Page 208 of Fatality

Hours. I spent hours searching for her after watching her leave her loft with two friends through the camera.

I was eating, drinking a Nitro in my apartment, watching her pace around.

I don't know why she was pacing, I just liked watching her.

Then she texted someone, fifteen minutes later, two friends I'd never seen before showed up.

The damn camera doesn’t have a microphone.

So I couldn’t know where the fuck she went with those two women.

Were they going to a club to find another man? Is she was going to let a man fuck her before I even do it myself?

I won’t let it happen.

I search the whole damn Upper Layers.

Every place I thought she might run to was packed with rich people giving me dirty looks, like I’m the problem.

But I found nothing.

That camera is shit, everything is shit.

I came back to the garage already on edge, one of my guys took too long bringing me a Nitro and I punched him before he even reached me.

I'm pacing like a caged animal, I want to kill anyone who talks to me, anyone who looks at me or worse.

She is probably with some guy, flirting, smiling at him when I’m right here.

My comm buzzes on the desk, I ignore it.

I stalk into the mechanic bay, none of the members meet my eyes. They know better.

I stop in front of my Charger, it's fixed perfectly, by her under my orders with my men's guidance.

A dark rush of possessiveness coils in my chest, tangled with a simmering irritation that refuses to die.

She’s going to be the death of me.

I’ll kill any man trying to get under her pants, I will fucking cut his head off and fuck her in his blood.

My comm buzzes again.

And again.

The sound makes my eye twitch, it's fucking irritating.

I stalk back to my office, snatch the comm off the desk, and answer.

Varek's hologram flickers to life.

“What?” I snap, my voice flat with irritation.

“The shipment got hit, we got one.” A beat “The shipment is gone though.”

My blood runs cold.

My shipment got hit? By who? Who would fucking dare to?