Elijah
There are three types of chaotic people in the world.
The loud kind.
The violent kind.
And the kind that walks into a club smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Claire Valentine is the third kind.
I knew the moment she walked through the door tonight this was going to be a problem.
The club is busy again. Music pounding. Glasses clinking. Engines rumbling outside every few minutes as bikes and cars roll through the lot.
Normal night.
Except Claire is perched on a barstool like she owns the place.
Which technically… she kind of does.
Quinn runs the syndicate.
But Claire?
Claire enjoys lighting fires under it.
And right now that fire is me.
I’m leaning against the far wall near the bar, arms folded, scanning the room like I always do. Same position I’ve held
