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Striding back into the bar, I catch sight of the guys scattered among the Noire brothers and Ivy perched on a stool beside Rena at the bar. The crowd has thickened in the brief time I was gone, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be whisking the Little Storm back to our suite shortly.
Clearheaded. And so goddamn hungry.
I jerk my chin at Ty, who grabs Liam, Gage, and a couple of drinks, meeting me at the far end of the bar near the back exit, where we can speak freely.
Not wasting any time getting to the point, I begin as soon as they’re before me. “Good news. One seat secured.”
“Fuck,” Gage spits while both Liam and Ty grin like the Cheshire cat. This has been a long time coming.
“It’s, of course, contingent upon the actual delivery, but the marriage cinched it,” I explain.
Ty chuckles, handing me a glass of scotch. “That’s why you’re in charge.”
Liam rubs the scruff on his chin, no doubt itching to sneak outside for atriumphant smoke. “I’m not even going to fuck with you about your honeymoon night, Chief. You deserve to get your dick wet.”
“How long do we have?” Gage asks, ignoring any mention of my personal involvement with Ivy.
“Two to three months to prepare her. She’ll be loyalty tested due to the marriage, as expected, in addition to the rest.”
“No concerns there?” Gage asks. It’s one of the reasons she needs to crave the realness of this marriage, to believe in it. Since she’s known me for eight days at this point, it’s a valid question.
“None,” Ty and I respond in unison, but I grant him the space to expound. “She gives what’s given to her. She’ll be fine in that respect. It’s the acceptance of who she is that may be the issue.”
“Agreed.” I swig the last of my scotch. “We still have a lot of work ahead, but Liam was on the right track. You all deserve to celebrate. This win belongs to us all. It’s been an intense five years, but the payoffs will be endless. So, enjoy your night, gentlemen. I have a bride to satisfy.”
On that last word, my eyes float to Ivy, who still sits at the bar, a man beside her with his goddamn hand on her waist. She’s trying to remove it, and Rena’s stool is empty.
“The fuck?” I charge toward them, watching him tug her against his side while she gently nudges him away. Her passivity in this situation baffles me—so unlike my girl.
In a brief attempt to evaluate the situation and an extreme act of patience, I halt behind her, barking my question at the asshole beside her, “Problem?”
“Nah, man. My girl’s a little drunk. Need to get her out of here,” he says, tugging on her waist again.
His girl? Motherfucker.
In less than three seconds, I scan the bar in front of them, noting the shot glasses, no other drink for him, her three-quarters-consumed glass of champagne, and most importantly, the precise distance of the asshole to the bar.
On the third second, I knock his arm off her by snapping the elbow backward, wedge myself between them, clutch the back of his head, and smash his face into the wooden bar top with a satisfying thwack. Blood gushes from his nose and mouth with a garbled shriek, but that is no longer my concern. Gage and Axel move in to take over while I throw Ivy over my shoulder. The tulle of her dress bunches and bristles against my heated cheek as I rush through the crowd toward our penthouse.
When we reach the elevator, she giggles, head still dangling at my mid-back. “You fucked that guy up. I probably shouldn’t think it was funny, but I didn’t like him at all.”
“Me neither, Little Storm.” I set her on her feet before me when we step inside, allowing her to melt into my chest, my heart pounding out in rage. “I’m not fond of your slurring either.”
Her speech pattern isn’t really that bad, but the thought of that asshole’s hands on her and her disobedience is infuriating.
“Sorry.” She pouts, ending our conversation, which is wise.
I’m so pissed off that I can barely see straight, my blood boiling. I told her not to drink. And where the hell was Rena? I send a text to Ty, telling him to check on her, right before we arrive at our suite.
We were all there, but so caught up in our celebration, not one of us had eyes on her.
Fuck.
She clings to me as we meander through the living space, dragging me with purpose toward my room. Wordlessly, I follow along, intrigued by where her drunken thoughts will take her while also trying to regroup. My rage can wait. The fucker isn’t going anywhere.
Once inside my bedroom, I shrug off my suit jacket, and her hands sail up to my jaw, fingertips skimming my stubble, thirsty eyes frolicking all over my face.
“Thought we’d stay in here tonight.” She spins, facing away from me, kicking off her heels and dropping four inches. “I need help out of this.”
