Declan’s grin is pure violence. “Fuck yeah, mate.”
Behind us, Kian and Connor swear but stay where they are; they know better than to get between us and something we’ve already decided we’re doing.
We walk down the stairs like predators stalking prey. Autumn sees me coming, eyebrows pulling together even as her hips keep moving, her body rolling with the beat. I wink, and she blushes instantly. Even after everything—marriage, fights, blood, confessions—she still reacts to me like she’s my newest obsession. Like she doesn’t understand she’s already mine, claimed, something I’d kill for without thinking.
Declan reaches the table first. The men are drunk, loud, and stupid.
“Hot,” Declan says, just loud enough for them to hear. They don’t even look at us.
“I’m fucking the black-haired one,” one of the idiots laughs.
“We can take the brown-haired one,” the other two add, then they turn toward us. “Maybe we can all shar—”
He chokes on the word, eyes widening as he sees us. His face goes red. “Fuck.”
The others turn too. Their expressions freeze when they realise exactly who they were drooling over.
I step in, closing the space so tight they have to tilt back to look at me. “Who are you going to fuck?” My voice is low, almost conversational, which scares them more. I crack my neck slowly, jaw ticking. “Our wives?”
They turn white. One drops his drink, glass shattering at his feet. I don’t move. I don’t blink. I enjoy the way their fear spreads.
“We didn’t know,” one stammers, hands raised. He still hasn’t noticed Declan slips behind them. Or that I’ve shifted just enough to block their only exit.
“Tell me again,” I say, grabbing the closest one by the shirt. He lets out a scream, high-pitched, pathetic. I haven’t even squeezed. “Who are you sharing?”
Declan moves first. His fist slams into the gut of the one who claimed Viviana. The guy folds, gasping like a dying fish.
“Talk about my wife again,” Declan growls, “and you’ll pay the fishes a visit.”
Before the others can bolt, I grab them both by the back of their heads and slam them into the bar. The impact rattles glasses, shatters one, sends blood dripping instantly from their noses. They wheeze, hands shaking.
I lean between them. “If I ever see any of you in here again—”
I don’t bother finishing. They’re already begging.
Four of my bouncers rush in and drag them out by their collars. Declan sighs dramatically.
“You didn’t need to break the fucking glasses.”
I glance at the wreckage. A new bartender steps forward, trembling.
“Not you, sweetheart,” I say, keeping my tone soft. “Tell Ky to clean it.”
She blushes bright red and nods, bolting away.
We head toward our women. Viviana grabs Declan by the neck and kisses him like she wants to bruise him. I pass them without slowing, eyes fixed on Autumn.
“Wow. Overreacting much?” she asks, crossing her arms, pretending she isn’t buzzing from the attention.
“Was it?” I grab her waist and drag her toward me.
“They didn’t even do anything.”
“They were going to. Trust me.” I tilt her chin up with two fingers. “Dance for me, trouble.”
Her lips part. Her breath trembles. She’s tipsy, loose, warm, reckless. Viviana kept shoving drinks into her hand, and when Viviana stopped, my sweet little wife grabbed more on her own.
She pushes against my chest, teasing, then turns around, and then she moves slow and controlled. Her hair cascades down her back, her ass lifts, her hips roll like she’s calling storms with her body. She’s mesmerising.
