2. Havoc #2
And isn’t that another terrible fucking development?
Because now Monster is staring too.
Good spot for biting.
No.
Mine.
Shut the fuck up.
Honey Girl looks tired.
Too fucking tired.
There are faint shadows beneath her eyes that immediately piss me off because I know damn well she worked a full shift at The Joint today.
But even exhausted?
She’s beautiful.
Soft and sultry and curvy as fuck. Way too fucking beautiful for the likes of me and this fucking shithole. And way too goddamn tempting for a male who came here specifically to forget about her.
I’m still standing there like a fucking moron.
Staring at her.
Because apparently I can’t not stare at Gabriella Santos.
I know I don’t have any claim on her.
I know that.
She isn’t my mate. She hasn’t chosen me.
Hell, the woman probably doesn’t even know I’ve spent the last few days deliberately avoiding the restaurant because being around her is starting to make me fucking crazy.
None of that seems to matter to Monster.
And if I’m being real fucking truthful? It doesn’t matter much to me either.
Because then some asshole sitting at the bar leans toward her.
My entire body goes rigid.
He’s close.
Too close.
Close enough that I can see the way his gaze drops to the neckline of her shirt.
Close enough that if Gabriella shifted forward even a few inches, his fucking arm would brush against her breasts.
My fingers curl into fists.
Easy.
She’s working.
He’s a customer.
Gabby can handle a customer. The fucker says something I can’t hear over the music.
She gives him one of those smiles.
I know that smile.
Which is fucking ridiculous because I barely know this woman.
But I’ve watched her enough at The Joint to recognize the difference.
Her real smile changes her entire face.
It makes her dark eyes sparkle and puts this little crinkle beside them. Sometimes her nose even scrunches up when she really laughs, and fuck me if that isn’t the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
This isn’t that smile.
This one is polite.
Careful.
The smile a woman working for tips gives an asshole because she can’t tell him to go fuck himself.
And her eyes? Her eyes are telling a whole different story.
She’s uncomfortable.
Monster slams into my control.
Threat.
“No.”
My voice comes out low enough that nobody hears me.
Gabriella turns to move farther down the bar.
Good.
Walk away, Honey Girl.
But the fucker isn’t done.
He says something else.
Louder this time.
I still can’t make out the words, but I don’t fucking need to.
I see Gabriella’s shoulders stiffen. I see the way her chin lifts. See that polite smile disappear.
And something dark and possessive twists through me so fucking fast I almost welcome it.
Monster doesn’t give a fuck about rules.
Doesn’t care that she isn’t ours.
Doesn’t give one shit that I have absolutely no right to interfere.
A growl starts deep in my chest.
Threat.
He’s ordering a drink, I tell him.
Liar.
My jaw clenches.
He hasn’t touched her, I remind myself.
But Monster is there, and the Wolf chimes in without hesitation.
Yet.
He hasn’t touched her yet.
Fuck.
That nearly does me in. Because suddenly I’m imagining him reaching across that bar.
Touching her hand.
Her arm.
Putting one filthy fucking finger against all that golden skin.
My vision sharpens.
The sounds in the bar fade beneath the rush of blood in my ears.
Threat.
“Shut up.”
But I’m already moving.
One step. Then another.
Every primitive instinct I possess screams at me to get between them.
To put my body between Gabriella and a male who makes her uncomfortable.
To show my teeth.
To make it very fucking clear that looking is as far as anyone gets with—I stop myself.
With what?
My female?
My Omega?
Mine?
She isn’t any of those things.
I have no fucking claim.
And that should matter.
It does matter.
Because I’m not some asshole who gets to decide a woman belongs to him just because his Wolf has gone insane over her scent.
Gabriella belongs to herself.
Period.
But apparently somebody forgot to explain that shit to Monster.
Ours.
“No,” I whisper to myself.
The word grinds through my teeth.
Protect.
“She doesn’t need us.”
Monster bares his teeth inside me.
And fuck if that doesn’t hit somewhere uncomfortable.
Because I know she doesn’t need me.
That might be part of what’s driving me so goddamn crazy.
Gabriella takes care of herself.
She takes care of Matteo. She works two fucking jobs, smiles at assholes when she’d probably rather throw their drinks in their faces, and keeps moving no matter how exhausted she is.
She doesn’t need some feral Wolf stepping in. But wanting to protect someone and believing they’re incapable of protecting themselves are two very different fucking things.
And apparently? I want to protect Gabriella.
Badly.
The realization scares the shit out of me.
Then she looks up. Straight at me.
Our eyes meet across the crowded bar.
Everything inside me stops. Her gaze drops briefly to my clenched fists. Then rises to my face.
She knows.
She sees exactly how pissed I am.
Her polite smile disappears completely.
Fuck.
Yeah.
She knows I’m pissed.
Good.
Because right now, I’m starting to understand something that should probably have me running straight back up that mountain.
I might not have a claim on Gabriella Santos.
But Monster already thinks we do. And the really fucked-up part?
Every day, it’s getting harder to convince myself he’s wrong.
Because I really am fucking furious at this entire situation she’s put herself in. It’s not fair. It’s certainly not my right.
But here we are anyway.
She worked all day. I know she did because we’ve been avoiding The Joint specifically so I wouldn’t see her.
And now she’s here? Working in some seedy fucking bar where men like this prick can ogle her?
What the fuck is she doing?