Page 72 of Malice

But it’s the way he sits, relaxed, legs crossed, fingers now steepled beneath his chin, that sends ice through my veins. This man isn’t afraid. He’s surrounded by my brothers, outnumbered at least four to one, and he looks like he’s waiting for the show to start.

“Who the fuck are you?” Greyson’s voice slices through the tension. He’s standing between this stranger and the bar, his posture rigid, every inch the president of a club that doesn’t take kindly to uninvited guests.

The man smiles. Not a friendly smile, something colder, more calculated. The kind of smile a shark gives before it bites.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he says, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “I’m looking for Tiana.”

The name drops into the room and sucks out all the air. I feel the shift, the sudden, collective intake of breath from every man present. My gaze darts to Butcher, who stands near the pool table, his face going from red to purple in the span of a heartbeat.

Butcher steps forward, his massive frame blocking the stranger’s view of the rest of the room. “Why the fuck,” he says, each word dripping with barely held rage, “are you looking for my daughter?”

The stranger’s grin widens, and something flashes in his eyes, amusement or the satisfaction of a man who’s been waiting for this moment.

“Well,” he says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “she is my woman. But we’re playing a game of cat and mouse.” He pauses, letting the words settle over us like ash from a fire. “She’s winning at the moment.”

The silence that follows is absolute. I can hear the clock ticking on the far wall, the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant rumble of a motorcycle three blocks away. Every man in the room is coiled tight, waiting for the signal that will turn this confrontation into something bloodier.

Butcher moves before anyone can stop him. He crosses the distance between himself and the stranger in three long strides, his hands already fisted in the man’s expensive jacket, lifting him halfway out of the chair.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” Butcher snarls, his face inches from the stranger’s. “My daughter is not your anything. She’s twenty-two years old, and if you’ve laid one fucking finger on her⁠—”

The guards react. All five of them, moving in unison, weapons clearing leather with the practiced ease of men who do this for a living. My brothers respond in kind: guns drawn, safeties off, the room filling with the sharp clicks of safeties disengaging.

“Hold!” Greyson’s command cracks through the chaos, sharp and absolute. “Everybody hold!”

The stranger hasn’t flinched. Not once. He’s still wearing that infuriating smile, still looking up at Butcher with those cold, calculating eyes, like a man watching a child’s tantrum from a safe distance.

“Let him go, Butcher,” Greyson says, his voice low and steady. “Now.”

Butcher’s jaw works, the muscles in his arms trembling with the effort of restraint. For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore the order and snap this bastard’s neck right here in the middle of our clubhouse. Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, he releases the man, shoving him back into the chair hard enough to make it scrape across the floor.

The stranger adjusts his jacket, smooths his tie, and sits back as if nothing happened. As if a man twice his size didn’t just threaten to kill him in front of witnesses.

“Now,” Greyson says, his gaze fixed on the stranger with an intensity that could melt steel, “you’re going to explain exactly who you are, what you want with Tiana, and why I shouldn’t let my brothers tear you and your men apart right now.”

The stranger’s smile doesn’t waver. He reaches into his breast pocket, and every gun in the room moves toward him. He moves slowly, deliberately, producing a business card that he extends toward Greyson with two fingers.

“Viktor Garcia,” he says, as Greyson takes the card without looking at it. “And I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Garcia.” Matthew’s voice is tight beside me. I glance at him and see the recognition in his eyes. “Russian. Heavy in finance, shipping, and things that aren’t discussed in polite company.”

Viktor’s smile widens, acknowledging Matthew with a slight nod. “Your friend is well-informed.”

Zach bursts through the door. “Who the fuck is looking for my sister?” he snarls, moving to stand beside his father.

Viktor leans back on his chair, one leg crossed over the other, looking entirely too comfortable for a man surrounded by armed bikers. “Tiana and I met at a nightclub in the city. Elysium, perhaps you know it? She was… magnificent.

“She denied me, all my advances, and she ran from me. Before you think she didn’t want me around, she left me a note to come find her if I proved I wanted her.

“So it’s been two weeks and I have gotten desperate to find my little wildflower.”

What the ever-loving fuck.

Shaylin comes from the kitchen, her eyes wide. She rubs her face. “Of course my daughter has to find the one man who stalks her and wants him, too.”

That sets Butcher off, and he lunges for Viktor again.

Well, this is some shit.