Page 2 of Ruthless Sin

I'm three steps away from freedom when I hear, "Wait a fucking minute." The rasp in his voice has turned sharp with recognition. "I know you! You're Hellfire's little girl."

The door opens before he can reach for me, and Ruthless fills the frame like an avenging angel in black leather. His eyes lock with mine for a split second – relief, anger, and something else I can't name flashing in them – before they turn to ice as he looks past me.

"Problem here?" His voice is quiet, dangerous.

I take advantage of the distraction to move swiftly to Ruthless's side, my heart hammering against my ribs. The younger Outlaw has risen from his table now, hand hovering near his waist where I'm sure there's a weapon.

"No problem," the older one says, but his eyes are calculating. "Just having a friendly chat with the lady here."

Ruthless's arm comes up, not quite touching me but creating a barrier between me and them. The gesture is subtle, protective, and despite our current situation, it makes my stomach flutter.

"Good," Ruthless growls. "Then you won't mind if we leave."

The tension in the bar is thick enough to choke on. Other patrons have gone quiet, sensing the storm brewing. The bartender has disappeared into the back – smart man.

"Actually," the younger Outlaw steps forward, a nasty grin spreading across his face, "we would mind. It's not every day we get to meet royalty. Hellfire's princess should stay for a drink."

I feel Ruthless's body tense beside me, ready to explode into violence. My fingers flex around the brass knuckles in my pocket.

"Thanks for the offer," I say, keeping my voice steady, "but I'll pass."

The older one takes another step toward us, and I see Ruthless's hand twitch toward his cut. If this turns into a fight, it won't be quiet, and every Outlaw in a ten-mile radius will be here within minutes.

"Back off," Ruthless warns, his voice dropping to that deadly quiet tone that usually precedes bloodshed. "You really want to start a war over a drink?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke. I know what they're thinking – is it worth it? Two of them against one Iron & Blood member, but that one member is Ruthless. His reputation precedes him, and I've seen firsthand why he earned that name.

"War?" The older Outlaw's laugh is all razor edges. "Your club hit our weapon stash last week. Way I see it, the war's already started. And what better payback than taking the president's daughter?"

Everything happens in a blur. The older one lunges at Ruthless while the younger one tries to grab me. But I'm not some helpless princess – I'm Iron & Blood, born and bred.

I duck under the younger one's reaching arms, brass knuckles already on my right hand. His ribs are wide open, and I drive my fist into them with every ounce of strength I have. The satisfying crunch of bone is followed by his pained grunt. The impact sends shockwaves up my arm, but adrenaline dulls the pain.

Behind me, I hear the meaty thud of Ruthless's fist connecting with the older Outlaw's face. Glass shatters somewhere, and a chair goes flying. The sounds of combat are familiar – I've grown up around fights – but being in the middle of one is different. This isn't practice. This is real.

The younger one recovers faster than I expected, backhanding me hard enough to make my vision blur. The taste of copper fills my mouth, but I use the momentum to spin, bringing my kneeup into his groin. He doubles over, and I slam my brass-covered knuckles into his temple. He goes down hard, but I know he won't stay down long.

"Angel, down!" Ruthless's voice cuts through the chaos, and I drop right away.

A bottle whistles through the air where my head was a second ago, smashing against the wall and raining glass down on my shoulders.

I roll to my feet in time to see Ruthless grappling with the older Outlaw. Blood streams from the Outlaw's nose, but he's managed to pull a knife. The blade catches the dim light as he slashes at Ruthless's face, coming dangerously close to his eye.

My hand moves to my boot, fingers wrapping around the handle of my own knife. I pull it out, but my palm is sweaty, and my grip feels unsure. I've trained with it countless times and gone through all the motions, but I've never actually used it on someone. The thought of pushing steel into flesh makes my stomach turn despite the anger coursing through my veins.

But when I see the Outlaw's blade nick Ruthless's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, something in me shifts. These men wouldn't hesitate to hurt us – to kill us. My father's voice echoes in my head: "In this life, baby girl, sometimes it's them or us."

"Fuck this," I mutter, adjusting my grip on the knife in my left hand, brass knuckles still adorning my right.

I move forward, trying to project more confidence than I feel. The older Outlaw's eyes widen slightly when he sees me advancing, and that moment of distraction is all Ruthless needs.

His fist connects with the Outlaw's throat, sending him stumbling backward, gasping for air. The knife clatters to the floor, and Ruthless kicks it away before delivering a brutalpunch that sends the man crashing into a table. The sound of splintering wood fills the air.

I'm both relieved and ashamed that I didn't have to use my knife, but there's no time to dwell on it. The younger Outlaw is starting to stir, groaning as he pushes himself up on his elbows.

"We need to move," Ruthless says, grabbing my arm. His touch is firm but gentle, and I can feel him trembling slightly with leftover adrenaline. "More will be coming."

As if on cue, we hear motorcycles in the distance, growing louder. The rumble sounds like an approaching storm.

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