Her brow furrows. "My laugh?"
"In the casino bar. Before you even saw me. You were laughing at something on your phone." I remember it perfectly—the way her head tilted back, the pure, unguarded joy of the sound cutting through the artificial din of slot machines and drunken conversations. "It hit me here." I place her hand on my chest. "Like I'd been waiting my whole life to hear it."
Her eyes widen, surprise and something else—something softer—flickering in their depths. "That's…that's crazy," she whispers, but there's no bite to the words.
"Maybe." I stroke her cheek. "Doesn't make it less true."
For a moment we stand there, something new and fragile building between us. Then a voice breaks the spell.
"Damn, boss. If I'd known they grew 'em this sweet in Vegas, I'd have volunteered for the last run."
Hammer. One of the newer prospects, still proving himself. Still, apparently, too fucking stupid to know when to keep his mouth shut.
I turn slowly, feeling the familiar darkness rise. "What did you say?"
The kid pales, suddenly realizing his mistake. "Just…complimenting your taste, is all."
"By imagining yourself with my wife?" My voice drops to the dangerous register that makes smarter men back away slowly.
"N-no, I didn't mean?—"
I'm across the space before he can finish, my hand closing around his throat, lifting him until his feet barely touch the ground.
"Vance!" Wynter's voice sounds far away through the blood pounding in my ears.
"You so much as think about her again, and I'll cut your fucking tongue out," I growl, squeezing until his face turns purple. "She's mine. Clear?"
He nods frantically, clawing at my hand. I drop him, and he collapses to his knees, gasping for air.
"Get out of my sight," I snarl.
He scrambles away, throwing one terrified glance back at us. Smart boy. Finally learning.
I turn back to Wynter, still breathing hard, the beast in me not fully contained. Her eyes are wide, but I don't see fear there—at least, not only fear. There's something else, something that makes my cock harden instantly.
"We're done with the tour," I announce, voice still rough with rage.
Without waiting for a response, I scoop her up, throwing her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. She squeaks in surprise, but doesn't struggle as I stride purposefully back toward ourquarters, ignoring the knowing looks from club members we pass.
Inside, I kick the door shut and carry her straight to the bedroom. My blood is still hot with possessive fury, with the need to claim, to mark.
"Vance," she says as I set her down beside the bed, her voice trembling slightly. "You didn't have to?—"
"Yes, I did." I cup her face in my hands, gentler than I thought I could be in this state. "No one talks about you like that. No one even thinks about you like that. Only me."
"He was just being a jerk," she says, but her pupils are dilated, her breathing quick.
"He was disrespecting what's mine." My hands move to her shoulders, then down her arms, feeling her shiver under my touch. "And now I need to remind you who you belong to."
Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.
Unlike before, I take my time undressing her. Each inch of skin revealed gets my touch, my kiss, my worship. By the time she's naked before me, she's trembling, her nipples hard peaks begging for attention.
"On the bed," I order softly. "In the middle."
She complies, watching with those big eyes as I strip efficiently, revealing the body that's earned me both fear and respect in the club—broad shoulders, thick arms, chest and abs defined by years of violence, thighs like tree trunks. My cock stands at attention, already leaking at the tip from anticipation.
I join her on the bed, caging her beneath me, taking my weight on my forearms so I don't crush her. For a long moment, I just look at her—this miracle that somehow ended up mine.
