Fuck.
My eyes drag over her before I can stop them.
Her hair is curled to perfection, framing her face beautifully, and her makeup is spot-on. That burgundy top clings to every curve of her body, the deep neckline making it hard to focus on anything else. And those jeans…
Christ.
I force my eyes away before I embarrass myself in front of fifty men.
I walk straight toward Grinder, my jaw tight with barely contained rage.
Diesel and Ghost still have him pinned between them, but he’s grinning stupidly, the scent of whiskey wafting off him like a noxious cloud.
“You wanna explain why my clubhouse sounds like a fucking zoo?” I ask, my voice low but filled with authority.
Grinder laughs drunkenly, a sound that grates on my nerves. “Your girl’s got a mouth on her.”
My jaw tightens, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Did you fucking touch her?”
He mutters something slurred under his breath, and I can’t even make it out.
That’s when I punch him.
Hard.
My fist slams straight into his gut, the impact reverberating through my arm as the air explodes out of him in a choking gasp.
He doubles over, and I don’t even wait.
I turn and walk straight to Emma.
Riot releases her immediately when I get close, and I can see she’s still breathing hard—her chest rising and falling rapidly. But she’s not scared.
She’s pissed.
Her eyes are bright and sharp as they meet mine, the fire within them igniting something primal in me.
I take her in again—the outfit, the curls framing her face, the perfume I can smell even over the whiskey and smoke.
Jesus Christ, she looks good.
My voice comes out rough, almost gravelly. “Did that man fucking touch what’s mine?”
Her eyes narrow instantly, and I can see the determination etched on her face. “Shrimp dick over there grabbed my arm,” she says, jerking her chin toward Grinder. “Looked like he was about to hit me.”
The room goes silent, the gravity of her words sinking in.
Something hot and violent detonates in my chest.
I turn slowly, my gaze locking onto Grinder, who’s still coughing and trying to stand upright again.
Bad decision.
I cross the room in three quick strides, my fists clenched and my mind racing with the need for retribution.
Then I hit him.
Once.
