Page 12 of Their Princess

Cook parked his bike and before he even cut the engine, he was off the bike, barking, “What the fuck is going on?”

The enforcer’s eyes dropped to the dead body and the blood soaking into the sand, then over to my bride with blood soaked into her skirt. Under my breath, I let out a low chuckle.

Adelina stared at the newcomer, her back turned to me, so I let my eyes roam over her ass. I wondered for a moment if those curves were thanks to some kind of shapewear like those rich-bitch, reality-TV-show girls were always stuffing their bodies into. I imagined peeling that skirt off her, parting her ass cheeks, and seeing how kicking those curves really were.

I let out a low whistle and commented to Graff, “What a fine ass that is.”

Like she could feel me watching, she glanced over her shoulder, and Graff looked away a bit too dramatically.

He whispered, “You can’t draw my attention to your fiancé’s ass.”

“Don’t see why not.” I spat on the sand, never breaking eye contact with Adelina. In fact, I smirked when I added, “Look all you want, brother.”

Her eyes were intense, burning with anger, and fuck, that sight could turn a guy hard in no time. Angry fucks were off-the-charts hot.

I cocked a smile, and that was when her uncle—our new MC “brother”—stepped between us. His hand hovered over the butt of his gun.

Scoffing, I said, “Thanks’ll do.”

Her uncle’s eyes narrowed on me, but they shifted a little too. Something wasn’t quite right about the way the fucker looked at me. Yet he didn’t respond.

“Got a voice, asshole?” I asked.

Graff pushed against my chest with his shoulder. “Let it be, Sas.”

“Uncle Rafe can’t protect her when she’s warming my bed,” I said to Graff, throwing in for good measure, “now can he?”

“Where’s Bou?” asked Cook, coming to a stop at the Prez’s side.

“Inside,” said Wilde. Cook moved toward the door, but Wilde snagged him by the cut. “She’s fine.”

“A pregnant woman in the middle of a shootout?” Cook ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “That’s not fine. She or the baby coulda caught a stray bullet.”

I nearly laughed. Bou took down the first gunman from the cartel with the piece she had hidden under the counter in the shop. That girl was anything but a victim, so I couldn’t place where Cook’s irritation came from. The guys in the Ridge had been small-time drug runners before joining us.

They were . . . cute.

Of course that was before Wilde got shot and stumbled into a pussy.

“She’s fine,” repeated Wilde through clenched teeth. “She handled herself just like always.”

I popped in, “She was the first to fire on our side.”

“Of course she was,” drawled Cook as he kept staring Wilde down. “The fuck you think Celt’s gonna say?”

Wilde shrugged as though the mention of Bou’s brother didn’t bother him in the slightest. “If he was worried about her safety, he could’ve been here. He knew what was going down today.”

“I’m pretty sure a gunfight wasn’t on the agenda.” Cook planted his hands on his hips, spreading his cut so I could read his shirt.

I snorted and covered my nose and mouth with the back of my hand. Graff looked over with a questioning gaze.

“Read his shirt,” I murmured.

Graff rolled his eyes at the saying:I know how many licks it takes.

I might not know the man, but he sure as hell had an enviable wardrobe.

“Prez!” called out Jackyl, rushing over to Wilde. “Found this in one of the dead guys’ pockets.” He held out a cell phone.

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