Tortured Duchess (Adair Legacy)

Hadley

Music pounds. My hips sway. The scent of sweat and desperation permeates the air as I move across the dance floor. Hands above my head, feet agilely gliding left to right. I can feel all eyes on me as I swing seductively around the new club in town.

Peaches & Cream is one of the few places you can enter without having to be twenty-one. I'm wearing a special stamp so I’m not served alcohol, but I don’t mind. I’m not here to deaden my senses; I’m here to celebrate my eighteenth birthday a little late.

My best friends, Aria and Lake, are here too. Aria is sandwiched between her men, Seven and Severo, as they struggle to keep their hands off her while Lake sits at the bar sipping a club soda. Saint Rivers is hovering, scaring off any man from five feet away.

Opening my eyes as I drop my head back, rolling it on my shoulders, I meet the stare of a mysterious man on the private balcony. Turning to face him a little more, I notice he looks pissed—more like filled with rage—as I feel his intense stare scorch me. I watch as he reaches down to adjust his manhood, and when he makes no further move to catch my attention, I turn away.

Feeling steady, unfamiliar hands on my hips, I force myself not to push them off. I'll allow it to get the mystery man to come to me. Also, Bishop Kincaid is keeping an eye on me. He’s been like a brother my entire life, and just as with the rest of the boys, I know he won’t let anything happen to me. My father, Castiel Adair, would slaughter anyone who dares take from me what I won't give freely either.

“Hands off, asshole,” I hear Bishop growl as he stands in front of me, arms crossed, a deadly stare focused on the man behind me.

As the guy removes his hands, I decide he's not worthy of my time if he retreats. It’s how I rate all men who show interest, which happens a lot. I have my mother’s gorgeous blonde hair, soft curves, and model-like looks. I’m not vain; I don’t necessarily like the attention, but when I get it, it’s sometimes nice.

“Thanks, Bish.” I smile up at my friend as he glowers at all the other males around us.

“Stop tempting them, and I might not have to commit murder tonight.” I laugh at his threat. I know he means it, but it’s funny all the same.

“I can take care of myself, you know? Spent a lifetime training how to kick a man in the nuts and run,” I joke as I spin, the mystery man from earlier now gone. I try not to think too hard about the disappointment that settles in my belly.

“Doesn’t mean you should have to break one of those pretty nails,” he retorts. “Fuck.” He curses, and I stop moving, glancing back at him to find his eyes fixated on Saint with his hand around a man’s neck, holding him two feet off the ground. Lake is cowering under the bar, and I see red too.

Lake has been fragile as glass for a while now. Nobody knows why, and she won’t talk about it. But Saint’s obsession with her has grown exponentially over the years, and he’s the only reason anyone can get her to leave the house. However, it doesn’t mean she’s ready for his volatile and vicious ways.

We know that.

She knows that.

Even he knows that.

He’s worse than Uncle Carver from what I’ve overheard my dad and uncles saying before. And yet, there isn’t any better man than him. He’s terrifying to a stranger, but to us? He’s the uncle who chased us around the yard, bought us puppies for Christmas, and drove us to Junior prom.

“I got this.” I place a hand on Bishop’s chest as he’s about to head towards the scuffle. Skipping over, I check on Lake and see she’s holding her wrist to her chest, tears flowing freely down her face. “No,” I snap as I storm at the man in Saint’s hold, “the fuck you did not touch her without permission.”

I don’t let him answer. I don’t let Saint squeeze his throat a second longer as I reach between his legs and dig my sharp nails into his tiny balls, making him howl like a dying coyote.

“You touched her,” I grit between clenched teeth. Saint slowly lowers the prick, and I twist my hand. Tears streak the stranger's face as he bites his lip. “I should let him kill you.” His eyes dart to the beast beside me as he shakes his head. “He’d rip your throat out right here, and nobody would stop him,” I threaten. It’s the truth too. “Do you have any idea who she is?” Just because Saint is here to scare him doesn’t mean Lake’s father, Luther Sutton, doesn’t have a very deadly reputation.

“No,” he whines.

I lean down to whisper in his ear, “That’s little Lake Sutton.” I pull back and see he’s struggling to understand. I help him along; I’m nice like that. “Her daddy is Luther Sutton.” His eyes bulge. My gaze slides up at Saint. “That there is Lake’s man.” One day that statement will be true. “He’s Carver Rivers' son. Worse than his own daddy.” Wetness coats my hand, and as disgusted as I am that he pissed on me, I laugh. “I suggest you leave, and please, don’t ever come back.”

I let the man go, turn my back, and run smack dab into my unknown admirer. “I have half a mind to toss you and your friends out,” he growls.

Holding my hand away from my body, I shrug. “Can I wash my hands first? He peed on me.”

The man blinks a few times before his head falls back, and he howls with laughter. The sound makes my girly bits tingle, and I force myself not to rub my thighs together.

Hello, sex on a stick.

“You’re funny,” he replies. “That guy was scared of little bitty you?” He shakes his head like that could never happen.

He’s not necessarily wrong. I just don’t like the implication.

“More so of what I threatened him with, I suppose.” I watch Saint help Lake to her feet. “Excuse me,” I say. No sexual attraction will keep me from her. She’s more than family. Lake is life, and knowing she’s terrified of her own shadow kills me inside.

“Are you okay?” I wrap my non-urinated on hand around her shoulders as I lean into her.

“Yes.” I feel more than hear the word. “Can I go home now?” Her body is vibrating, so I reach back and grip Saint’s hand, wrapping it around her shoulder. I then kiss Lake on the cheek.

“Go home with Saint.” I stare deeply into her eyes, praying she knows what I mean. She looks down. “To your house, Saint,” I demand, knowing full well that I can’t make this man do a damn thing, but, for once, he nods, and I breathe a little easier.

I watch as they leave together, Aria and the twins following behind. When I spin back around, intent on finding a bathroom, I’m almost knocked on my ass by Mr. Hottie again.

“Jesus, you’re like a rabbit; you just pop up anywhere. Someone should put a bell on you.” I give a sheepish laugh when I see the look in his eyes. I’m unsure how to read it.