"Wrath." Steel's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. "Let him go."
For a heart-stopping moment, I think Wrath might refuse. His grip on Bulldog's throat doesn't loosen, and there's something almost feral in his eyes. The muscles in his jaw work, his knuckles white where they grip Bulldog's throat.
Then his gaze finds mine over Bulldog's shoulder. Something shifts in his expression. Not softening exactly, I’m not sure anything about this man could ever be described as soft, but he releases his hold.
Bulldog stumbles backward, gasping and rubbing his throat with both hands. "Jesus Christ, man. I was just?—"
"You were just leaving," Wrath finishes, a command not a suggestion. "And if you come within ten feet of her again, I'll finish what I started. We clear?"
Bulldog looks around the room as if seeking support, but finds only carefully neutral expressions. The message is clear—he crossed a line no one will defend.
With a muttered curse, he storms toward the door, making sure to slam it behind him hard enough to shake the frame.
The silence stretches for several heartbeats before conversations slowly resume around us, but I'm still trapped somewhere between the present and the past. My hands won't stop shaking. Panic pulled me under and I can't seem to find my way back to the surface.
"Cami." Wrath's voice is completely different now—gentle, careful, like he's approaching a wounded animal. "You okay?"
I want to say yes. I want to pretend I'm fine, strong, and not completely wrecked by something as simple as an aggressive man in my space. But the lie won't come. Instead, I nod, wrapping my arms tighter around myself as if I can hold the pieces together through sheer will. My breath still comes too fast, too shallow.
"Come here." It's not an invitation, but a command.
I take a shaky step toward him, then another, until I'm close enough that his presence surrounds me like a shield.
He doesn't touch me, doesn't crowd me the way Bulldog did. Instead, he just stands there like an immovable wall between me and anything that might hurt me. The silence stretches between us, but it's not uncomfortable. He's not demanding I be okay, not rushing me to recover. Just...waiting. Like he has all the time in the world for me to breathe right again.
"He's gone," Wrath says quietly, his voice pitched for my ears alone. "Won't bother you again."
I believe him. Despite barely knowing this man, despite the violence I just witnessed, I believe him completely.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, shame burning in my cheeks. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just…when he…it?—"
"Don't." His voice is firm but still gentle. "Don't apologize for being scared of an asshole who can't take a hint. And don't apologize for having bad memories triggered by someone too stupid to recognize trauma when he sees it."
The understanding in his voice stops my breath. He knows. Somehow, this man knows what just happened to me.
"Why don't you come help me behind the bar, hon?” Trix appears at my elbow, her voice carefully casual. "It's quieter back there."
Grateful for the escape from curious eyes, I nod and follow her around the long bar. But I can feel Wrath watching me every step of the way.
The work behind the bar is soothing and Trix keeps up easy conversation, explaining the job as well as the rhythm of the club's daily life. The mechanical nature of the tasks helps ground me, pulling me back to the present.
But my eyes keep drifting to the room beyond, watching the easy interaction between men who call each other brothers.
Family. That's what this is. Not the blood-related nightmare I escaped from, but chosen family bound together by loyalty instead of DNA.
And, even though I should know better by now, some desperate, stupid part of me longs to know what it might feel like to belong here.
Chapter 11
Wrath
Tank's face tells me it's bad news before he opens his mouth.
"Three Iron Serpents in our territory this afternoon." He keeps his voice low, but every man at the table hears him. "At the diner where Cami worked. Asking questions."
The pen in my hand snaps. Ink bleeds across the page.
"What kind of questions?"
