Page 6 of Ruthless Obsession
“What?” I raise a brow. “Creep?”
Before I can react, her fist slams into my nose.
I kill people for a living. I’ve taken hits from grown-ass men twice my size. But this? I wasn’t ready for the woman who clearly didn’t take shit from anybody.
Blood trickles from my nose. I mutter a curse under my breath and wipe it with the sleeve of my shirt. Then I grab her wrists in one hand and pull her into my chest. Her breath hitches, then her chest rises and falls against mine. Big, angry brown eyes lock on me.
I scan her long, shiny black hair, pouty plump lips and my dick hardens in my jeans.
“I’m not that piece of shit boyfriend of yours. I don’t hit women,” I say backing her into the house.
She tried to knee me in the balls. I blocked it.
“Calm down, sweetheart.” I smirk.
“I don’t know what you want with Toby, but I want you to get the hell out of my house,” she spits.
“I came to ask a few questions about your sick, twisted boyfriend, but since you decided to come at me swinging, I’m taking you with me.”
“What? No the hell you ain’t.”
I yank a zip tie from my pocket and pull her hands behind her back crowding her once again. She’s forced to crane her neck to look into my green eyes. I tighten the zip tie around her wrists.
Her breathing changes. She isn’t just mad. She’s aroused.
She doesn’t even know it yet.
I stare at her. My heart does this weird stutter in my chest.
“Are you twisted like your boyfriend?”
She pushes against me, trying to pull away. “Toby’s not twisted.”
"So why did he hit you?"
A brief sadness flickers in her eyes before they become steely again. "Just let me go. I was planning to leave this morning anyway."
I sense my brothers watching us.
"Mavis, she was on her way out." Flock raises a messenger bag.
The woman shivers at the knowledge of the other men in the room behind her.
“Good. That means she’ll have something to wear besides those tiny-ass shorts and that t-shirt around the Royal Bastards clubhouse. I don’t share. And I don’t let my brothers stare at what belongs to me.”
“Since when?” Webbs remarks about my sharing.
She’s not to be shared.
Her eyes narrow. “My brother is Prez of the Chi Hellraisers MC. He hates the Royal Bastards MC.”
The feelings mutual when it comes to the Chi Hellraisers. Bad blood runs deep between our clubs.
I lean into her ear. “The way your nipples pebble against my chest I can tell you don’t hate me.”
Standing tall, I hold up a finger. “I know how you move. I’m securing your ankles.”
“No,” she says, panic creeping in.
