Page 16 of You Were Always Mine
The bottle slams down on the counter, amber spilling over my knuckles, dripping onto the tile. I don’t wipe it away.
‘Fuck!’ The roar rips out of me, shaking the cabinets.
I pace again, faster now, running a hand through my hair until it hurts. She thinks she’s proving something. She thinks she’s free. She thinks she can walk into places like that and pretend she’s not already mine.
Another buzz. Another video.
This one closer, clearer. Scarlett laughing, tossing her hair back under the neon glow, a man leaning in too close, whispering something in her ear. She doesn’t move away fast enough. She doesn’t push him off.
The phone creaks in my grip. My vision is nothing but red.
She has no idea what she’s doing, and they have no idea what’s coming.
The whiskey is half gone, my hand shaking as I tip what’s left down my throat, but it drowns nothing. It just fans the fire, sharp and raw, until my chest feels like it’s going to split open.
The phone buzzes again, vibrating across the counter. I stare at it as if it’s a loaded gun. My jaw clenches, veins pulsing hot at my temple.
I swipe it open.
She’s dancing.
A photo this time.
Scarlett in the middle of the floor, the crowd pressing too close, her head tipped back, her hair spilling, the hem of her dress sliding higher with every movement. Some arsehole’s hand almost touching her waist, another man staring at her mouth as if he already owns it.
The room tilts. My stomach lurches.
She’s laughing. She’s glowing — and it’s not for me.
The bottle slips from my hand, shattering on the tile, amber soaking my boots, sharp glass glittering like stars at my feet.
‘Fuck.’ My voice is raw, a snarl ripping from my chest.
I shove the chair back so hard it topples, grab my keys from the counter, and stalk towards the door. My blood is pounding, my vision tunnelling, every thought a blur of violence and fire.
They think she’s theirs.
They think they can look.
They think they can touch.
They don’t understand.
Scarlett belongs to me.
Kai
The music hits me first — loud, filthy bass rattling the walls, the kind that makes your teeth ache. The stink of beer, sweat, and smoke clings to the air, thick enough to choke on.Hellis exactly what the name promises — dark corners, cheap neon, and too many men who don’t know when to keep their fucking hands to themselves.
And in the middle of it, under the pulsing red light, is Scarlett.
My Scarlett.
That black dress painted to her skin, her hair wild as she moves, her mouth parted on a laugh that doesn’t belong to him — because his hands are on her arse. His mouth is on her neck. He’s pressed so close I can see the sweat glistening down his temple, his lips dragging along skin that no one should ever touch but me.
My vision tunnels. Red. Pure red.
I push through the crowd, shoulders slamming bodies out of my way, heads snapping as I pass. Someone muttersmy name —Kai Everly— and the tone changes fast, voices dropping, people moving aside. They know better than to stand in my way.
