Fallen Queen

~ C H A P T E R T W E L V E ~

The manager scurries to Wolfe and his cronies and starts explaining something to him. I feel stared at when he sneaks pointy glances at me as well. I, in turn, train my eyes on Wolfe's reactions. His right hand first travels through his hair in visible exasperation and a poker face sets in- what a masterpiece of a fake reaction! His eyes travel from the broken pieces of glass on the floor and he looks behind him, to where the man now lays, his face bloodied like shit.

Wolfe says something to the manager, but he is clever enough to be quiet about it- he has the perfect idea of how menacing and powerful my ears can be. The manager moves out of his way and he strides towards me. Beside me, I feel Melian getting off her seat and her protective side rising, but it's not her that makes me feel so electrified. It's not the hundreds of people staring at me that makes me feel so different. It is exactly one, one very lethal pair of eyes.

When children race against each other, it's for a prize.

When coaches race against each other, it's for life. For power. For dominance.

"What in the name of Christ are you even doing, you stupid fucking woman," he growls near me in a low voice.

"Exactly whatever he deserved," I match his aggression with mine, feeling the flames of hatred lick at my mind again, demanding control of my entire behavior. I keep drinking from my glass, not giving him the attention he wants from me.

"You could get fucking sued for that stunt you pulled," he grits his teeth and with the flick of his hand, there is a glass of whiskey at his disposal. I stare at his choice of drink out of the corner of my eye. Macallan, huh?

"And who would?"

He stares at me and I stare right back- the club fades into non-existence as our eyes battle. The swirling black in his grey orbs has a sort of magnetism that pulls me to stare into them challengingly, yet everything about his body posture warns me not to.

"I told you I own a couple of clubs and stuff," he sighs, and downs the rest of his drink. "Like mentioned, the top floor is the corporate floor for the most elite of the elite," he mutters, "That man has enough power to sue you."

"I don't care," I grit my teeth back, finally letting my violent side take complete control of my mind, losing all rationality, "HE FUCKING CALLED ME A SLUT, A HOE, HE TOUCHED ME WITHOUT MY FUCKING PERMISSION," I feel my voice rising and Wolfe's eyes slightly widening, "HE CALLED WOMEN PLAYTHINGS. HE-" I down the rest of the drink, "OH FUCKING CHRIST," I mutter before throwing the glass at the man who cowers like a cat, barely missing the glass. The hush falling over the place is deafening, and my inner conscience growls, my temper flaring.

"That's enough, Isa," he growls near my ear and grabs my wrist. I slowly look up at him and feel his grip loosening. I get up nonetheless and kick the barstool I was sitting on, and stomp out of the club, Wolfe hot on my heels.

He catches up just as the elevator doors start to close. He shows his hand and the automatic doors retreat. He gets inside and crosses his arms as the doors close.

"The fuck, Achelois," he growls, "You just ravaged half my club, swore in public, and just-"

"I TOLD YOU, WOLFE, AND," I shut him up, and for once, he doesn't get on with his 'no-interrupting-me rule'. "-AND, I SHAN'T FUCKING REPEAT IT AGAIN, AND THAT BASTARD, GOT MUCH LESS THAN HE DESERVED."

"Hell yes?" He growls back, "And you'll do this!? Isa," his voice softens just in the slightest, "He could get you arrested for attacking him."

"He'll get arrested all the same- I could sue him for harassment, but," I grin maliciously at him, feeling the serpent of my temper raise its hood threateningly. "The point is, I'd rather shoot him."