A hand slams over my lower belly, unmoving, and I look down to see tanned skin with tattoos leading up his arm. Fuck. My heart rate picks up as he slams me backward and I collide with his chest.

He drags his nose down the curve of my neck. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I continue dancing against him, the smirk on my face too smug. I don’t even bother to ask what he’s doing here. Obviously, that’s who Jade saw earlier when she stopped walking in. She may bow and abide by the rules her old man lays out for her, but I’m no biker’s woman. I’m the reason a biker doesn’t want one.

Spinning around in his grip, I tilt my head up at him and force my spit down my throat when I see what he’s wearing. Gone is Wicked; standing in front of me is an Amante royalty in all his glory.

“Such a shame,” I say from behind a half-smile. “You’ve always looked so damn good in a suit.” When my finger touches his cheek, his hand flies up and he stops it.

His hair is done in a way that doesn’t look done, his lips curling in a sneer. “What the fuck are you doing here, Ruby?”

“Whatever I want,” I answer, forcing my wrist out of his grip and stepping closer to him. Leaning up on my tippy toes, I bring my lips to his ear. “Sloane is downstairs, by the way.“ I shuffle backward out of his space before turning back around and making my way to the young guy still watching me from the bar. Before my fingers can wrap around his collar, an arm is around my waist and I’m being dragged backward. It’s not until we’re inside a small booth at the back of the room, when he finally puts me down. The lighting is darker back here, but little LED strips line the leather sofas. I think we can see other people more than they can see us.

Wicked’s arm is above my head, resting in the glass wall that separates the booths. My breathing hikes up a notch as he turns his head and I see the outline of the diamond tattoo on the side of his neck. It’s black and gray. The details lined to perfection. His cheekbones are sunken, his jaw sharper than scalpels used in surgery. He towers over me like he always has, and my knees weaken. Silence. The deep baseline of the song the only sound between us both. I want to yell at him for dragging me out the way he did, but I can’t seem to get the words out.

“Love You Like Me” from William Singe plays and my eyes catch Wicked’s as they stop roaming my face and come to mine.

“What are you doing, Wicked?”