Leaning into my space, Milk hisses, “You better watch your back.” I fist my hands, itching under my skin to maim him.
“You had to go and do it, didn’t you?” Rage groans, rubbing his hands down his face.
A shadow bleeds over Milk’s body, heavy-footed boots stopping behind him. “Tell me I didn’t hear you threaten my baby sister?” Jameson towers over Milk, dwarfing him.
The color drains from Milk’s face. If I weren’t royally pissed off, it would be funny. Jameson places a bottle of whiskey on the table, juggling five glasses between his fingers.
Turning, Milk holds up his hand. “She stabbed me.”
“You’re lucky to still have the hand,” Jameson warns him.
“Why do they call you Milk?” the grinner asks, cutting through the atmosphere.
“Because he sucked on his mama’s tits until he was a teen.” I scrunch my nose.
“I was nine,” he defends pathetically, and I almost gag.
“Still fucking gross,” Rage points out. A smile curls my lips.
“Can you go and get yourselves cleaned up? You’re making a fucking mess.” Animal gestures to the small puddle at Milk’s feet. My blood has dripped down my leg and filled the back of my boot.
“Monroe is out back with Drew. Have her stitch you up.” Jameson jerks his head at me.
“Thanks. I will,” Milk grumbles and goes to leave.
“Not you, pervert,” Jameson sneers, grabbing his shoulder, halting his steps. “I was talking to Lily.”
“Well, who’s going to fix me?” Milk looks between Jameson and Animal.
“A therapist?” the grinner pipes up, making himself and Rage chuckle.
“Who the fuck are you again?” Milk asks him. Animal straightens his back and leans forward, steepling his fingers.
“They’re my guests. Now, fuck off before I give you a real wound to cry about.”
Mumbling under his breath, Milk shuffles away, disappearing out the back exit.
My gaze shifts to the lighter player, his eyes burning into the side of my face. Bold of him to stay blatantly focused on me.
What the hell are you staring at?
The retort is on the tip of my tongue, but it gets clogged in my throat. He seems familiar to me, gravity tugging me toward him. Do I know you? It’s stupid, that’s a face you wouldn’t forget. The hairs raise on my arms, energy cackling through my veins, those eyes as clear as the Mediterranean ocean. I want to get shipwrecked in them.
“Hey,” the grinner says, drawing my attention to him. “I agree. Milk deserved it.”
“No arguments here.” Jameson fills the glasses with liquor.
“Don’t encourage her,” Animal groans, knocking back his drink in one gulp.
“I’m Leo. This is my brother, Zane. We call him Chaos.”
“Lily.” I lift my chin, trying really hard not to look at his brother. Chaos.
“We call her Lilith, the she-demon.” Rage chuckles under his breath, grunting when Jameson boots him in the shin.
“Dick.” I scowl, giving him the one-finger solute.
“Enough with the distractions. Lily, go get yourself cleaned up. We have business,” Animal dismisses me. I allow myself one last look at Zane, my stomach dipping when his eyes clash with mine. Brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail. A jagged scar cutting through his right brow. Sharply defined cheekbones. Full, fat lips. Tattoos clawing up his neck from the collar of his shirt.
He fits in here. I hope that’s what they’re discussing.
I like a little chaos.
CHAPTER
THREE
Zane/Chaos
“You have your hands full with that one.” My brother chuckles, our gazes fixed on Lily as she walks toward the bar and orders a drink, angling her body so she can hear our conversation.
My dick twitches. I admire a badass woman who can take care of herself. Men like Milk only see Pussy when they’re around women. He wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with someone like her.
He won’t let it drop that she stabbed him either. Lily embarrassed him, and one way or another, he’ll make her pay for it.
“You have no fucking idea.” Jameson guffaws, looking over his shoulder at her and rolling his eyes. “I said go get stitched up,” he growls.
“You’re not the boss of me. I’ll go when I’m ready,” she retorts, and Rage’s body jerks from a restrained laugh. There’s a blood streak from her ass to her boot.
“So, what can I do you for?” Animal asks, clearing his throat, forcing our attention on him.
“Can’t we just stop by for a drink?” My brother holds up his glass. We’ve known Animal for some time now. He was keen to recruit us for his club, but my brother is unstable. Trouble is all he can offer the Royal Bastards. I love him, but he’s a liability. Sooner or later, they’ll realize that and be forced to do something about it.
“Absolutely, but you asked me to be here for a reason, so here I am. Don’t waste my time.” Animal grinds his jaw. A grin tugs up the corner of my mouth. I like a no-bullshit approach.
“Straight to business then.” My brother shuffles in his seat, his chirpy attitude gone. “I know you have connections with Ronaldo Rossa. He took something of importance from me, and we intend to take it back.” He says “we”—he means “me.”
“Ronaldo deals in imports, alcohol and flesh—what the hell could he have taken?” Rage raises a brow.
The table falls quiet, and Animal blows out a frustrated breath, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “A woman?”
He’s right. My brother has been through more women than Jack the Ripper. He claims this one is different. Who the hell am I to tell him she’s not? I’ve never been in love. I don’t see the appeal of tying my emotions to another person. It’s only ever cost me.
“She’s a dancer at his club and started hiding her tips.” Ronaldo is a piece of shit. His dancers have to split their tips with him fifty-fifty. Rumor has it, he forces sex work in an underground club from some of the favored girls. Kelly is a popular dancer and didn’t come home two nights ago.
“You think he found out and did something to her?” Jameson asks, leaning forward, placing his hands on the table.
“We think he has her working the members-only area,” I say. Lily’s movements catch in my peripheral, drawing my gaze. She’s closer to the table, lurking in the middle of the room, her brow arched, big brown doe eyes bouncing between me and my brother.
“What exactly is it you’re asking?” Rage pours more liquor into the glasses and knocks back his fill.
“If we’ll catch any blowback from the Bastards if we make a move on Ronaldo.” Leo taps his finger against the glass, looking around the club his attention snagging on a group of brothers playing pool pretending not to be watching our interaction.
“Ronaldo doesn’t need us to back him up. He’s Arlo Aire’s cousin. No one’s stupid enough to make a move against him.”
“I just want my woman back.”
“How do you know she’s not there by choice?” Jameson asks. His size dwarfs the table and could put anyone on edge.