“Careful,” I say calmly, my heart racing. “You’re starting to look emotional.”
The girl beside him laughs harder, clearly enjoying the show. “You stuck-up cunt!”
I sigh dramatically. “See? That right there. That’s why nobody wants to sleep with you.”
He lunges forward, and I roll my eyes, prepared to walk away.
But his hand grabs my upper arm, and I freeze.
My eyes drop to my cast.
Then back to his face.
Then back to my cast again.
I start mentally calculating how badly it would hurt to punch him.
Before I can—
He’s suddenly ripped away.
Diesel and Ghost drag him backward.
“Calm the fuck down!” Diesel roars, his voice cutting through the chaos.
Ghost shoves him again, and I’m still yelling, “You’re a fucking pussy!”
Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, a protective presence.
“Easy,” a voice says, soothing yet commanding.
I twist to see Riot grinning down at me, his expression a mix of amusement and concern.
But before I can respond, a deep voice suddenly cuts through the noise of the room.
“What the fuck is going on in here?”
Everything stops.
I turn my head, and there he is.
Hawk.
Standing across the room, dark eyes blazing as he looks between me and the man Diesel and Ghost are holding.
My anger melts instantly.
I smile sweetly at him, feeling a rush of relief wash over me.
Twenty-One
Hawk
I’m halfway through explaining the new run routes when the noise starts.
At first, it’s just the usual background chaos of the clubhouse—music thumping, laughter ringing out, and glasses clinking together. It’s the sound of a good time, the kind of atmosphere that usually makes my job feel a little less burdensome.
But then the yelling cuts through it.
