Page 142 of Making Choices

“Fuck.”

Frowning, he follows me as I dash for the double doors.

As I knock partygoers out of the way, my heart races. Gut churning, jealousy takes hold of me. Instinctually, I know that Venom is outside with my duchess. He’s touching her, reminding her of all the ways she belongs to him, poisoning her against the possibility of anyone else loving her.

“Oh, my God!” A woman screams from deeper in the penthouse. Hand on the butt of my gun, I swing around. The naked brunette dashes into the main area, and throwing her arms in the air, she declares, “Sera’s convulsing. I think she’s OD’ing.”

I roll my eyes as I realise that Angelina’s still posing as her twin.

Four men in black, obviously the band’s security, burst into action.

Like a well-oiled machine they begin herding the partiers toward the exit.

“We’ll get rid of the hangers-on,” Apollo tells me. The news that the mother of his children is potentially overdosing on drugs hasn’t fazed him in the least. “Then the Shamrocks can leave. My secondary security will escort you home.”

“I’ll find Cherub.”

He inclines his head.

My hand shakes as I wrench open the door to the wrap-around balcony. The curtains billow out and I swipe them out of my face. The immediate vicinity is empty, but I can smell the lingering scent of a cigarette.

Fucking Venom.

“Cherub. Are you okay? Someone said they saw you come out here.”

No answer.

“Are you sure she came out here?”

“Yeah. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on her all night like you said,” Isaiah replies with absolute certainty. “She hasn’t come back inside… unless she used the door from Apollo’s room.”

“Go check his room.”

As he ducks off to do as I’ve demanded, I step further out onto the balcony. A level of fear the likes of which I’ve never felt before fills me. Each movement feels like it happens in slow motion. I’m trapped in the molasses of misery with no way out but through the sticky mess.

I hear metal scraping across concrete. “I’m here. Sorry. Must’ve fallen asleep.”

The breathless quality to Cherub’s voice tells me everything I need to know.

When I stride around the corner of the portico, the sight that greets me is heart-breaking.

Cherub is barely able to stand.

Hair a mess.

Lipstick smeared.

Crotch of her tights ripped apart.

He’s had his hands on her—all over her.

Stolen her from me again.

The need to eradicate Venom’s invasion is immediate. My blood whooshes in my ears. I pull my cut off and strip my shirt over my head. My duchess looks at me, features pinched as if she’s confused. I don’t know what I’ve said to her to put that look in her face, but when I thrust my shirt at her, she rallies and the ghost of a smile graces her flushed face.

“Here. Tie this around your waist or somethin’.”

She goes one better, pulling my shirt on like an overcoat.

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