Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(84)

It was where the guests really let loose…and where I had to watch Bridget and Steffan dance together. One of his hands rested on her lower back, and she smiled at something he said.

Jealousy clawed at me, sharp and ruthless.

“They make a nice-looking couple,” Joseph said, following my gaze. “The princess and the duke. Fairytale shit.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Too bad she’d never go for an average Joe like you or me, huh? I would fuck—”

“Be careful what you say next.” Lethal quiet razored my words. “Or it’ll be the last thing you say.”

Steffan may be untouchable, but Joseph? I could tear him apart and use his bones to pick my teeth.

He must’ve known it too, because he fell silent and moved an inch away from me. “It was a joke,” he muttered. “Take your job a bit too seriously, don’t you?”

“Show some respect. That’s the crown princess.” And you’re not worthy of scraping the dirt off her shoes.

How the hell had Sabrina ended up with Joseph as her bodyguard? The man had the social tact of a brick, and that was coming from me, someone who couldn’t—and wouldn’t—kiss ass if someone glued my lips to one.

Joseph was smart enough not to talk again. He stood a few feet away with a surly expression, but I didn’t give a crap if he was offended. I had other things to worry about.

The song changed, but Steffan and Bridget remained on the dance floor. I knew she was staying out of social obligation, but it didn’t suck any less to see them together, especially since Joseph was right. They did make a well-matched couple. Bridget, angelic and regal. Steffan, clean-cut and debonair in his fancy tuxedo.

Then there was me, tattooed and scarred, haunted by the things I’d done and the blood on my hands.

By all accounts, Steffan was the better, and easier, option for Bridget. Her grandfather, the palace, the press…they were all salivating for a Princess and the Duke love story.

I didn’t give a flying fuck.

Bridget was mine.

She wasn’t mine to take, but I was taking her anyway. Her laughs, her fears, her joy and her pain. Every inch of her body and beat of her heart. All mine.

And I’d had enough of watching her in another man’s arms.

I left my post and stalked across the dance floor, ignoring Joseph’s noise of protest. I was breaking every rule of protocol, but it was late and most guests were already too drunk to pay attention to me. I was an employee, beneath most of their notice, and in that instance, it worked in my favor.

“Your Highness.” A dark edge bled through my otherwise even voice. “Sorry to interrupt, but Jules called. There’s an emergency.”

I was holding Bridget’s phone while she danced, so the excuse made sense.

Alarm crossed her face. “Oh, no. It must be serious. She never calls for emergencies.” She glanced at Steffan. “Would you mind terribly if I—”

“Of course not,” he said. There was no trace of the awkward, uncomfortable Steffan from the hotel. “I understand. Please, take the call. I’ll be here.”

I bet you will. Maybe I could bribe a server to slip something into his drink. Not enough to kill him, but enough to incapacitate him for the rest of the night.

I handed Bridget her phone to keep up the ruse as we exited the reception room, but I said, “Jules didn’t call.”

“What?” Her brow knit in confusion. “Then why did you—”

“He was getting too close.” I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw hurt.

A beat passed before Bridget’s face cleared. She glanced around before whispering, “You know I had to dance with him.”

“You danced with him twice.”

“Rhys, he’s technically my date.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and judging by the way Bridget winced, she knew it.

I stopped in front of what I knew was the library from my pre-wedding advance work. “Get in,” I said curtly.

A hard swallow disturbed the delicate lines of Bridget’s throat, but she obeyed without argument.

I followed her inside and locked the door behind us with a soft click. The room wasn’t fully furnished yet, and it was empty save for a rug, a table, and a large mirror. The lights were off, but there was enough moonlight streaming through the curtains for me to spot Bridget’s wary expression.

“I told you, I had to bring him,” she said. “Everyone expected me to bring a date, and it would’ve been weird if I only danced with him once.”

“Stop saying the word ‘date.’” It came out soft and dangerous enough she shivered.

I walked to the table by the window and leaned against it while watching Bridget through dark, hooded eyes.

Possessiveness and anger gripped me—not at her, but at our situation and a world where we were forced to sneak around like criminals. I hated having to hide her, us. I wanted the world to know she was mine and mine alone. I wanted to tattoo myself into her skin and sink into her so fucking deep she could never get me out.

“Take off your dress,” I said.

“Rhys—”

“Take. It. Off.”

I heard Bridget’s breath hitch from across the room, but she didn’t argue again. Instead, she reached behind her and did as I asked, keeping her eyes on mine the entire time.