“Shut up.” She shook her head, smiling as she passed me the mic and headed off stage back toward the VIP area.
I watched her weave through the crowd, not caring that I was being watched.
The way I was feeling had me thinking… maybe I loved her for real.
But what the fuck did I know about love? Love, to me, had always looked like a trap. Like something you gave to people just for them to weaponize it. I didn’t even know what love was supposed to feel like , and I’d spent my whole adult life making sure nobody got too close.
Still, I was going to lean into the feeling. Into her.
When she sat down, I said my goodbyes to the crowd and ducked into the back where my manager and publicist were waiting for me in the dressing room.
They were both staring at me strangely when I entered.
“What?” I snapped.
“She’s good for you,” Tyrell said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
“Who?” I asked, playing stupid.
“Jordin,” he said, like it was obvious. “Older, stable, thick, pretty, all her own body parts , and. Regular women will eat that shit up. Y’all could be a power couple.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Jordin is off-limits for your publicity schemes. She’ll be pissed if you pull anything.”
Tyrell frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Since when do you care about boundaries? Or pissing people off, for that matter?”
I ignored him. Lila, my publicist, was nodding in agreement , though, and chimed in.
“He’s not wrong,” she said, tucking her phone into her purse. “She’s got that everyday woman appeal. Smart, talented, gorgeous. It could change the narrative around you, especially after the shit with your dad.”
I shot her a look that shut her up quick. “I said no. We done here?”
Neither of them answered, so I walked out, ready to get back to Jordin and enjoy the rest of the night.
When I stepped into the main area, I spotted her right away. She was near the bar, her arms crossed over her chest, her face tight. Some random nigga was standing too close, leaning into her space.
I didn’t even think. My feet moved before I told them to, my vision turning red. By the time I got close enough to hear them, I saw him grab her arm.
I snapped.
“Let her fucking go,” I yelled over the music.
The guy turned, his grip still on her arm. He didn’t look scared. Just annoyed. That’s what was wrong with Miami niggas—they didn’t know when they’d already lost. I was going to beat his ass for touching Jordin and treating me like a bitch.
“Mind your fucking busi—
Glorilla’s voice over the speakers distorted into a dull, throbbing hum in my ears, as a red haze clouded my vision. My fist connected with his jaw before he finished his sentence. The crack was loud enough to be heard over.
I didn’t stop hitting him. My knuckles met his face again and again. He couldn’t even fight back; he settled for trying to block, but I was on him.
“Ciarán, stop!” Jordin’s voice broke through the haze. She was pulling at my arms. Despite her voice calming me a bit and knowing everybody probably had their phone out, I couldn’t stop. He should have never touched her. Him and anybody else, I’d kill them for touch her, and the little voice in the back of my head, the one I kept locked in a deep, dark box, whispered,Don't stop .He deserves to die. .
Suddenly I was rushed. It took two bouncers to pull me off him. My chest heaved ; my knuckles were raw and throbbing. I came back to my senses. The guy was curled up on the floor, leaking.
“Get the fuck off me!”
My guards came out of nowhere to handle it.
I grabbed Jordin’s hand, pulling her toward the exit. “Let’s fucking go.”
