Page 6 of Chaos
My protective instincts roar to life when she flinches at my voice. She tries to fight free from my grasp, but I keep a tight hold on her.
As I stare at the fragile, terrified woman covered in filth—I don't know how or why, but every cell in my body screams the same message.
Protect. Claim. Own.
Chapter 3
Rowan
The dumpster lid flies open, and my heart nearly stops. They found me.
A large hand plunges through the garbage and latches onto my wrist. I scream, but the sound stays trapped in my throat as I’m yanked upward with terrifying strength. My body surfaces from the trash like some half-drowned rat being pulled from a sewer.
"What the fuck?" a deep voice rumbles.
This man doesn't look like the others. This one is bigger, broader, with dark blonde hair gathered in a low ponytail. He’s the kind of presence that commands attention. Still, panic overrides logic. All I can process is that someone found me, someone dangerous, and I'm about to die.
He pulls me up on legs that feel like overcooked pasta. My vision blurs from shock and exhaustion, but when he scoops me into his arms as though I weigh nothing, something inside me snaps.
I fight. Clawing at his leather vest, scratching at whatever I can reach, thrashing in his hold like a cornered animal. My nailsrake across his neck, drawing blood, but he doesn't retaliate. He doesn't strike me or shake me or even tell me to shut the hell up.
Both his arms wrap around me like steel bands—one supporting my back while the other cradles my legs.
"Shh," he murmurs, his voice vibrating through his chest against my cheek. "Breathe, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you."
I should protest, scream, flail—anything—but I'm too exhausted to fight anymore.
"Please," I whimper. "I didn't see anything. I swear."
I experience a moment of extreme confusion. His touch is...gentle? That can't be right.
"That's it," he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple. "Just calm down. I've got you."
My face presses into the crook of his neck. He smells like leather and whiskey and man, a scent that makes my head spin. Or maybe it’s shock and fear making my head spin.
He carries me across the parking lot with long, purposeful strides, and I catch glimpses of other large men in leather vests watching us. They all have the same menacing edge, the same confident way of moving that screams power and danger. My fingers curl into his vest, clinging despite my fear.
We go through a back entrance of the warehouse, and suddenly we're inside what looks like some kind of arena. The air is thick with body odor and alcohol, and I hear the murmur of a crowd. He doesn't stop moving. He carries me down a long hall until we reach a small room furnished with a few chairs and a battered couch.
He settles me carefully on the couch, but when he tries to step back, my hands fist his vest tighter. The thought of him leaving, of being alone again, makes panic spike through me.
"Hey." His voice is impossibly gentle for such a big, intimidating man. "I'm not going anywhere."
He crouches in front of me, and I get my first real look at his face. Strong jaw covered in scruff, piercing blue-green eyes that seem to see straight through me, and features that are so handsome my stomach flutters. But it's the concern in his expression that undoes me completely.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
I open my mouth, but only a croak comes out. My throat feels raw. And I stink so bad I don’t know how he can stand being near me. Carefully unlatching my fingers, he disappears for a moment and returns with a bottle of water, twisting the cap off before pressing it into my shaking hands.
The water tastes like heaven.
"Rowan," I manage after taking a sip.
"Rowan." He repeats my name. "I'm Jace. But most people call me Chaos."
Chaos. The name fits—there's something wild and untamed in his eyes that suggests he's capable of extreme savagery if pushed. But right now, with me, he's being indescribably tender.
"Are you hurt?" His gaze rakes over me.
