52 #3
I send him a malicious grin, warning him not to try anything.
He clears his throat nervously and shifts on his feet, grubby eyes finding what’s not his to look at once more. “Ezla.”
“Ezla? It’s Champion to you, motherfucker—”
Havoc’s hand finds my arm, and my neck swivels her way at breakneck speed as she says, “Calm.”
A thrill zipping through my veins, I lick my lips and wrap the arm she’d touched around her slim waist, dragging her into my side. “Okay, baby.”
Stiff as a board, she stands in my possessive grip, and I wait to be launched across the room.
But I’m not.
She loves me.
“So, we’d like these, please,” Scotty addresses the fuckface at the counter, placing his bag on its polished white top, and I know I’m not mistaking the tenseness of his voice. I’m not the only jealous one here.
“Of course,” the man I want to skin alive says, taking all our bags when me, Cooper, Alby, and Tiger place ours down too. I add some extra force with mine.
Havoc pulls out her spend card.
“Fuck no!”
“No, Wifey!”
“Wait—!”
“What on earth do you think you’re doing, HC?!”
“Havoc!”
She grinds her jaw at our outbursts. “What?”
“You’re not paying for us, Love.”
“Are you sexist?”
“What?! No! Of course not!”
“Then why are you objecting to me paying?” she grits out through her teeth.
“Because we want to take care of you—we’ve just spoken about this! And that doesn’t include you buying everything for us when it should be the other way around so we can show our respect and love!”
“And what if I want to take care of my Bonded?” Havoc’s voice cracks like a whip.
In an instant, you could hear a pin drop. We’re so stunned we don’t even do anything to stop her as the soon-to-be-butchered man takes her spend card and swipes it across the card reader on the counter.
Ezla snatches it back and orders, “Have that sent to the same place as my things.”
Dickhead nods, and I bet he’s real chatty when our girl’s usually here—which I know must’ve been a few times before at least with the familiarity between the two, and probably because of her disgrace of a father—but he wisely keeps his mouth shut now, fortunately for him having the brains to be able to read a room.
And then we’re off, and I tighten my arm around my girl as she tries to march ahead.
“Just a little longer, Havoc, baby. Please,” I beg, sliding a greedy hand to her ass and grabbing a handful.
“Mhmm . . . fuck yeah,” I moan as I fondle her.
“Let go. Now.”
Puffing out a breath, I give another squeeze. “Not yet.”
“So you care about us, huh?” Tiger waggles his brows, speaking before she can break my wrist, and at the same time, Scotty says with a small smile, “Your Bonded?”
“No.” Havoc leaves no space for more comments on the matter as we make our way to the exit of the shopping centre. She asks next, “Are you all skilled with dancing? All prepared for the Halfway Ball?”
“Yes,” Cooper, Scotty, and Tiger say in unison at the same time me and Alby say, “No.”
Our Bonded turns her helmet my way, then Alby’s, who becomes a ripe cranberry. “You do not know how to dance? You were not taught in your third schools?”
Clutching on to her with an unyielding grip when she tries to pull away again, I grumble, “I wasn’t about to fucking dance with anyone else. I’ve tried to learn on my own, but it’s a little rusty.”
Some of that stiffness leaves her body. Just a smidge, but pure delight skitters down my spine at the fact she’s clearly pleased by my choices, that I wouldn’t dance with anybody but her even before I met her and had her within reach.
Her visor stares down Alby. “And you?”
“No one wanted to dance with me . . .” he answers, hardly audible. Embarrassment enshrouds him, and I have the strangest urge to smash anyone’s head in who puts that look on his face.
Although maybe it’s not so strange, because it’s happened a few times before, like the protective rage that flared up on the day of one of his bullies’ deaths, when the hideous fuck had insulted Tiger.
Maybe they really have become my brothers like I know they see me as for some reason—I mean, I’m just a possessive brute who only cares about Havoc.
Okay, but maybe, possibly them too, I guess . . .
“But I still had to dance,” Alby continues, twining his long fingers together and looking down at the glossy black taalk ground as we walk outside. “So it was just really uncomfortable. And so I’m not very good at dancing at all . . .”
“No matter. Refresher lessons tomorrow,” Havoc declares, and I finally, very begrudgingly, let her go when she draws away this time so she’s free to manifest her Avri tribike when she needs to.
“Training in the morning as usual, then we will spend however long is needed practicing for the Ball.” Sprinting into the car park, inky-crimson energy forms her bike beneath her a second later.
My dick twitches at the hotter-than-hell display before we all follow her lead with our own Avri pads, and then we’re zooming back to The Bonding Games Headquarters together in a blur of red and green.