Once You’re Mine: Chapter 6

For such a tiny creature, Miss Green walks quickly, her legs scissoring as if she can trim the distance to her home.

Is it because she’s in a hurry? Or does she feel me watching her?

The woman turns around so swiftly that her long braid swings wildly, landing on her shoulder instead of resting against the small of her back. She scans the area, her hazel eyes wide with the panic she’s desperately trying to conceal. But she can’t hide her fear from me.

Or anything else.

I study the woman from a distance, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breaths come out in short, uneven pants. She presses her full lips, refusing to believe what her eyes are telling her. Although she can’t see anyone, she knows someone is nearby.

Smart girl.

Miss Green turns back around and walks up to T&A. It’s understood that the name of the bar should read “tits and ass,” but the owner claims it’s “thirst and appetizers.” I’d believe it if the female staff members didn’t wear skirts short enough to expose the curves of their asses, and a shirt with a neckline that reveals more than it covers.

So why is Calista Green, a former senator’s daughter who’s used to wearing pearls and modest heels, going inside such a risqué establishment?

I cock my head, a frown tugging at my lips. It only takes me a second to make the decision to follow her inside. She has piqued my curiosity. Again.

The fact that she continues to do so is more aggravating and confounding with every passing moment.

The dimly lit interior of the bar is suffocating, the air heavy with the sour smell of stale beer and cigarettes. Dingy, mud-colored walls are adorned with old neon signs promoting various liquor brands, most of the letters in the signs burnt out. A haze of smoke lingers over the bar, visible in the fluorescent glow of the signs. The scuffed wooden floor is littered with crushed peanut shells, and the tables and barstools look grimy to the touch.

Rock music plays from an old jukebox in the corner, though most of the patrons are too absorbed in their drinking and low conversations to care about it. Behind the bar, an unshaven bartender stands polishing glasses with a rag, his stained apron and the shelves of liquor bottles behind him accumulating dust.

I immediately find Miss Green, my gaze locking onto her where she waits at the crowded bar. She stands out like a lamb amongst a den of lions. Pure and helpless.

The bartender freezes when he spots her. Then a licentious gleam lights up his dark eyes as he runs his gaze over her. His look is appreciative, lustful as I expected.

She’s a beautiful woman. Rich, dark hair that reaches the small of her back, long enough for a man to wrap around his wrist several times. Her eyes are the color of honey, flaunting the sweetness inside, driving you to want a taste. Her body is not as curvy as most of the women here, but her tits are the perfect size to fill a man’s hand.

My fingers curl, creating a fist as my thoughts thread themselves into my body, pulling a reaction from me. This isn’t the first time. Another anomaly that’s disrupted my thought patterns and wrecked the logic I’ve always employed when viewing any situation.

But only with Miss Green.

And I still don’t know why.

Her gaze darts around the large space, before settling on the bartender. He says something to her, and she nods once. Then again, only with a little more conviction this time. Is she trying to convince him or herself? About what exactly?

The conversation is short, but to me it feels like an eternity of not-knowing. The second she walks toward the exit, I’m striding up to the bar, my need for answers the only thing keeping me from following her outside.

The bartender’s gaze lands on me, and his pupils dilate. His immediate unease is a good sign that he recognizes I’m not someone to fuck with. At least not without consequence.

“The girl with the braid,” I say, not bothering to waste words. Miss Green is alone, and I won’t leave her unprotected longer than necessary. “What did she want?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because you want to live.”

He jerks back, the drink in his hand spilling over the sides of the glass. “Look man, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then answer the question.”

“Okay, right. She asked about getting a job here.”

I narrow my eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘yes.’ She’s young and pretty, which is what we want around here.”

“No.”

“No?” he parrots, his brow furrowing.

“No, she will not have a job here. No, you will not hire her. If you do, then I will burn this motherfucker to the ground. With you inside.” I lean over the bar, letting him register my intent. “Do you understand?”

The man nods, his jowls flapping from the force of his movements. “Yeah, I got it. Damn, man. Chill.”

I head toward the door, my long strides already shortening the distance between me and Miss Green. Little time passes before she’s in my sights again.

A sense of relief fills me.

My lips thin at this. After weeks of study, I thought I’d understand her by now. While I do have copious amounts of information about her, it’s not the same thing. I want, no, I need to comprehend why this woman draws me to her like no other.

Why I’m protecting her at all costs.

Today was a prime example. I threatened to kill a man in public, for fuck’s sake. Despite the connections I have with the police and others who’d “handle” this situation, the attorney in me couldn’t believe I acted so rashly. However, the man in me, the primal side that I keep concealed from the world? It didn’t give a fuck.

Someone, another man no less, threatened what belongs to me.

Initially, I made sure Miss Green was safe because I was curious about her. Since then, I’ve done more than that, things I wouldn’t do for anyone. I keep telling myself I’m doing it so she remains alive long enough for me to solve the puzzle that is Calista, that each new day offers me another piece, another clue as to why she’s different.

And why I actually give a shit.

Except my morbid fascination is growing into something I can’t identify. Something that’s slipping from my control. This is what concerns me the most.

Miss Green walks up the steps to her residence, and I shake my head as she goes inside. The dilapidated building is more than an eyesore. It’s a death trap. How she’s managed to return to this place every night is unfathomable to me, especially after growing up in the luxury she did.

I run my gaze over the structure again, but this time, a fire heats my gut, burning me with the need to get her out of there. Would she even accept my help? Doubtful, after the things I said in court. Even so, I don’t have any regrets. Everything I said about her father was true. And led to his demise.

At my hands.

Miss Green’s silhouette appears in the window behind the drawn curtains, arresting my attention. Usually, I leave once she’s inside with the door locked behind her, but tonight I’m lingering, wanting another glimpse of her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Even while berating myself for my lack of control, I watch Miss Green strip off her clothing. Her curves fill the window. Perky tits, slim waist, and nicely rounded hips, all begging for a man’s touch. But when she undoes her braid, I suck in a breath.

She’s Godiva, a nude temptress with her hair flowing around her shoulders, ready to seduce and prove the weakness of man.

Myself amongst them.

Damn her. And my fucking cock for getting hard.

This all-consuming lust is a surprise… and I hate those.

I run the heel of my hand over my erection. It jerks in response, wanting a tight pussy to sink into. But that’ll have to wait.

I might’ve told the P.I. that Miss Green was off-limits to him, but the rule applies to me as well. Getting involved with my victim’s family members is just fucking stupid. Which is why I never do.

That doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

“Fuck this,” I mutter.

I take off in the opposite direction, putting distance between myself and Miss Green before I do something rash. Something that I’ll regret. But not because I wouldn’t enjoy it.

On the contrary, I’d enjoy it too much.