Page 81 of Wicked Savage

We head that way, but my eyes scan the crowd. Disappointment hits when I don’t see him, but I push it down, ordering drinks for all of us.

“He’ll be here,” Alisa murmurs in my ear. “I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t care,” I reply, but it’s a lie.

The more time passes, the more I feel like I’m dying inside. I shouldn’t care. I know that. But I do. It’s a sickness, wanting someone who doesn’t want you back.

We wander through the club, slipping in and out of rooms, some filled with people screwing, others tied in more extreme situations.

He’s not here. I can’t find him anywhere.

“I think I’m done.” A sigh escapes me. “We’ve been here for an hour, and nothing.”

“Okay.” Natalia throws an arm over my shoulder.

Just as we turn toward the main room, two men approach.

Neither of them is Cillian. They don’t walk like him, don’t have his size or presence. But they’re coming straight for us.

As we try to walk past, one of them places his hand on my hip.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, his dark eyes probing me up and down. “I’ve been watching you all night. Just wanted to tell you how—” He stops mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to something behind me.

“I’d get your hand off her if you want to keep it.”

A chill shoots up my spine. Every inch of my skin prickles.

It’s him.

Cillian.

The guy and his friend back away. “Whoa, didn’t realize she was taken.”

“I’m not.” I turn to glare at Cillian. “He must be confused.”

My hand drops to my hip, an eyebrow arched as I take him in.

His eyes? Icy cold. His jaw? Tight with restraint. And his mouth? God, it’s so firm, so damn kissable. I want to slap him just for making me want to taste him.

He grabs my hips and pulls my body to his.

“What the hell are you doing here, especially dressed like that?” His tone simmers, and a smile coils my lips.

“Oh, this?” I roll my fingers down the bare center of my chest, only wearing a tight black corset around my stomach with my breasts completely out, nipples covered by two black jewels.

His palm rolls down my back and he grabs a fistful of my ass, barely covered in a pair of tiny black shorts.

“You’re going home.” His tone is maddening and possessive, and I ache for it. For everything.

Every inch of me burns from his touch, wanting more, but I fight it. He doesn’t deserve it after what he did.

“I’m not going anywhere, and if you know what’s good for you…” I attempt to pry his hands off me, but they won’t budge. “I suggest you get your filthy palms off of me.”

His fingers slide up my back, slipping into my hair until he grasps it tight and whispers against my ear, “I thought you liked it when I’m filthy.”

My body prickles, my core throbbing, but I try not to show the effect he has on me. “We’re done, remember? Or should I remind you?”

He growls, squeezing my ass tighter. “I don’t need a reminder. I’m quite aware of who you are and why we can’t be together.”

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