Page 56 of Run Little Fawn

We wind through the streets, past the glittering casinos and the drunken revelers. She seems to know where she's going, never hesitating, never looking back. I'm forced to admire her composure, even as the questions burn inside me.

Who are you now, little fawn?

And then, she turns, ducking into a doorway. I pause, my brow furrowing.

A strip club, the neon sign proclaiming "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS" in lurid pink letters.

Definitely not what I was expecting.

What the hell are you doing, Aria?

I hesitate for only a moment before following her inside, the heavy bass of the music pounding in my ears. The interior is all black lights and velvet, the air thick with the scent of sweat and cheap perfume.

On stage, a girl in a barely-there bikini writhes around a pole, her movements mechanical, her eyes glazed.

But I barely spare her a glance. My attention is focused solely on Aria, watching as she winds her way through the crowd, headed toward the back of the club like she belongs here, too.

Jealousy rises up inside me, hot and irrational.

Is she meeting someone?

Another man?

The thought sends a surge of possessive fury through my veins, my hands curling into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

Aria is mine.

She belongs to me, whether she knows it yet or not. And I'll be damned if I let anyone else lay a finger on her.

I force myself to take a breath, to push down the jealousy and focus on the task at hand. She's here for a reason, and I need to find out what that reason is.

I follow her, staying back, letting the crowd shield me from view. She slips through a door marked "Employees Only," and I curse under my breath when I spot the keycard entry. It's no major obstacle, but it's an obstacle nonetheless. At least for now.

Why does she have a card?

Did she spot me following her?

No… I was too careful.

I order a scotch at the bar, the amber liquid glinting under the pulsing lights. The music throbs, the bass a physical presence in my chest. But I barely notice, my attention trained solely on the door Aria disappeared through.

I take a seat at the end of the bar, positioning myself to have a clear view of both exits. If she tries to slip out, I'll see her. There's no escape, not from me. Not ever.

The scotch burns my throat, a welcome distraction from the jealousy still simmering in my veins. The thought of her with someone else, it's enough to make my vision go red, to awaken the darkest parts of me.

A dancer sidles up to me, all fake tan and bleached hair. She runs a hand down my arm, her nails like claws against my skin.

"Looking for some company, handsome?" she purrs, her voice a cheap imitation of seduction.

I barely spare her a glance, my eyes never leaving the door. "Not interested."

She pouts, but I can see the calculation in her eyes. I'm just another mark to her, another wallet to empty. She doesn't know that she's playing with fire, that I could break her with a flick of my wrist.

"Come on, sugar. I can make it worth your while." Her hand drifts lower, toward my thigh.

I catch her wrist in an iron grip, my fingers digging into her bones. She gasps, her eyes widening in fear.

"I said, not interested." My voice is a low growl, a warning. "Walk away. Now."

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