Page 55 of Full Throttle

Dominic stilled. “Pardon?”

He knew who Sinclair was talking about, but the arsehole better have the balls to say it. And sure enough, Anthony smiled.

“Juliette,” he supplied casually, as if they were discussing a nice painting. “Have you seen that arse?” He signaled to the bartender. “Even better up close. No wonder half the grid wants to shag her.”

Dom’s jaw tensed. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Like the seventh circle of hell. Or a convention for raging arseholes. Or lying down in a car park, preferably in front of a large truck.

Anthony leaned in. “You know what’s fun?” His breath smelled heavily of beer and cigarettes. “I’m going to take her home and fuck her tonight. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

White-hot rage exploded, so forceful that his ears rang with it. He knew what Anthony was trying to do. Even more, he hated that it was working. When Dominic spoke, it was an effort to keep his voice calm.

“Good for you.”

Anthony cocked his head. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that you don’t give a shit. Not with the way you’ve been carrying on tonight.”

Dominic shrugged. “Believe what you want. I’m fine with you taking Marchmont home. Beats inbreeding, at any rate.” He nodded at Anthony’s signet ring. “I’m sure your family’s had enough of that over the years. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He moved toward the dance floor. It was only when he turned the corner that Dominic sped up, stalking toward the toilets. A pulse thundered in his veins. He had no plan. Absolutely no idea what he was doing beyond the fact that he needed to see Marchmont, needed to warn her about—

Ah.

There she was.

Juliette looked up from where she was cramming a lip balm into her purse. Probably strawberry; it was the only type she wore. He’d done his best to forget that, but he had maddeningly perfect recall when it came to her. It was an affliction.

“Hastings.” Her eyebrows drew together. “What are you—?”

“Don’t go home with him.”

He was aware he sounded mad. He felt half-mad. Juliette stared as if he’d suddenly sprouted a third arm. “What?”

“Sinclair,” Dominic said. “Don’t go home with him.”

Juliette’s eyes glittered like chipped sapphires. “You don’t get a say in what I do. Not anymore.”

She sounded pissed off, which was fair enough. But he couldn’t stop talking.

“He’ll only use you.”

Juliette raised her chin. “That’s up to me to decide.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Don’t do this. Don’t go home with him. I’m asking you as…” He faltered. “As your teammate.”

Juliette studied him. “Why?”

“What?”

She crossed her arms. “Give me a reason not to go home with Anthony Sinclair. Tell me why you hate him so much.”

Dominic’s throat was dry. “He’s an arsehole.”

“Because he took your seat?”

“No. Because—” Dominic closed his eyes. It was taking a great deal of effort to hold himself together. “Haven’t you read the headlines?”

Her eyes were unreadable. “My phone’s in a drawer.”