Page 39 of Willing Prey

THIRTY-TWO

Shane

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.

Claire

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.