One Dance for Case (Possessed 2)

As she searched his eyes, he was confident she would open up to him.

“No.” He could hear the regret in the single word.

Frustrated beyond belief, he let her go, stepped back, and did the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do—turn his back on her. Meeting Dom’s steely gaze, he told him, “I’m out.” As he began to walk away from her this time, he thought he’d heard a small gasp of despair but refused to look back. Refused to keep putting himself on the line for her.

Admittedly, they’d known each other for an hour, but if she couldn’t open up to him even a fraction, then what was the fucking point?

Slamming through the front doors of the club, he walked to Dom’s truck, sitting on the tailgate. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he waited for Dom to come back out.

Regret for walking out churned in his gut. He would be back there was no doubt.

“What the fuck are you doing, Casey?” he grouched to himself.

Of course, she doesn’t trust you; she doesn’t fucking know you!

“Fuck!” he screamed into the night air. His voice echoing off the buildings.

“What the fuck are you yelling about?” Dom’s question startled him enough to jump off the truck and tweak his brace so he almost fell.

“Don’t fucking do that, man,” he bitched, standing up straight.

“Whatever, dude. What the fuck’s got you up in arms tonight?”

Grumbling, nothing, he climbed into the truck. Not intending to talk about the woman he didn’t want out of his sight, let alone leaving her in some club with barely anything covering her body around a bunch of horny fucking men.

Laughter from Dom had his head swiveling to glare at his friend. Raising his hands in surrender, Dom said, “You have the same look in your eye, I’m sure I did when I found Deidre again.”

Shit.

He couldn’t believe he was so damn transparent.

“Tell me something, Case?”

“What?” he snapped not meaning to.

“How are you?”

Confused, he looked at his friend, asking, “What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, Casey, you’re not. Look at you. You can’t sit still; you won’t come to the house. You were on edge more tonight than I’ve seen in a lot of years. What’s going on?”

How did he tell the man who’d saved him that he fell? That killing a woman to save his family sent him spiraling straight to Satan’s door, and he felt lost? How did he admit to his failure?

When no answer came, Dom drove away from the club, sharing with him, “She was shattered when you left.”

Thanks, dude. I fucking needed that.

He wasn’t giving up, no. He would be back.

He would show her he could be trusted.

For two weeks, Ev’s dream man had shown up with his hulking friend every night. They would sit in the middle of the room, order beer after beer but never drink. Just watch. His eyes never left her when she was on stage or in the crowd. He never strayed to watch another girl.

At first, it was unnerving but slowly, she got used to it. So used to it that she began to imagine herself dancing just for him. She would sway her hips seductively so he’d itch to hold her, to bend her to his will. She would climb his body the way she did the pole, only she knew he would catch her if she fell. She knew if she danced for him, he would be her strength so she could have her freedom. The way he brought not only her body to life, but her emotions had her curious to find out as much as she could about him.

Trepidation held her back, of course. She was so afraid of being hurt. He had this look in his eyes, a darkness that appeared as if it might swallow him whole. She didn’t think it would take much to push him over a ledge and into the abyss.

“Evie!” one of the other dancers called for her. Pixie was the nicest girl she worked with. She was a good foot taller than Ev, had hair as black as night, and never wore makeup. Her features were that of an angel. Ev always teased her that perfection was her name and seduction was her game.