Page 70 of Outcast

"Who the fuck are you?"

Matías smiled, and it was the one he'd always had for the Institution or his enemies. A crazy and rage-filled show of teeth. "Matías Castillo. You might have heard of me. And if you haven't heard of me, you've surely heard of Andre Medina. Or Grey Morozov, or Parker Adair. Maybe even Lafe Nilsen." He rattled off his brothers like he was reading a shopping list.

The men backed up. It was only half a step, but it was enough to show they did fear the brothers where they didn't fear us.

That was bullshit.

I stepped forward. "You have two seconds to get off of our club property. This is us being nice. We'll pay you a visit and talk to your president soon. Send him our regards."

The men glanced at Matías, then each other. That was all it took for them to leave.

Anger like I'd never experienced before burned through me. When they were gone, I grabbed Matías' wrist and walked him to the back office. The others fell away. I heard Esteban shouting but when I glanced back, he wasn't behind us.

Inside the office, I shut the door and faced Matías. He wanted to have this talk. Fine. We'd have it right now.

17

MATÍAS

God she was gorgeous.

Her cat eyes were so sharp, she could cut a man with just a look. By all accounts, I should have been in ribbons at her feet.

Wild curls floated around her head giving her an aura of ferocity. Yet, she stood there, her body turned slightly to the side, as if it was a mechanism to protect herself from me.

I would never hurt her. Not again.

Her top lip curled and she wouldn't look directly at me. It didn't matter. She was the very image of perfection. At one time, I considered myself lucky that she was mine. The thing was, whether she knew it or not, she was still mine.

And this was my chance.

I glanced around. I'd been in this office before. Not often, but enough to know it hadn't changed at all.

A few cork boards hung up on the concrete walls with old receipts and reminders pinned. There was a shabby desk with a metal chair behind it and two in front of it. That was it.

The Dirty Dogs weren’t the savvy business owners myfather had been. They only cared about function and purpose.

I took a deep breath and scratched my temple. "Can we sit?"

Her gaze moved straight to the chairs. Instead of moving, she closed her eyes and took several inhales before letting them out. She'd been fired up when she marched me in here, but now that we were alone, that anger was draining.

That was best. I could never talk to her when she was upset. She was just as bull headed as Javier had been. Worse actually because she was the monster he created.

Fuck, not a monster. Not in those terms and not like my father.

Her brand of crazy was more endearing.

"Rita," I walked after her, making an effort to keep up, which was impressive all on its own. She was a few inches shorter than me in strappy high heels. But she moved in those things like she'd been born in them.

"I don't have time for your shit, Matías." She held her hand up. Some of the men at the club nodded at us as we passed. A few even smirked as they watched me chase after her.

They thought it was hilarious. Most of the time I did too.

Except right now, the club wasn't packed and I had a direct line of sight to her luscious ass bouncing with each step. I struggled to remember what I was supposed to be irritated about.

Then she stopped at the bar and raised a finger to get the bartender's attention.

"I can't believe you've never ridden a bike. That's outrageous." She huffed.

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