Sable may be only eighteen, but she already looks like a fashion model turned crime boss.
My eyes narrow as I stare into her icy blues. She’s wearing a blood-red skirt, black stockings with a black garter belt, and black designer heels with red bottoms.
“Sable Noir,” I say, my voice tight and low. “This is Vale turf. You and your men leavenow. I’m only going to ask once.”
The energy of my men is palpable—they’re itching for blood.
Sable’s plump lips twist up at the corners. Am I amusing her?
She glances at her man still groaning in pain at my feet, then takes a cherry from her drink and slips it into her mouth.
“After you broke poor Jacob’s ribs? No, I don’t think so…Ryker? That’s your name, right?”
My skin is hot. My knuckles yearn for flesh and bone. “You know my name.”
Her eyes gleam back at me. She nods, flicking the cherry stem onto the floor.
“Yes, I do. But I have news for you, Ryker.” The length of her legs and the curve of her hips goes straight to my core as she stands. Her designer perfume wafts into my lungs—sweet, dangerous, intoxicating. “This bar belongs tomenow.”
She glares insolently back at me, her eyes challenging my authority like a bratty child. She really thinks she’s the new queen in town.
My fingers are itching to reach out and grab her by the hair, shatter her defiance, and show her what real control is.I’m the king of Chicago, and every man in this room knows what that means.
I’ve got my .38 in my waistband. I could pull it out and end her life right now. But that would mean starting a war. Plus, she’s just too gorgeous. It would be like throwing paint on a DaVinci.
Instead, I slap her.
I slap herhard.
Her hair whirls, and her pretty little face jerks away from me as my rough palm connects with her soft cheek.
To my surprise, she quickly snaps her face back to mine—her eyes piercing, her lips pursed.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
Without hesitating, she drives her fist straight into my nose.
Yeah. Now we’re getting somewhere.
The bar erupts into chaos around me as my boys attack. Kane drives his knee into a man’s guts and tosses him to the floor. One of my guys takes a stool to the chest but comes up swinging.
It’s mayhem, but Sable and I stand face to face in the eye of the hurricane, staring each other down like mortal enemies.
She swings again, but I block the punch and counter with another slap—this time to her other cheek. They’re both red now, like two ripe tomatoes.
I move in to grab her by the hair, but she kicks me hard, driving the tip of her designer heel into my shin. The strike throws me off balance. She follows up with her fist, driving it straight into my jaw. My head jerks to the side, and I spit blood onto the bar.
Grinning, I look up at her. It’s been a while since anyone actually hurt me.
Deadly fury fills me, but it’s mixed with something deeper. I want to grab her and pin her beneath me—show her who therealboss is.
But when I swing out, aiming a backfist at her gorgeous face, she ducks like a trained fighter and kicks me again, this time right to the stomach.
I train abs religiously, so the blow doesn’t knock the wind out of me, but the stem of her heel is going to leave a mark.
“So you’re not just a pretty face,” I growl, licking the blood from my lip.
This girl clearly knows what she’s doing. I feint to the side, acting like I’m aiming to punch her in the ribs, and when she moves to dodge, my hand darts out and snatches her hair.
