(LANCE)
The clubhouse smelled like smoke and blood when we roared through the gates. Three prospects were laid out on the pool tables with bandages and whiskey, the air thick with the metallic tang of violence. The warehouse hit had been precise — cartel style. Rico was sending a message, and I was going to answer it with bullets.
But first, I needed to remind my woman exactly who she belonged to in the middle of this war.
I pulled Eliona off the bike and straight into my private room, slamming the door behind us. The faint scent of gun oil and leather mixed with her perfume. She was still flushed from the ride, thighs sticky with my c*m from the cliffside f**k, her black dress torn in one spot from my rough hands.
“Strip,” I ordered, already shrugging off my cut. “Everything except th
