Page 17 of Chaos
"I've got you, sweetheart. Nothing's going to hurt you on my watch."
Chapter 9
Rowan
"Hey, sweetheart.” Chaos's voice rumbles from somewhere to my left.
I blink against the dim light filtering through heavy curtains and push myself up on my elbows, disoriented.
The moment I see him, the events of the past twenty-four hours come crashing back.
Chaos sits on the edge of the bed, a plate balanced on his knee. He's changed clothes—fresh jeans and a tight black t-shirt that stretches across his muscled chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
"What time is it?" My voice comes out rough from sleep.
"Around seven.” He gestures to the plate. "Made you a sandwich. Turkey and cheese."
My stomach growls loudly in response, and I take the plate, suddenly ravenous. "Thank you."
“Your things are here.” He gestures to an armchair where I notice my textbooks and a duffel bag I recognize from my closet, presumably filled with clothes.
My throat tightens. "You sent someone to get my things."
“The brothers grabbed what they could. Figured you'd want your books." He watches me take a bite of the sandwich. "There's a party happening downstairs tonight."
"A party?" I swallow my mouthful of food.
"Celebration for Demon's twenty-eighth straight win in the cage." His eyes track my movements as I eat. “Parties here…” He pauses, searching for words. “They get loud and crazy. Rowdy."
The sandwich is actually really good—the bread is fresh, the lunchmeat is quality. Better than anything I usually buy. "You don't have to babysit me up here. I'll be fine."
"I know you will." Something in his tone makes me look up. "Because you'll be with me."
My heart does that stupid fluttery thing again. "Oh."
“I need to talk to you about some things first, though." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "About the club. About how things work around here."
I stop chewing mid-bite, suddenly nervous, and nod.
"This is a one-percenter club." He watches my face, clearly gauging my reaction. "You know what that means?"
I shake my head.
"Means we operate outside the law. We have our own code, our own rules." His jaw tightens. "Our own way of handling things.”
"You're criminals." The words come out before I can stop them.
"We're outlaws," he corrects, but there's no anger in his voice. "There's a difference. It’s not our way to hurt innocent people. We protect our territory, take care of our own, and yeah—we do shit that ain't exactly legal."
My mind spins, trying to process this. I mean, I'd already figured they weren't Boy Scouts, but hearing it stated so plainly makes it real in a way it wasn't before.
“So at the party tonight…” His forehead wrinkles, and he rubs the back of his neck as if searching for the words. “In our world, if a woman isn’t someone’s ol’ lady, if she’s not claimed by a brother, she’s fair game.”
“Fair Game?”
“A woman whose sole purpose here is to party and fuck the brothers. They’re referred to by all sorts of names: club whores, club bunnies, sweet butts. We call ‘em cut sluts.”
I swallow audibly and think of the blonde, Kandi.
