Page 18 of Chaos
"I'm telling you this because when we go down there, you need to understand some things." He holds my gaze. “I’ll be claiming you as mine. My woman. It’s how I can assure you’re safe and protected.”
My eyes widen. His woman? What does that even mean?
“What you need to do is to follow my lead. Don't disagree with me in front of my brothers. Don't contradict me."
Something prickles at the back of my neck. "That seems..."
"Controlling?" His mouth quirks. "It is. But it's how things work. I'm the president. What I say goes, and that extends to my woman."
His woman. There it is again.
"And I'm not saying you can't have opinions or speak your mind when we're alone. But in front of the club? You're mine, and that means you respect me publicly. Those brothers out there, they’re the toughest and most loyal group of guys you’re ever gonna meet, but they ain’t gonna respect me if I can’t even keep my woman in line. Got it?”
I bite my lip, considering my options. He's keeping me alive. Feeding me. Protecting me from literal cartel hitmen. And honestly, the idea of publicly disagreeing with him in a room full of outlaws doesn't appeal to me anyway.
"I can do that."
"Good girl." The praise makes my cheeks flush. He stands, offering his hand. "Finish eating, then we'll head down."
***
The noise hits me before we even reach the bottom of the stairs—loud music, shouting, raucous laughter. My hand tightens in Chaos's as we descend into the main room.
It’s packed with bodies. Bikers in leather cuts crowd around the bar, the pool tables, clustered in groups, drinking and talking. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. Scantily-clad women weave through the crowd, their hands trailing over broad shoulders and muscled arms.
My steps falter, but Chaos's grip on my hand keeps me moving forward.
We navigate through the crowd, Chaos nodding to brothers who call out greetings. I keep my eyes down, trying not to stare at the sheer amount of leather and tattoos and raw masculinity surrounding us.
Chaos leads me over near the bar and stops in front of a black woman who’s probably in her late fifties. She’s full-figured and dressed impeccably in professional attire—a dark purple business pantsuit and a silk blouse that seems wildly out of place in this den of debauchery.
"Mama Pat." Chaos's voice warms as we approach.
She looks up, her sharp gaze moving from Chaos to me and back again. One perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. "Well, well. What do we have here?" Her eyes rake over me, then soften as her lips curl in a friendly smile.
Chaos pulls me closer to his side, his arm wrapping around my waist. "This is Rowan, my ol’ lady, and I’m about to claim her publicly.”
Mama Pat’s eyes widen comically, and she mumbles just loud enough for me to hear, “Lord, am I glad I didn’t miss this tonight.”
Chaos motions to someone, and the music stops.
"Brothers, listen up!" he shouts, cutting through the din.
The room doesn't go completely silent, but the noise level drops significantly. Heads turn our way, and I fight the urge to shrink against Chaos's side.
"I got an announcement." His hand tightens on my hip. "This here's Rowan. She's my ol' lady."
Now there’s dead silence. It’s as though everyone’s waiting for the punchline of a joke.
Chaos pulls me even closer, his voice dropping to a rumble. "She's to be afforded the same respect you give me. Anyone got a problem with that?"
Three long seconds of silence, followed by whooping and hollering. Raised beers. Congratulatory backslaps for Chaos. Respectful nods for me.
I manage to keep a smile plastered on my burning face.
A group of brothers practically drags Chaos toward the bar.
"Go." Mama Pat waves him off. “I got her.”
