Sunni
We do everything backward. Jag forced me to move in before we’d even officially started dating. He showed me his peen before he kissed me and claimed me before he knew he wanted me.
Tonight is no exception. We devoured and sexed each other up well and good before the event. I didn’t think I had anything left inside of me once Jag tossed me up into his truck. Boy, was I wrong. I’d never been so thankful for a traffic jam.
I slump into the thick cushioned seat at the table with Jag’s name. I run my palm over the expensive royal blue satin tablecloth while admiring the delicate centerpieces. Thick chunky glass vases filled with water and floating candles. The sponsors pull off a luxurious feel combined with a masculine touch. I’ve never seen such beauty poured into decorating an event. It’s seriously straight from a magazine. The amount of money it took to put this together is staggering.
My body is exhausted, and so is my mind after today’s events. I brush back my loose curls, enjoying the seat at the table by myself. I’m close enough to the crowd but far enough away to stay out of the attention. There are cameras everywhere. Jag has spent most of his time in front of a massive photo drop with brands plastered all over.
He winks at me when he finds me watching him. I smile back, letting him know I’m doing fine. He has a bottle of water clutched in one hand while his other is thrown around the shoulder of an older man in a suit. They both smile wide for the camera.
The sparkling wine glass in front of me sends a sweet smell my way. I’ve noticed Jag has declined every whiskey or beer offered to him. He hasn’t drunk any alcohol since that night at the bar. He’s a machine focused on his career.
I sip on the crisp white wine, feeling even more relaxed watching the chaos of the party. It’s very entertaining sitting back and people watching. Between the sex exhaustion and wine, I’m completely relaxed.
Cruz swings Layla out on the dance floor. They keep up to the music with perfection until Layla steps on Cruz’s giant foot, and they both laugh then continue. Boss hasn’t sat down one time; he’s too busy talking to everyone he can. I overheard a few of the conversations. Boss was promoting and pushing Jag to everyone he spoke to. It wasn’t a hard job since Jag seemed to be the center of the chatter.
I tip back the glass, finishing off the wine. A server is at my side offering me a new full glass and taking away the empty one.
“Thank you.” I fiddle with the dainty silver chain around my neck.
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else I can get you?” the gray-haired gentleman asks.
“No, thank you.” I smile warmly. “This should be the last glass of wine as well.”
“I’ve been instructed to take good care of you. Just let me know.”
I smile again, watching the older man’s retreating form. I glance around and notice not one other server is hovering over Jag or any of the men from Diablo’s Throne. I also see the man who is paying considerable attention to me is the eldest of all the servers, the majority of them being young and attractive men.
I glance toward Jag to see him looking back at me. I raise an eyebrow and narrow my eyes. He shrugs and smiles wide. I continue to sip on the wine, feeling my eyelids grow heavy and the ache in my chest subside. Wine has always been a weakness of mine, and I rarely indulge in it anymore. The sweet nectar had become my coping mechanism for several months.
Jag separates himself from the crowd fawning over him. With each step he nears, my belly tightens. The scent of sex and leather strikes me hard when he’s standing in front of me holding out a hand.
“Fancy a dance, me lady?”
A giggle escapes my lips. The wine seems to make everything funny. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”
He shrugs, tugging me to my feet. “Some say I’m hard-headed. Never learn and all that other shit.”
“I’d agree with them.” Jag whirls me around until I’m pressed up against his chest.
“Just follow my lead. Always follow my lead and you’ll be just fine.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Jag wraps his arms low around my waist. He grazes his fingers along the top of my ass as he sways us to a slow P!NK song. The words and emotion wrapped up in the song talk right to my soul in its native tongue. It’s the outpouring of warmth and love from the man holding me that makes me not give two shits about my dancing abilities.
As one song fades into the next, Jag makes me feel like the queen of the world. His body moves so easily with the beat of the song, pulling mine along with him for the ride. His muscular chest and arms framing me are a stark contrast to the way he elegantly dances.
“Are you having a good night?” I ask, with my cheek pressed into the shoulder of his dress shirt.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. The executives are eager to sponsor me on my way to Vegas.”
“All I know is you’re the sexiest man in the room.” I lean up and kiss his exposed neck.
“That’s always a fucking given.” He looks down at me and winks.
Damn smartass. We are broken apart when he’s pulled away by someone in a suit. I kiss him and tell him to go, because honestly, my spot at the table is perfect for me. It’s the ideal perch to observe the action in the room. And watching Jag in his prime is a significant perk.
There’s another glass of wine sitting by my half empty one. I settle into the table, fidgeting with the smooth hem of the tablecloth. The room is still abuzz with action happening in every direction.
A big screen plastered on the wall shows highlights from several of Jag’s fights over his career. I find myself smiling when younger pictures of Jag appear. He hasn’t changed much. He still has the same cocky, contagious grin and good looks. The only thing different is his size. I cringe when several pictures flow across the screen with Jag flanked by nearly naked women holding up banners and trophies. I’m forced to look away.
The carefree celebratory vibe of the room dissipates when a deep, haunting laugh echoes off the walls. My spine stiffens as I pivot in my chair. A man in a dark tailored suit is followed by several other men who are built like fighters. They each have their hair shaved tight to their head.
The man in the suit looks so familiar. It bothers me. My gut screams out a warning, but I can’t figure out why. The angle of his chin and the color of his eyes are ones I’ve seen before. There’s a hushed roar in the room while feet shuffle, but I can’t take my stare from the man. His power pulls me to him and warns me away.
A hand comes down on my shoulder. I startle, leaping out of my chair and squeaking out a cry. My heart thunders in my chest, rattling my rib cage.
“Baby girl.”
I glance up at Jag. Without thinking, I stand and throw my arms around him. His body is tense, warning me he’s getting the same vibe from the new company at the party.
“Who is that?” I stutter out.
“Landon Chandler,” Jag grits out, tucking me to his chest.
The last name rings a bell. The picture comes clear when I recall the horrible story Jag told me late at night. But Landon wasn’t in the mix. He must sense my confusion when he dips his face to mine and whispers.
“Monty Chandler’s brother, Ash’s uncle, who has reopened Titan’s Tribe gym. He was not invited.”
“Oh.” The word falls from my lips.
“He’s nothing but trouble. I’m not leaving your side until his fucking ass is kicked out,” he hisses.
I want to scream that I know him from somewhere. I wipe my brow, fighting to erase the confusion. It has to be the wine. Has to be, because there’s no way I’d know anyone from the Chandler family here in Washington. It’s a long way from Iowa.
Boss appears out of nowhere. He keeps his shoulders squared as he faces Landon straight on. We are too far away to hear the conversation, and soon bodies swarm the two men. The intensity of the atmosphere multiplies. Bile swirls low in my belly, and the sickening feeling I used to thrive on takes over. Memories flood in. The man’s smile and presence blur in memory, but none of them stick.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise to attention. The familiar fear coats my skin, creeping and crawling into my soul. Jaco. It’s him. But not him. I feel it everywhere but can’t connect the dots.
“Baby, you okay?” Jag squeezes me tight. “You’re trembling.”
I manage a barely there nod then bury my face in his crisp white shirt. The men’s conversation grows louder with each word clear as day. My body doesn’t stop its current panic mode.
“You weren’t invited here,” Boss roars.
“Didn’t ask if I was.”
“Leave.”
“I’m certain Outlaw Energy Drink would be interested in supporting one of my fighters. Just need a moment with them.”
“Titan’s Tribe is trash and will be taken out like that. Asking you one more time to leave,” Boss yells.
The rustle ensues. I don’t look up.
“I have a fighter for Jag. I’m certain Outlaw Energy Drink will sponsor it at your gym tomorrow.”
“Bullshit!”
A new voice cuts in.
“Jesus, the executives are playing into this shit show,” Jag mumbles. “Something isn’t right.”
Between the fear and anxiety coursing through me and Jag’s words cutting in, I realize I don’t belong here. He doesn’t need to be worrying about me. No, he needs all of his concentration on his profession. The man deserves it.
“Jag.” I peer up to him. “I don’t feel well. I think it’s the stomach bug or something. I’m going to catch a taxi home.”
“No.” His jaw clenches, and his arms tighten around me.
I place my hands on his chest and look into his loving eyes. “I don’t feel good. You need to be here. I’ll text you as soon as I crawl into your bed.”
“Sunni.”
“Please,” I beg. “I’m sick.”
It’s a lie and the truth all at the same time. I’m ill. It’s not the typical virus, but a festering infection in my soul that’s followed me all my days. I take a step back before he can respond. The roar of the impromptu business meeting escalates.
Jag runs his hands through his hair, clenching his fists from everything going on. I should sit down and be quiet and let Jag take care of what he needs to. I should.
Landon Chandler turns his gaze on us. The gleam of evil in his eyes haunts me. Jag slips out his debit card and slides it in my palm. I’m certain I don’t belong here. Without a second thought, I run for the exit. I look over my shoulder to see Jag chasing me then being yanked back by a group of his fellow fighters.
One of my heels slips, sending me forward. The pad of my bare foot slaps on the marble floor. I catch myself in time but don’t stop running from my past. If I’ve learned anything, it’s my prior mistakes will never quit chasing me.