Quinn:The guys are here.
Her phone vibrated in rapid succession. She didn’t need to read the responses to know—every woman was moving, wanting the same thing she did.
Quinn shoved open the front door, the night air cold as the rain pressed against her damping her skin. She didn’t care. Her bare feet slapped against the wet pavement as she ran toward him. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted to hear his voice against her skin.
She had been holding onto her fear fortoo long, carrying the weight of it alone. She wanted to give it tohim. "Gypsy!"
He turned at the sound of her voice. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto her as she ran—barefoot, soaked, in nothing but her thin pajama set. His jaw tightened. Gypsy barely had time to react before every other club member around him turned to look.Fuck.This was gonna suck.
Gypsy’s fists clenched as Quinn came barreling toward him, her pajamas clinging to every curve. Jesus Christ.
Any other time, he’dlovethis—he’d haul her up against him, drag her back to their bed, and show her exactly what it did to him seeing her like this. But right now? Right now, he wasn’talone.
And every single man around him—his brothers, theotherclub—was watching.
He ground his teeth, his hands already reaching for his cut, ready to strip it off and throw it over her.“Quinn.”His voice was low, edged with something dangerous.
She didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t evennoticethe way the men were looking. She slammed into him, her arms wrapping tight around his waist. Her damp body molded against his, her face pressing into his chest. “You came.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt, thick with relief.
Yeah. He had. And now he had awhole newfucking problem.
He wrapped one arm around her, his grip bruising, as he yanked his jacket off with his free hand and shoved it around her shoulders. “What the hell are you wearin’, baby?” His tone was rough, sharp.
She tipped her head back, blinking up at him. “Pajamas?”
Gypsy blew out a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “You’re standin’ in the middle of aparking lot, drenched, with your ass on display to every man out here,” he growled. His hand flexed on her hip. “What thefuckwere you thinkin’?”
Finally, she seemed to realize what he was talking about. Her gaze flicked past his shoulder—whereway too many eyeswere still on her. Her cheeks flamed.
Gypsy was already moving, already tugging her toward the building, his grip on her never loosening.
He shot a glare over his shoulder at the gawking men.“Find something else to fucking look at.”
Most of them turned away immediately. Some of the other MC’s guys chuckled—but only once they weresureGypsy wouldn’t take offense.
His jaw ticked. He knew his brothers wouldn’t dare say a damn thing. But the Road Devils? They weren’thismen. And they sure as hell weren’t gonna be getting a free show of his wife.
Gypsy pulled Quinn flush against his side, his lips brushing against her ear as he muttered, “Next time, baby, youwaitinside. Don’t make me tear some poor bastard’s eyes out for staring at what’s mine.”
Her breath hitched, but when she glanced up at him, a small smirk tugged at her lips. “Jealous?”
His grip on her tightened. “Not jealous,pissed.” But hewasjealous. And later, when they were alone, he’d show her exactlyhow muchthat pissed him off.
As Gypsy opened the door for Quinn to step back inside, he was nearlyrun overby the flood of women rushing out. Theywere coming for their men—just like Quinn had come for him. But he wasn’t having it.
He planted his feet, broad shoulders blocking the doorway, and shot them a look that froze them in their tracks.“Stop.”
The sharpness in his voice sliced through the night, cutting off any argument before it could even begin. One by one, the women skidded to a halt, their excitement turning into hesitation as his gaze swept over them.
“Go back inside.”His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it. “Notoneof you leaves this hotel.”
They all stared at him, some shifting on their feet, some pressing their lips together—but none of them dared argue. Gypsy wasn’t justspeaking—he wascommanding.
His deep blue eyes locked onto each woman in turn, making sure theyfelthis words, that they understood this wasn’t up for discussion. “Do you understand me?”
A chorus of silent nods followed. Satisfied, Gypsy gave his wife one last look, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, before turning away. He had work to do.
He stepped back, gave a low deep whistle, and signaled his men to get their own women in check.
