I apply another coat of mascara, hands slightly unsteady. Ruth had helped me pick out the dress, whispering that itwould drive him crazy. The thought makes my cheeks warm.
A knock at the door. Three sharp raps that I already recognize as his.
“Come in,” I call, setting down the mascara wand.
Havoc fills the doorway, silver hair styled perfectly, leather cut gleaming over a fresh black T-shirt. His eyes darken as they travel over me, that usual heat igniting between us.
“You ready?” His voice is so gravelly.
I nod, suddenly breathless. “What’s this special thing?”
His lips quirk up. “Patience, baby girl.”
He crosses the room in three strides, and then his hands are on my waist, pulling me against him. I look up, meeting his gaze, and his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is hungry, demanding. His tongue tangles with my own as one hand fists my hair, tilting my head back for better access.
I moan into his mouth, pressing against him, feeling him harden against my stomach. His hand slides down to grip my ass, squeezing forcefully.
“Fuck,” he growls against my lips. “We don’t have time.”
“We could be quick,” I suggest.
He chuckles darkly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Trust me, baby, next time I get you naked, it won’t be quick.” He reluctantly puts space between us. “Everyone’s waiting.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Havoc’s hand rests firmly at the small of my back as we approach the bar. The press of his fingers feels reassuring. Music and laughter spill through the doors, the familiar sounds of club life I’ve slowly grown accustomed to.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice low against my ear.
I nod, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. Since that first night together, since his public claiming kiss in front of everyone, things have shifted. The club members treat me differently—with respect, with caution, with curiosity. I’m no longer just Viking’s daughter. I’m Havoc’s girl.
We step through the doorway together, and like a wave receding, the noise pulls back. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Music continues to play, but it suddenly feels muted against the weight of dozens of eyes turning toward us.
I scan the room, spotting Ruth with her warm smile, Carol raising her beer bottle in greeting, and Diesel with his knowingsmirk. The prospects stand straighter, almost to attention. The club women assess me with new interest.
Havoc’s hand moves to grip my waist, pulling me closer to his side. His presence is solid, unwavering. He doesn’t seem bothered by the attention—he expects it.
“Listen up,” he calls out, his deep voice carrying easily through the suddenly quiet room. No one dares interrupt. “Tonight ain’t just another party. We’re celebrating something important.”
His blue eyes find mine briefly before returning to scan the crowd.
“Tonight, I’m officially presenting my old lady with her cut.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some members nod approvingly. Others look surprised.
“Sasha ain’t just Vike’s daughter anymore,” Havoc continues, his voice carrying that edge of authority. “She’s mine. My old lady. My property. And tonight, everyone gets to see it.”
Property.
The word echoes in my mind as Havoc’s voice rings through the room. There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there? The word should make me angry, should make me feel degraded, but instead, warmth floods through me. My body responds to his claim like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Stand here,” Havoc says, positioning me in front of him. From behind the bar, Diesel produces a package wrapped in black fabric. Havoc unfolds it with careful hands, and I catch my breath.
It’s a cut—a leather vest like the ones worn by all the members, but smaller, perfectly sized for me. The front bears the club’s name above the heart, but when Havoc turns it around, my pulse quickens. On the back, beneath the Wicked Sinners MC patch, are the wordsProperty of Havocin bold white lettering.
“Arms up,” he commands softly.
I lift my arms, and he slides the leather over my dress. The material is heavy but warm, like his hands on my skin. It smells of fresh leather. I run my fingers over the patches, over the Wicked Sinners MC patch, and shiver. Why does this feel so right?
