Page 173 of Forged in the Fire
Lights strobed over her lush, perfect body. Brunette curls so fucking wild around her face. Red and gold streaks glinting beneath the strikes of colored light that kissed over her soft skin.
Wearing those heels and that dress.
Each of the prospects held one of her hands, beers in their other, their cuts saying “Prospect” across the back since they’d yet to patch in.
They definitely weren’t winning any points toward making that happen, either. As far as I was concerned, they had reached a quick, defining deficit.
Nah, it didn’t seem to matter that they were all laughing and joking and dancing a bit goofy.
Completely innocent.
No harm, no foul.
Everything about it still felt indecent.
A landslide of greed slammed me, and I nearly climbed to my feet, though I forced myself to remain sitting when Elena joined her, Brinley stepping away from the guys so she could dance with my sister.
Elena giggled as she tried to match Brinley’s perfect beat, her ponytail whipping around her, her laughter rising above the din.
I needed to let them be. Let them have some fun. Blow off some steam.
God knew Brinley deserved it after what went down this afternoon. Elena just as much with all the bullshit she’d been through.
But what Brinley was engaged in didn’t quite add up with her reaction from earlier.
Storming her way into the club with her head held high.
I got the unsettled sense that she had armored up again and was trying to prove something.
That should be of no concern of mine.
I needed to turn away. Get up and get on my bike and just fucking ride.
They were safe and fine. Trevan wasn’t more than three feet from my sister.
She was being closely looked after, and I knew he would do the same for Brinley.
But I was ensnared.
Hooked on the hypnotizing sway of Brinley’s hips and the tantalizing roll of her body.
Energy thrashed and streaked. Carried on the lights that flashed through the clubhouse bar.
A ton of women had moved onto the floor. Flirting and dancing with my men.
But Brinley was the only thing I could see.
The chick who was dancing with Fuse shifted around, rubbing her ass on his dick while she reached for Brinley. She slid a hand down Brinley’s bare thigh, no question inviting her to join in on thefunthey were about to deteriorate into.
Brinley didn’t quite oblige, dancing out in front of her, though that gaze snapped toward me.
A beacon.
An invitation.
A trap.
Her lips parted, and the desire that had coated her expression earlier in the office had grown tenfold.
