off me in waves.
I can feel everyone’s curious stare on me and Callie, but I couldn’t give a single fuck right now. She’s putting herself in danger, and I’m not having any of it.
“Calliope.” There’s a dark edge to my voice, and her name comes out like a rough warning.
Callie pushes her shoulders back and tilts her chin up like a princess ready for battle against an ogre. “Not here.” She spins on her heel without another word and strides proudly off stage.
Tapping into my outrage, I don’t bother walking around. Instead, I place my hands on the stage, pull myself up in one quick move, and follow her to her dressing room, my eyes glued to her perfect ass the entire way.
Callie pushes open her dressing room door and marches over to the vanity, where she rests her butt on the edge, legs crossed at the ankle and arms over her chest, lifting her perfect tits up and making my mouth water.
I’m a barrel of TNT waiting to explode as I slam the door and step up to her, bringing us toe to toe, only a few inches separating us.
“What the fuck, Callie?!” I shout.
“Don’t talk to me like that. Take a second. Please.” She places her hands on my chest and firmly presses her palms into me, not quite pushing me away. The gesture has an unexpectedly calming effect on me, but it doesn't last long.
The heat of her touch sets my body on fire, and my blood rushes south to my cock. The traitor twitches in my pants as I inhale her sweet floral scent.
“You fucking left without a word, and you want me to be calm? Calm was hours ago, when I woke up and brought a cup of coffee to an empty room.”
Callie stares up at me and bites her lip. The urge to bite it too and punish her is so strong it’s making me crazy. I’m half hard and furious.
“Cat got your tongue?” I grunt, fighting for the control not to maul her.
“I’m sorry.” Her whispered apology meets my lips in a warm breath.
“Sorry won’t cut it. You stole my car.”
“Borrowed,” she amends.
My blood pressure spikes at her nonchalance over the situation. “Semantics,” I growl. Callie is a celebrity who draws a ridiculous amount of media attention. She should not be out there driving alone. “Where did you go?”
