Willing Prey By Allie Oleander - 33

I hate these benefit events on a good night, and tonight is not going well. Somewhere over the course of the evening, I’ve misplaced my phone, and in the last fifteen minutes, I’ve also lost Claire. Frustration fuels my search. That come and get it look she gave me across the ballroom was effective. I can’t think about anything except finding her and getting as much as she’ll give me.

Where the hell did she go?

Irritation at losing my phone distracts me from getting too bricked up at the idea of Claire waiting somewhere for me to come fuck her. Considering most of my colleagues are here, and there are at least two hundred strangers present, I suppose that’s a win. Fucking her under the same roof as Keith is enticing, though, if I can just find her.

When I spot Caine and Margot at the bar along the far wall, I head for them, forgoing a greeting to ask, “Have you seen Claire? I lost her.”

Caine laughs. He’s abandoned his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, undoubtedly an attempt to seduce Margot with his forearms.

Margot blinks at me. “What are you talking about? She’s waiting for you.”

“Great. But do you have any idea where?”

Enunciating each word slowly, Margot says, “In the conference room.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one you told her to meet you in.” Caine’s looking at me like I’ve hit my head, and I wonder if I have. They aren’t making sense.

“I didn’t tell her to go to a conference room.”

Margot thanks the bartender and takes her drink. To me she says, “We were with her when she got your text.”

Dread makes my tie too tight. “I didn’t text her. I set my phone down for a second. Someone must have walked off with it by accident.”

Margot’s puzzled, then pissed, her exhalation hard. “That motherfucker.”

At my continued confusion, she adds, “ Keith. Keith was talking to her and trying to get her to go talk somewhere private. Could he have your phone?”

Images of Keith talking to an annoyed-looking Claire when I found her earlier, staring at her during the conversation, and disappearing from the group moments before I realized I’d lost my phone rush through my head. Millisecond snapshots that turn my desire to find Claire into the need to destroy Keith.

What the fuck is he trying to do?

White-hot anger makes it hard to think clearly. Then I’m moving on instinct, ignoring Caine and Margot’s questions. I’ll check all the conference rooms, find him, and murder him. Or make him wish he was dead. Either one is acceptable as long as it happens immediately.

Caine moves with me, and Margot somehow keeps pace in her heels. He grabs my shoulder, tugging me to a halt.

“Easy does it. This is fucked up, but you need to get yourself in check. It’s Keith. He’s being a creep, but you know Claire can chew him up and spit him out.”

Shaking him off, I keep going, snapping over my shoulder, “You two start at A and work down. I’ll start at G and work up. If you find her, stay with her and move toward me. I’ll keep coming that way.”

“Come on,” I hear Margot tell Caine.

“Have a little faith in your woman. She can handle herself,” Caine calls from behind me.

I ignore him. It isn’t that I doubt Claire can handle the situation, it’s that she shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.

My heartbeat is running rabbit quick, my breaths coming short and fast. I’m headed straight to the wolf’s jaws and I couldn’t be happier. Nerves at how wrong this is make my mouth dry. However, my pussy is a thrill-seeker, experiencing no such issues. This is filthy, and feels five kinds of wrong. Exactly what I want. Based on the heat building low in my stomach, a new kink is awakening. Is this a gotta catch ’em all sort of kink situation?

I’m mentally vowing not to kill the mood with a Pokémon joke—at least not until after I’ve been thoroughly fucked—as I push open the conference room door. Tables and chairs are scattered throughout the large room, and only half of the overhead lights are on.

Wait.

Dim lighting doesn’t hide the fact that the man leaning against a table a few rows in isn’t Shane. The figure is tall enough, but lankier, with hair a few shades too light. It’s Keith. He straightens, turning toward me. My pussy riots, livid at the bait and switch. The little voice in my head is paranoid and sounds a lot like Sydney.

Most murdered women know their killer. Statistically, your husband’s the most likely to kill you.

I can’t imagine the odds change drastically by putting an ex in front of husband .

Stop. Don’t overreact.

“Look at you, coming when called.” Insolent, he holds Shane’s phone out from his body as if it’s roadkill.

“And look at you, stealing phones.” My tone is miles calmer than I feel, the way I’d speak to a student acting out for attention. I force myself to walk across the room toward him slowly, as if this isn’t unnerving me.

Keith scoffs as I reach him, moving the phone closer to his body. “It’s not as if I pickpocketed him; he left it on one of the displays. He’s lucky I’m the one that found it.”

“Right.” That doesn’t sound like Shane, but I also can’t imagine how Keith would manage to get it out of his pocket. I’m guessing the truth is somewhere in the middle. I watch him study the phone as he turns it over in his hand. “Wait, was it unlocked when you…found it?”

“No.” He pulls his gaze from the phone, giving me a pointed look. “Wasn’t hard to figure out the code; he should use something harder to guess than your birthday.”

“What are you even doing right now?” I’m not quite sure what this little trick is, but I know enough to know it doesn’t make sense. Keith has had his reckless moments, but his career has always come first. “You know Shane’s going to fire you for this, right? This is wildly inappropriate. Are you really going to throw away your whole career over whatever this prank is?”

He shrugs, a grin that’s cocky enough to be concerning spreading across his face. “I’m leaving, and Hayes is coming with me. We’re starting a firm in Brookston. Officially giving notice on Monday.”

Brookston is the next town over, but Keith might as well have said the moon for how shocked I am. “Since when do you want to start a firm?”

“Since I realized the bigger my book gets, the more money I put in your boyfriend’s pocket.” He takes a step toward me, Shane’s phone dangling between his thumb and index finger. “Maybe you forgot, babe, but I’m a real big earner.”

I ignore the pet name and—barf—innuendo, reaching for the phone. Snakebite fast, Keith jerks it back. Somehow, I don’t tell him to fuck off, though I do snap, “My students are more mature than you.”

“Simmer down. I’ll give it back.” He’s getting too much enjoyment from my aggravation. “Once we talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

He smirks. “Five minutes, and you can have the phone. If you’d just talked to me earlier, I wouldn’t have had to jump through hoops to get you alone.”

Rolling my eyes to mask my discomfort at “get you alone,” I look at my left wrist, even though I’m not wearing my watch. “Talk fast. You’re on the clock.”

Keith’s laugh startles me. “God, you’re fun when you get pissy.”

About to become unbelievably fun, I wait, hands on hips, trying not to tap my toe. This is ridiculous. Unhinged. How horror movies start.

“The reason I wanted to talk to you privately is to let you know I’m ending things with Naomi.” Soulful, deep green eyes stare into mine as if he’s waiting for a reaction. I want to say, Good for Naomi , but there should be at least one adult in the room, so I only nod. Well, half nod. I freeze midway when he adds, “I want to get back together.”

His statement makes my brain blow a fuse. “Is this a joke?”

“I’m serious, Claire. We were always good together. I fucked up, and I admit that, but it’s the sort of thing we can work through. Come out stronger.”

Maybe I’ve been dropped into another timeline. There’s no other explanation for how confidently he can say this horseshit. “No. Hell no. There is nothing to work through. There is nowhere to come out stronger. This is over. Good grief, it’s been over.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He works a hand through his hair. “I know what you’re doing, all right? Congratulations, you fucking Underwood pisses me off. You have won the divorce. You are the divorce champion.” The air in the room is changing, charging, as his temper begins to unravel. “Is that what you want to hear? You can break up with him now. You proved your point, and, I’ll say it again, you won. I know that’s important to you.”

It’s like my brain is one of those wooden 3-D puzzles and I’ve accidentally moved the piece that solves the whole contraption. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. The increase in texts after that night at the Alley, how angry he is about being blocked, his determination to get me alone. Margot’s right: he wants me back, but it’s about his ego, not me. Whether it’s me being with Shane or me having the audacity to deny him the ability to talk or text at me, this whole mess comes down to one thing: a power struggle. And previously—when I was trying to be a good partner—I always caved to him.

Fuck that shit.

“I won the divorce the day we signed the papers.” The slice of my words feels liberating. Biting my tongue didn’t make it bleed; it sharpened the edges. I’m working with a scalpel now, ready to perform a castration that’s long overdue. “I’ve considered sending Naomi a thank-you card dozens of times, but I’d hate to seem like a sore winner.”

Keith’s jaw tightens. An explosion is coming, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get in the barb I know will piss him off most before the screaming starts.

“You and I are done. Forever.” I smile, or maybe just show my teeth. “So you might as well stay with Naomi. After all, you do make a great starter husband.” Then I grab for Shane’s phone, snatching it from his grip.

Keith lunges, but not for the phone. He catches me by the waist, yanking me to him.

I fight his hold, thrashing and writhing. “Don’t touch me.”

My heel catches on the rug and my balance wavers. Crashing forward into Keith’s solid chest, I’m horrified when he doesn’t curse at me or try to take the phone back. He wraps his arms around me in a skin-crawling embrace and chuckles. The rough, throaty sound might as well be a gun cocking for the dread it sends through me. I made a mistake.

He wanted this.

He wanted me angry because it turns him on.

“Get off of me,” I spit, throwing my weight backward so hard he has to take a step to keep us from toppling over. Stomping my heel down, I try to drive it into his foot, but he knocks me away.

“Such a fighter.” His amusement makes me wrench myself backward again, but he’s ready this time, sweeping my legs off the ground and pulling me closer. “Glad to see I can still catch you, though.”

“Let go.” I’m seething, my voice more venomous than I knew it could be. “This is assault.”

“Relax. It’s a hug. You can hug your ex-husband.” His face is too close to mine, his breath warming my cheeks. The mocking undercurrent of Why are you overreacting? in his words almost gets me. Almost makes me wonder if I’m blowing this situation out of proportion. If he’s about to let me go and I’ll feel silly for flipping out. After all, this technically is a hug. His hands don’t roam beyond my back, and while I know this has to be turning him on, he isn’t grinding against me. He’s just holding me.

I take a deep breath. Maybe I’m overreacting. Or maybe years of licking my wounds and biting my tongue have given me a taste for blood. None of that really matters, though. I do not want to be held. And that should be enough.

I slam my forehead into his nose so hard I see stars.

“Motherfucker,” he spits, releasing me to grab the bridge of his nose.

Unprepared for my freedom, I wobble sideways and catch my balance on a nearby table, hoping the cracking sound I heard on impact was Keith’s face and not my skull.

What happens next happens fast. The conference room door flies open with a bang, startling us both.

Shane’s voice thunders across the space. “What the fuck is going on in here?”

Reflexively, I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Crossing the room in huge strides, Shane’s at my side. Gently peeling my hand away from my forehead before I can even say, This isn’t what it looks like , he scans my face. The circumstances have to look awful. I’m hidden away in a conference room with my ex-husband. While usually a bloody nose would not suggest sexy shenanigans are afoot, Shane knows that headbutting falls under my definition of foreplay .

Will he think I was going to cheat on him?

“Are you okay?” he asks urgently, eyes roaming over my body. “What did he do?”

“Nothing happened,” I stammer. “I swear nothing happened. I only came in here because he texted me from your phone.”

“I know, I know,” he soothes. Before I can ask how he knows, he transforms from tender to terrifying, whirling to face Keith. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

As Shane stalks toward him, Keith squares up. I realize Shane’s words sounded more like a promise than a threat.

“No.” I hurry to grab Shane’s arm. “No fighting.”

There’s an irony to my statement, but I don’t get to appreciate it.

Caine lets out a sharp whistle as he enters the conference room. “How come we didn’t get invited to the private party?”

Margot’s right behind him, worry on her face, clutching a glass of white wine like it’s a weapon.

Relief washes over me; I won’t be trying to keep Shane and Keith apart by myself.

“What the fuck did you do?” Shane spits at Keith, ignoring Caine and Margot’s arrival.

“Just catching up.” There’s a sneer in Keith’s voice that doesn’t match the words.

Somehow, Shane tenses further. He’s going to shake me off and beat the shit out of Keith. Visions of lawsuits, newspaper articles, and his firm’s reputation being ruined flash before my eyes. “Please don’t,” I beg Shane.

When his gaze meets mine, he looks almost wounded, as if he thinks I don’t want Keith hurt.

“He would love a reason to sue you. Make a huge scandal out of it.” Easing myself in front of him, I rub his chest. “You have more to lose, and he knows that.”

Caine and Margot are standing just off to the side. “Listen to Claire,” Caine says, his voice too relaxed for the moment. “You know she’s right.”

I shoot him a grateful look, only to see that sometime since walking into the room, Margot’s mood has changed. Her expression prompts a double take, the grim resolve on her face making my stomach knot. I don’t get to ask if she’s okay.

With her usual gracefulness, she saunters over to Keith and stops in front of him, drink in hand. He’s confused. We’re all confused. Keith opens his mouth, likely to ask what she’s doing. The question never makes it past his lips. Margot throws a left hook that makes his head snap to the side, teeth clicking together audibly. I gasp. Caine murmurs, “Well, damn.” Shane, of course, doesn’t react, a land mine that hasn’t been set off yet. Composing himself, Keith stares at her, as if he can’t believe what just happened. I don’t think any of us can. Casually as can be, as if she didn’t just throw a ridiculously good punch, she tosses her drink in his face, muttering, “Sue me , jackass,” before turning to walk toward Shane and me.

Keith’s gone from stunned to livid, the tendons in his neck cording as he wipes his face. “You fuckin’—”

Caine’s in motion, clapping Keith on the shoulder. The movement could look friendly if the muscles in Caine’s forearm weren’t flexing, the inked lines and leaves shifting. “That is not a sentence you want to finish.” He’s relentlessly pleasant, as if he doesn’t realize Keith’s a downed power line, live and twitching.

My stomach tightens. Keith has a good three inches on Caine, and he went to the gym religiously when we were married. He’s also angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“Ca—” I start, wanting to de-escalate the moment.

Shane squeezes my hip. He hasn’t relaxed, keeping me tucked against his side. Voice low and only for me, he murmurs, “Don’t. Let Caine have some fun.”

Fun?

Caine looks at Margot, who’s now standing beside me. “The carpet tripped you up, didn’t it, gorgeous?”

Margot scowls at “gorgeous,” but nods. “So sorry, I’m clumsy sometimes.”

When Caine smiles at Keith, I stop worrying Keith might hurt him. There’s something in his eyes that makes me think he wants Keith to swing on him, that it might be the highlight of his night.

“See?” he says. “Just an accident. You wouldn’t cuss a lady out over an accident; that would be a real bad look.”

“You people are fucking—”

“Language,” Caine interrupts, lightly squeezing the hand still resting on Keith’s shoulder.

Ignoring him, Keith shrugs Caine off.

Shane tenses beside me, but I tug on his jacket. “No. Let him go.”

Straightening his tie, Keith stretches himself up to every inch of his six-foot-four-inch frame and gives me a withering look. I steel myself for him to get the last word, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Walk. Away.” Shane doesn’t speak, he snarls. “While you still can.” His words are in a register so low that if he were talking to me, I’d be terrified. But aimed at Keith, that voice has me wondering how quickly we can get everyone else out, because there’s a table that looks ready to have me bent over it.

Keith’s eyes narrow, and he squares back up toward Shane. “Is that a threat?”

Damnit.

I don’t want to spend tonight bailing Shane out of jail when I could be getting railed.

Again, Caine cuts the tension between Shane and Keith, sounding like he’s happy to be here. “Of course it isn’t. He’s giving you solid advice. Killer over here might trip and accidentally roundhouse you in the head if you stay too long.” A glance shows he has an arm draped across Margot’s shoulders—she’s clearly “killer.” She’s wearing the expression of a cat that hasn’t decided if it’s going to purr or scratch, and if she had a tail, it would be twitching. Still, she’s leaning into him the tiniest bit, and I’ve witnessed them interact enough to know if she told him not to touch her, he wouldn’t.

Interesting.

Keith’s weighing his options.

Shane’s voice is deadly when he speaks. “You’re done. Go.”

“Fine. But consider this my notice: I fucking quit.” Keith spits the words as if they hold more consequence than they do.

“Wonderful.” Shane’s I’m barely restraining myself from killing you voice still has me squeezing my thighs together. My pussy is ready to escort everyone out.

This way, folks, watch your step. Move it or lose it.

With a last, hateful look, and something that sounds like fucking prick muttered under his breath, Keith leaves.

Finally.

Shane’s bark of laughter at Keith’s closing insult blends with the slamming of the door. He still radiates tension, though; I grab his hand and squeeze.

Margot side-eyes us, then shrugs Caine’s arm off her shoulders. “Well, I could use another drink.” She turns to leave, sighing as she beckons him. “Come on, keep me company.”

He grins, falling into step beside her. “Want to go accidentally key Keith’s car?”

“What about accidentally cutting his brake lines?” she retorts, giving Shane and me a little wave.

“Thank you,” I call as they head toward the door. “Please don’t get arrested.” Next time she’s at the house, I’m finding out where she learned how to throw a punch like that.

Caine looks back at us over his shoulder . “I’ll keep her out of trouble.”

Unlikely. If she decided to torch this place, I’m pretty sure he’d find her a flamethrower. The second the door clicks shut behind them, one all-consuming need pushes everything else out of my head, the reason I came into this room in the first place.

Shane.