JAMES
“Kill him!”
“Kill him!”
I sat frozen at the edge of the velvet-lined VIP table, my large hand gripping the delicate crystal of my scotch glass so fiercely I could feel the microscopic fractures beginning to spiderweb beneath my fingers.
“Kill him!”
My wolf was thrashing violently against the walls of my mind, utterly pissed and screaming a bloody, guttural demand to cross the room and rip that bastard's throat right out of his neck.
I was watching Georgia dance with Julian Vance, an old business rival and a notorious prick who I absolutely despised with every fiber of my being.
Seeing his slimy hands sliding down the smooth, bare skin of her back was pushing my lethal instincts to the absolute breaking point.
"Excuse me, Mr. Chestnut?"
A heavily perfumed socialite in a
