Ronan's POV
The room stank of cheap whiskey and bloodlust, which thanks to history , had never been a good combination. The bloodlust here wasn't in terms of one person wanting to shed and rip someone else apart to the point of drawing blood. It simply meant wanting nothing more than to pull the other person down so bad, they would look like a fool.
I hated how the one person who did that came to mind, but I pushed it aside as I walked into the clubhouse. The whispers hadn’t died yet. Instead, they clung and hovered around like flies. I could feel them, the rest of the gang, their eyes darting, lips twitching, and everyone waiting to see if the king would burn or fold.
“Enough,” I snapped, and the word cracked like a whip. Callie dropped her fists first, Lana shut her venomous mouth,
