“Yeah, man.” Cole dug in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and tossed them to Crash. Crash snagged the keys from the air.
He stared down at Shannon, and tenderness for her tore through him. He tried to remember that she was so out of her element here. But anger quickly followed. She could have been hurt badly. Some of these bitches wouldn’t hesitate to use a weapon, a blade, a broken bottle, he’d seen it all. Holding the keys out to her and leaning in, he got in her face, his voice low, his tone unmistakable. “Get the fuck up to Cole’s room, and wait for me there. You got me?”
She stood frozen in place.
He raised his brow. “I am not fucking with you, Shannon. Do as you’re fucking told. Now.” Her eyes slid to his brothers surrounding them, all staring at them. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he waited for her compliance. Finally, she took the keys and hurried off.
When she was gone, Cole started, “Crash-”
“This bitch do that?” Crash growled to Cole, cutting him off, his eyes burning into Rosalie.
“I think it was pretty much a toss-up who started it. They had words. Shannon shoved Rosalie. Rosalie retaliated.”
Crash’s head swiveled, eyes searching as he bit out, “Where’s Dog?”
Red Dog was pushing through the crowd and stopped in front of them. “What the hell happened?”
“That slut hit me!” Rosalie snapped.
Crash glared at Red Dog with a look that packed in a lot of meaning. “See to your latest bitch,” he growled.
Red Dog looked from Crash to Cole, who barked, “Keep her in check. It ain’t her ass she’s putting on the line, it’s yours.”
“I’ll get her out of here.” Red Dog grabbed her arm.
“Why do I have to leave? Make his girl leave!” Rosalie gestured toward Crash.
Red Dog didn’t bother to stop to answer that. He just hauled her toward the door.
Crash headed upstairs.
Shannon paced the floor of Cole’s room, waiting. What the hell had just happened? Things had gotten out of hand so quickly, and then Crash had been standing there, looking amused, and then concerned, and then angry.
Suddenly the door was thrown open. She whirled and found herself staring at the hard set of his face. His eyes flared, his jaw tight. He was still angry. No, more than angry. Maybe she deserved it, maybe she’d started this, but holy hell he looked pissed. The door slammed.
He took a step toward her, but he froze when she backed away. A black look twisted his features as he shook his head. “Don’t.”
She stared back at him with big glassy eyes.
He took another step, measured and watchful this time. “Don’t back away from me like you think I’d hurt you. You know better. You fucking know better, Shannon.”
“Then stop scaring me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and strode past her. He went into the bathroom, and she could hear him rummaging around the cabinets. He returned a moment later, a wet washcloth in one hand and a small tube of some type of ointment in the other. He stopped about six feet from her, and his eyes dropped to her throat, eyeing the scratch. “That looks bad, Princess.”
Her hand lifted to her throat.
“Come here. Let me look at it.”
Apparently the anger had gone as quickly as it had come. She relented and stepped over to him. He dabbed at her throat, wiping the small amount of blood away and then applying the ointment. His touch was gentle. She stared into his eyes as he ministered to her. Then his eyes lifted and met hers, and she saw nothing but tenderness there. She watched his eyes crinkle with the start of a smile, and he murmured, “Well, you’re a real handful. What the hell did I get myself into when I took you on?”
“I admit things got out of hand, but it wasn’t my fault.”
“You take the first swing?”