Page 22 of Chasing Kit

Thor broke off the kiss, and Loki moaned sadly. Thor turned to War and squared his shoulders. “Instead of pissing off Loki, you could’ve just asked. Come with me.” Thor dragged his boyfriend along, clearly unwilling to risk leaving Loki behind to attack us.

We followed them into a large dining room. A long, heavy wooden table dominated the space, surrounded by men and women in leather. A massive crystal chandelier hung overhead, a bizarrely elegant fixture in what was clearly a biker clubhouse. The clash of styles was jarring, but my attention was fixed on the man at the head of the table—Odin.

He didn’t look at us when we entered, too busy shoving a forkful of food into his mouth. Between swallows, he chatted with another older man to his left who had long silver hair and a bushy beard. They laughed as Thor led us toward them.

“Odin, our guests are hungry.”

Odin stopped paying attention to the other man, who wore a black leather jacket with both the Norse Lords MC patch and the name “Vili” and position “Secretary” stitched into the left side.

“Are they?” Odin smirked and sat back in his chair.

“If you want to keep us here as prisoners, at least feed us like visitors,” War snapped.

“Please?” I offered sweetly, earning a glare from War.

Loki laughed. “At least someone has manners.”

“I’ll show you my manners when I stick my foot up your ass.” War shifted as though to step forward, but I grabbed his shoulder tightly, stopping him.

Odin’s expression darkened and he stood. For an older man, he was bulky. Handsome, too, with a striking face and a cute crease in his chin. “Warrick, as much as I usually enjoy your company, if you threaten my adopted son again, I will kill you. I only need to keep Kit alive.”

War sneered.

I heaved a massive sigh, gaining more than a few surprised glances, including from War and Odin. “Are we done with this dick-measuring competition? Jeez. If I’d known all criminals acted like children, I might’ve chosen a different major. Criminal Justice seems boring now that I’ve met a few of you.”

The stares lingered on me until a laugh erupted from my right. My gaze shifted to a Hispanic man with shaved black hair and intense eyes. The collar of his jacket stood upright, and the name under his patch read “Fenrir” and “Enforcer.”

He held a piece of buttered bread but still managed to wave a finger at me. “Me gustas. Tienes agallas.”

I grinned, standing taller. “Gracias, Señor.”

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, tearing off a piece of bread with his teeth and chewing.

I gestured with a wavering hand. “Eh. Un poco. Yo estoy aprendiendo.” I chuckled, feeling a bit bold. “Let’s just say my family tree has a lot of branches. I’m trying to keep up.”

War growled. “English for those who don’t speak Spanish.”

I nudged him teasingly. “Then maybe you should do something about that. It doesn’t hurt to learn another language.” When he glared, I shook my head. “He said he liked me and that I had balls. I thanked him, and when he asked if I knew Spanish, I said a little, that I was learning.”

Fenrir laughed. “You’ve got a good man there, War. I wouldn’t let him go.”

“He’s not mine,” War muttered. The words hit like a punch to the gut, sharp and painful. My neck throbbed, a physical reminder of the violent intimacy between us. He was pushing me away. But then I remembered him telling me about his capture, a secret he wouldn’t offer to just anyone. Maybe this wasn’t a rejection, but a shield.

I touched my throat, and Fenrir’s gaze followed the movement.

He cocked his head. “Él hizo eso?”

Did he do that?

I swallowed hard. Were there marks? A part of me wanted to see, to know what he’d left behind. The thought sent a confusing, forbidden thrill through my veins. It wasn’t the pain, but the idea of him being close enough to leave a mark, of being claimed. The concept was new and unsettling. I’d never considered rough sex, but the thought of him being that possessive . . . . It stirred something in me.

“Hay . . . . Uh . . . .” What was the word for bruises? Jeez. I had no idea. “Hay . . . marcas?” Are there marks?

“Sí.” He dropped the bread onto his plate. “Ya se están poniendo más oscuros.”

They are already getting darker. Or at least, that’s what I thought he’d said. I really needed to brush up on my skills.

I sucked in a breath when War moved, blocking my view of Fenrir.