(LANCE)
The clubhouse air was thick with smoke, whiskey, and the low hum of danger. The Iron Reapers sat at the far table like vultures waiting for scraps, their cuts faded and blood-stained from years of running guns and meth across the eastern valley. I didn’t give a f**k about them watching. I wanted them to see.
I carried Eliona straight to the pool table, the same green felt where I’d claimed her the first time in front of my brothers. I laid her out on her back, shoved her leather skirt up to her waist, and spread her thighs wide so every hangaround, prospect, and rival could see my fresh c*m still leaking from her p***y and the angry red unicorn brand on her inner thigh.
“Watch carefully,” I growled to the room. “This is what ownership looks like.”
I freed my c**k and slammed in
