Page 15 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

I stepped closer, caging her in against the wall. “You think I’d let a muthafucka disrespect me like that?” My voice was low, lethal. “Or you?” She blinked rapidly, like she wasn’t sure if she should be afraid or insulted. I leaned in, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume. “You’re my wife, Parker,” I murmured. “That means no nigga speaks on you. Looks at you. Tries you. Unless they wanna die.”

She exhaled sharply, turning her head away. I let the moment sit, let her feel me there, pressing in on every inch of her. Then, just as fast, I stepped back, offering her my hand. She hesitated. I smirked. “Be a good little wife.” Parker clenched her jaw, eyes burning into mine, but after a long second, she placed her hand in mine. Good girl.

I led Parker back to the table, pulling her chair out for her before reclaiming my seat. Brunch resumed as if nothing had happened. Conversations continued. Toasts were made. And Carlo? He was back in his seat, looking real fucking uncomfortable. I picked up my glass of Remy, held it up slightly, and locked eyes with him as I took a slow sip. He got the message. Parker sat stiffly beside me, still rattled, but she played her part. And me? I just smiled.

B r u n c h f i n a l l y e n d e d. The plates were cleared, and the waitstaff moved swiftly to erase any evidence of the gathering. Most of the guests had long since filtered out, but we remained—me, Parker, my father, and the woman on his arm.

She was young for his ass, early thirties at best, with warm brown skin and curves for days. She clung to my father’s arm like she had a purpose, batting her lashes and smiling at all the right moments. But my father? He wasn’t thinking about her. His sharp, assessing gaze was locked on Parker.

“Silas always did have good taste,” Seth remarked, lifting his glass to his lips, voice laced with something unreadable.

I felt Parker stiffen beside me. I didn’t like that shit. She wasn’t my brother’s. Had never been his. She was mine. Parker, to her credit, kept her composure. She crossed her legs, her silk dress shifting over smooth, toned thighs, and lifted her own champagne flute like she wasn’t fazed. But I knew better.

My father smirked, setting his glass down. “So, tell me, Parker, what exactly do you think you can bring to this family?”

Parker tilted her head slightly, a slow smile curling her lips. “I wasn’t aware I had to submit a résumé,” she quipped.

A muscle ticked in my father’s jaw.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers curling against my knee. “Watch it,” I warned under my breath.

But Parker? She didn’t listen. She turned toward my father, eyes glittering with defiance. “I bring class, intelligence, and a last name worth something,” she said smoothly. “And from what I can see, this family could use a touch of that.”

Silence. Thick. Tense. The woman on my father’s arm cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. My father leaned back in his chair, lips pressing into a tight line. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble, girl.”

Parker smiled sweetly. “So I’ve been told.”

My jaw clenched. I caught the warning in my father’s eyes before he turned his attention back to me. “You need to get a handle on that. Soon.”

I leaned back, feigning ease I didn’t feel. “I got it.”

He arched a brow. “Do you?”

I exhaled through my nose, annoyed. “Yeah. I do.”

He studied me, unimpressed. “See that you do, boy.” Then he stood, adjusting the cuff of his blazer.

I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He gave me one last look before walking off, his little girlfriend trailing behind him. I waited until he was out of sight before turning to Parker. She wasn’t there. I spotted her a few feet away, stomping toward the back exit, her heels clicking. Fucking hell. She was trying to test me. I stood, shoving my chair back, and rushed after her.

She was already standing beside my car, arms folded across her chest, looking straight ahead when I walked up. Unlocking the doors, we both slid inside and slammed the doors shut.

Silence.

I let it stretch, let it simmer, my hands gripping the wheel as I stared at her. Slowly, Parker turned her head to look at me, eyes bright with challenge. I studied her, my jaw tight. “Why do you keep fuckin' playin' with me?”

She smiled. Not a real one. A dangerous one. “Because I won’t make this easy for you.” She tilted her chin, her voice soft but firm. “You should just choose another wife and let me go.”

I exhaled a laugh. A low, humorless sound. Parker tensed. I didn’t say a word. Didn’t react. I just smiled back. Not a happy smile. A promise. Her breath hitched. I started the car, gripping the wheel, and pulled off, my mind already working, already plotting. She wanted to play games? Fine. I knew exactly how to make her submit.

PARKER

S e v e n t y - t w o h o u r s.

That’s how long Shooter had been fucking gone. No texts. No calls. No security stationed outside. Nothing. At first, I was thrilled. The penthouse was mine. No overbearing, controlling husband watching my every move. No menacing blue eyes pinning me in place. No orders. No threats. Just freedom and not being cooped up in the guest bedroom.

I wasted no time taking advantage of it.

Hair done? Check.

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