“When it comes to women, you’re a deadbeat,” Atlas reiterated. “I like ya, Donovan; you’re a good guy and a decent buddy. The problem is, you’ve got no stayin’ power, and my sister deserves someone who’ll stick around. Your track record proves you’re a flaky motherfucker, especially since the longest you’ve ever seen a woman for was for however long it took you to achieve your three-fuck rule.”
“What do you know about my three-fuck rule?” I asked, my tone affronted.
“Callum told me,” he declared. “You don’t go back after fuck number three because that’s when the girl starts gettin’ too attached.”
I scraped a hand down my face, suddenly wanting to strangle my brother and his big mouth.
“That’s fuckin’ savage,” Bowie mumbled.
“I dunno how you dare. Back in the day, you were the biggest player in Hambleton.” My eyes cut to Breaker. “Andyoursexploits are fucking legendary.” I studied all the men in turn, even Atlas. “There’s not one of you motherfuckers who I could call chaste, so why all the judgment when it comes to me?”
“There’s one reason for that, Donovan,” Atlas bit out.
I looked at him expectantly.
His lip curled into a snarl. “None of my MC brothers tried their shit with mysister.”
“Who said anything about trying my shit?” I exclaimed. “I just want to ask her out on a date.”
“No,” he repeated.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “She’s an adult?—”
“Yes, she is,” a voice interrupted. “An adult who wouldn’t be happy if she heard you all discussing her like a piece of meat.”
I twisted my neck to see Sophie, Atlas’s wife, appear at his side.
She nudged Atlas sharply in the ribs. “Keep your nose out of Rosie’s business, big man.”
His face set defiantly. “She’s my sister.”
“She’s also a woman in her thirties with two teenage kids.IfDonovan asks her out andifshe agrees, it’s her business. Not yours.”
He jerked his thumb toward me. “He’s a fuckboy, and I don’t want my sister gettin’ hurt yet a-fuckin’-gain.
“Maybe Donovan’s fuckboy antics are exactly what she’s looking for.” Sophie smirked. “A girl’s got needs.”
Atlas’s face paled, his stare drifting in the direction of the bar. After a beat, his eyes narrowed, and he jerked his chin in the same direction. “Is that Liam Doyle?”
My head spun left, and my chest tightened when I saw that, yes indeed, it was Liam Doyle, and he was at the bar chatting upmy fucking wom—Umm,Rosie.
I turned back to Atlas and asked, “Who would you prefer for her? Me or the criminal heir to the Irish Mob Underworld?”
The asshole actually took a minute to think about it.
“Atlas!” Sophie snapped.
He heaved out a sigh. “You,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “I guess.”
“In that case, I’d better go save Rosie’s virtue.” A slow grin spread across my face, and with a parting chin lift, I turned on my heel and sauntered toward the bar, searching for a flash of red, but it was deserted.
My eyebrows pulled together when I realized Rosie had disappeared, along with Liam.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, trying to think where he could’ve taken her. It came to me immediately because it was the same place I would’ve taken her.
My shoulders stiffened, and I veered right, heading for the corridor leading toward the bathrooms.
If Liam Doyle had his hands on Rosie, it would cause problems—the biggest one being that I’d have to kick the ass of the heir to the New York Irish Mob.
