Page 3 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“You good?” Cian asked quietly.

He’d turned his back completely on the guy, unconcerned.

“I’m fine,” I said, tugging my shirt straight as I glanced over his shoulder. The stranger was still staring at me like a psycho.

Cian’s eyes roamed over my face for a moment, and he ran a thumb over my cheek before he turned back to the guy.

“Bitch tried to fuckin’ castrate—” Those were the only words that made it out of Dancing Boy’s mouth before Cian’s fist connected with his face.

I watched, flinching as every punch landed with unerring accuracy. It wasn’t even a fight. Cian handed out a well-deserved beating like it was his job. Maybe it was—I wasn’t super clear on his role in the club.

“Cian,” I called, too freaked out to move any closer as the man fell. “Cian, that’s enough.”

My words must’ve penetrated, because the man I’d been circling for the last year lifted both hands in front of him as he took a step back.

“Overstayed your welcome. Soon as you can move, get the fuck off this property,” he said, his voice low as he kicked the guy for good measure. “I see you again, this’ll feel like a fond memory.”

“I was handling it,” I said as Cian stomped angrily back toward me.

“Let’s go,” he growled, lacing his fingers with mine. He tugged me back toward the sleeping area. “Where’s your tent?”

The men who’d been watching the area were nowhere to be seen, but I knew they couldn’t have gone far. If they left their posts, they’d be in deep shit.

“I have no idea,” I replied, stumbling after him. “I was looking for it.”

“Looked like you were hookin’ up with some dipshit from Arizona,” he snapped, yanking at my hand.

“Fuck off,” I hissed, digging my heels in as I twisted my fingers away from his. I glared at the side of his face. “He followed me outside like an asshole.”

“Why the fuck are you outside by yourself?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

“Are you fuckin’ stupid?” he barked, leaning forward.

My eyes widened in surprise and everything inside me went quiet. We’d fought before—that happened when you put two stubborn people in close proximity—but he’d never called me names. “You want to repeat that?”

“We’ve got six different clubs on the property. Only half of those are boys we can trust, the others are allies in the absolute fuckin’ loosest sense of the word,” he replied through his teeth, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “And you’re gettin’ hammered and wanderin’ outside alone in the dark.”

“Well, maybe if you guys told me anything, I’d know that I should be steering clear of—”

“Common sense should tell you that.” He cut me off, staring at me in disbelief. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Oh my god,” I ground out. “Fuck you, Cian.”

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he replied sarcastically. “I’m a little tired.”

It was a low blow. My hands curled into fists, and I briefly wondered if I would be able to escape after I punched him.

He jerked to a stop and unzipped the door of a tent. “Get in.”

“This isn’t my tent.”

“Know that,” he replied, gesturing for me to move. “It’s mine.”

“I’m not sleeping in your tent.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m not gonna spend half the night searchin’ for yours,” he countered.

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