What's happening to me? What kind of woman responds like this to threats and possessiveness and barely restrained violence?
Apparently, the kind of woman I am now. The kind who's somehow, impossibly, this man's wife.
four
. . .
Vance
I've never beena patient man. Once I decide on something, it happens. End of fucking story. And I decided on Wynter the moment I laid eyes on her. Now I'm shoving her clothes into suitcases, not bothering to fold anything. We need to get on the road. I need to get her back to my territory, away from this city full of men who can't keep their fucking eyes to themselves. The sight of that waiter looking at her like she was a goddamn all-you-can-eat buffet still has my blood boiling. If we'd been anywhere but a fancy hotel restaurant, I'd have broken his jaw for that shit.
"What are you doing?" Wynter's voice comes from the bathroom doorway. She's wrapped in a towel, hair still damp from our shower. Her skin is flushed pink, marked in places by my mouth and hands. The sight makes my cock twitch.Mine.
"Packing. We're leaving," I say, not pausing in my task.
"Leaving? To go where?"
"Home. My home.Ourhome.” I toss her a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Get dressed."
She catches the clothes automatically, but doesn't move to put them on. "I'm not going anywhere with you. We talked about this?—"
"No." I straighten to my full height, watching her eyes widen as I tower over her. "You talked. I listened. Decision's made."
She's awakened something primal in me, something I didn't even know was dormant. I've always been possessive—comes with the territory of being an president for the Devil's Claim MC. But this? This all-consuming need to claim, protect, own? This is new. Ever since I saw her walk into that casino bar, something shifted in me. Like recognizing the missing piece I never knew I was searching for.
"You can't just decide for me!" Her voice rises, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "I have a life, a job?—"
"And now you have a husband." I cross to her in two strides, cup her face in my hands. They look massive against her delicate features. "This isn't negotiable, baby doll. You're coming home with me."
"To do what? Be your…what? Your sex toy? Your prisoner?"
I stroke my thumb across her lower lip, feeling it tremble. "My wife. My everything."
It should scare me, how much I mean those words after knowing her less than forty-eight hours. But I've never been a man who questions his instincts. My instincts say she's mine to protect, to possess, to fill with my seed until she's swollen with my child.
"I don't even know where your home is," she whispers, her resistance wavering.
"Compound outside of Death Valley. Devil's Claim territory."
Her eyes widen. "Devil's Claim? Like…a motorcycle club?"
"Not like. Is." I release her face, return to packing. "I'm their president."
"Oh my God." She sinks onto the edge of the bed, clutching the clothes to her chest. "You're actually in a biker gang? This is insane."
"Club, not gang," I correct, though the distinction means fuck-all to civilians. "And yes, I am. Have been for fifteen years."
I can see the wheels turning in her head, reassessing everything she thought she knew about me.Good.Better she understands now what she's gotten herself into.
"Get dressed," I repeat, more gently this time. "Long drive ahead of us."
To my surprise, she does as she's told, disappearing back into the bathroom. When she emerges in the jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looks younger. Vulnerable. Something fierce and protective surges in my chest.
I finish packing while she watches silently. The fight's drained out of her for now, but I'm not fooled. My little wife has fire in her. It's one of the things that drew me to her in the first place.
Check-out is quick—I've settled the bill in advance. The valet brings around my black F-350, lifted and customized with Devil's Claim insignia subtly worked into the detailing. Wynter's eyes widen at the massive truck.
"Compensating for something?" she mutters as I load the bags into the back.
