“What were you thinking, inviting two prospects into your room?” His voice is low and controlled, but I hear the anger simmering beneath. “Men who would take advantage of the first opportunity they got.”
“They were helping me move boxes,” I say, holding my ground despite the thundering of my heart. “And I don’t need your permission to have visitors.”
“They weren’t looking at you like they wanted to help with boxes.” His eyes darken. “I know exactly what they were thinking.”
“And what about that blonde hanging all over you out there?” The words escape before I can stop them. “Should I be concerned about what she was thinking?”
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, followed by something hotter.
“I don’t want you alone with them,” he says, moving even closer. I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “You have no idea what men like that are thinking about when they’re with a girl like you.”
“And what exactly doyouthink about when you’re with me?” I tilt my head, holding his gaze despite the heat rushing to my cheeks. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it, but Idon’t back down. This tension between us has been building for weeks, and I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t exist.
Havoc’s eyes darken, and he takes a step closer. I can smell the leather of his cut and the whiskey on his breath.
“Trust me, princess, you don’t want to fucking know what goes through my head.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “The difference is, I have restraint. Those boys don’t.”
Something electric pulses between us in the narrow space. I should be backing away, should be putting distance between us, but my feet stay rooted to the spot.
“Maybe I do want to know,” I whisper, my voice steadier than I feel. The words hang in the air between us, a challenge I’m not sure I’m ready for him to accept.
Havoc’s jaw clenches, his eyes never leaving mine. I watch his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, see the momentary flash of hunger that crosses his face before he locks it away again.
Havoc steps back and drags a hand through his silver hair. “Don’t invite any men into your room again. Not prospects, not brothers, not anyone.”
“Why not?” I cross my arms, my pulse racing with a mixture of fear and rebellion. “I’ve got to live my life, Havoc. I can’t just be a nun locked away in this room forever.”
His eyes flash, and the muscle in his jaw twitches. That composed, controlled exterior cracks just enough for me to see the rage simmering beneath.
“So, what you’re saying is you want to fuck Wyatt and Kade? Is that it?” He moves toward me again, closing the distance until we’re almost touching. “You got the hots for a couple of prospects who haven’t even earned their patches?”
My eyes narrow as I look up at him. The air between us feels charged. He’s trying to intimidate me, but I refuse to becowed. Some reckless part of me wants to push him, to see what happens when that famous control finally breaks.
“Maybe,” I say, the word barely above a whisper. “They’re closer to my age. And they seem interested in me, not just protecting me because of some promise to my father.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides, and for a moment, I think he might hit something.
“I swear to fucking god, Sasha, if you go near either of them again, I’ll get rid of them. They’ll be out of this club so fast they won’t know what hit them.” His voice drops to a menacing growl. “Don’t test me on this.”
A defiant heat floods through me as I watch his control slipping. I want to break that iron discipline he wears like armor.
“Fine. Not them.” I lift my chin and lock eyes with him. “Maybe Ryder or Diesel would like some fun instead. They’re experienced, at least. Men, not boys.”
The change is instantaneous. Before I can take another breath, his hand is around my throat. Not squeezing, not hurting me—just holding me there, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulse point. A warning.
“Listen carefully,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “No man goes near you. Not prospects, not brothers. No one. Fucking. Touches you.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, fear and excitement warring inside me. I should be terrified. I should push him away. Instead, I feel a liquid heat pool between my thighs. His possessiveness shouldn’t excite me this much.
I lick my lips slowly, watching his eyes track the movement.
“You’re not my father,” I whisper, the defiance in my voice undermined by the breathless quality of my words.
Havoc’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb tilting my chin up. His eyes are midnight storms, pupils blown wide with something dangerous and hungry.
“I may not be your father,” he says, his voice dropping to a rough growl that makes me shiver, “but I would love to hear you call me Daddy, baby girl.”
I can’t stop the soft moan that escapes my lips, betraying exactly how his words affect me. His eyes darken further at the sound, his body tensing as though fighting to maintain the last threads of his control.
