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The word bitch rolling off his tongue about Tatum makes something feral rip loose in my chest. Nobody talks about her. Not him. Not even me on my worst days.

He gives me a bloody grin. “We got word from a little birdie that Iron Wraiths aren’t going to be around much longer. Figured we might as well start using our new area.”

I see red, snapping his arm, causing him to howl out in pain. Yanking him up by the front of his shirt, I pull him close enough that we are face to face. “Did that feel like we’re gone, motherfucker? Who the fuck is your little bird?”

The fight drains out of him and we get what we need. The confirmation they were testing boundaries on the words of Redline. They’re coming for us. But we leave a warning delivered in broken bones and a couple of shots fired into the ceiling for emphasis. No kills tonight. Dead men can't tell tales, and we need a messenger. By the time we’re riding back, my knuckles are split, and my ribs are singing from a lucky kick. My adrenaline crashes hard. The road feels longer on the return. Diesel rides up beside me at a light.

“You good, brother? You were somewhere else in there.”

“They mentioned Tatum,” I admit, the wind snatching the word. “She told me recently if Redline comes, they won’t just come for her, and some shit about war. I’m beginning to think she wasn’t lying.”

He laughs low. “No shit. Tonight, we got that confirmation. Nicholas is pulling the strings still, but we need to figure out how and let everyone know. We might have upped security, but he’s using other clubs for his dirty work. Maybe you should start listening to that one.”

I can’t tell him he’s wrong, so I sit in silence. The closer we get to the clubhouse, the more my hands itch to go to her. I need to see her. Touch her. Make sure she’s still breathing fire and not bleeding somewhere I can’t reach.

Pulling into the compound, the engine sounds die in the lot. All three of them head inside for whiskey and ice. I hang back a second, rolling my neck, then push through the doors. Scanning the floor, I see her leaning against the bar with a beer she’s barely touched. The fresh bruises darkening on her face, but her eyes lock on mine the second I walk in. The air snaps tight between us. That same electric thing from the medical room—anger, want, everything. I cross to her and she doesn’t back up.

“You good, Switch?” she asks, voice rough.

Before I can respond, Brenda, one of the club bunnies that likes to think she’s got a chance with me, slides between us.

“Hi, Switch,” she says coyfully, running her hands down my chest.

“Brenda.” I remove her hands from me, but she just pushes on, ignoring my clipped responses, as usual. She babbles about her day. Whining about how it would be better if I would take her on a ride. She puts her hands back on my chest, wandering lower and lower. Before she can hit my belt line, Tatum interrupts.

“Switch, I need to talk to you. Prospect shit. Now.” Fire burns in her eyes, but her tone stays even.

Taking the excuse, I pull myself away from Brenda as she pouts. I nod toward the hallway that leads to the rooms, and Tatum follows. The door to my space clicks shut behind us. It’s not private enough, but it’ll do. When she turns to speak, I reach out, thumb brushing the edge of the cut on her lip. It’s still swollen.

“You should be resting.”

She catches my wrist but doesn’t pull away. “Don’t fucking touch me, Corbin.”

“I just need to check on your wounds,” I say low, crowding her space.

Shoving me back, jealousy shining bright in her eyes, she spits at me, “If you ever let her touch you again—or even mentions getting on the back of your fucking bike, I’ll cut her hands off.”

Fuck, she’s so sexy when she’s pissed.

Pinning her to the wall, I grind my hard cock against her, groaning. “Do it, Spitfire. I love when you threaten me with a good time.”

Realizing she’s not getting away, she tries to ignore our bodies.

“Thomas today, during training when you weren’t there, was making some weird fucking comments. Lingering too long when I walk by. Telling me I looked like I needed a real man to break me in. Shit about how pledges like me don’t last unless they learn to keep their mouths shut in more ways than one. It creeped me the fuck out, Switch. I know I beat his ass pretty hard, but enough to say that?” Her voice is tense.

Rage boils up fast—protective and vicious. My hands itch to go find whatever’s left of him and finish the job. But right behind it comes the Sergeant-at-Arms part of my brain. Club’s already dealing with him. We’ve got bigger threats. I can’t have her rattled, looking over her shoulder every second. She needs to trust me to handle it. My hands settle on her hips, pulling her in. “He’s a piece of shit, baby. We both know that. But he’s all talk. He got his ass beat, and now he’s just trying to rile you up. I’ll make sure he stays clear of you. You handled him in the ring like a goddamn demon. He knows his place.”

She searches my face, eyes narrowing. “That’s it? He’s been creeping on me, and you’re just gonna pat me on the head and say ‘I'll handle it?’”

I lean down, forehead resting against hers. “I’m not patting you on the head. I’m telling you I’ve got you. Thomas is already bleeding for what he said to you before now. He’s just mad he got his ass kicked by a girl.” My hands slide up her sides, careful over the bruises, remembering every inch I’ve touched before. Heat flares between us, instant and dangerous. She shivers but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m telling you right now, there is more to him. I know my gut. Tell me you’ll look into it,” she mutters, but her fingers curl into my cut.

“If there is more to him, what does that say about you, Spitfire? You’re still full of secrets, too.” I brush my lips over the uninjured corner of her mouth, tasting her. “But I’ll look. And nobody’s touching you. Not Thomas. Not Nicholas. Not Redline.”

She huffs a laugh that sounds half-frustrated, half-wanting. “And what if I want you to kiss me?”

The pull between us crackles, stronger after the night’s violence. I kiss her properly—slow, deep, pouring every ounce of obsession and leftover adrenaline into it. She kisses back like she’s still fighting me, and I love it. When we break apart, her eyes are darker, breathing uneven.