Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

Vicious was grinding against Emilia.

Jaime was outside on the phone with Trent.

Sydney, Gladys, and that chick who worked with Rosie were dancing with each other.

And again, she and I were left to our own devices.

Nina had been calling and texting nonstop, despite my ignoring her, and Trent was going through hell, but somehow, I still felt that natural high that slammed into me every time I hung out with Baby LeBlanc.

Rosie looked down to her phone and stabbed her thumbs on the screen, typing a text message. It threw my heart into fourth gear, and I clutched my phone beside my body, waiting for the ping that felt like a bang.

Rosie

I think I’m going to take someone to my hotel room tonight. Had a rough day and need to unwind.

Dean

Is that an invitation?

Rosie

More like a jab. You know what the hardest part was when you and Millie were together? Hearing you make out. It used to kill me. That’s why at some point I stopped being home when you were around.

My head shot up, and there she was, swaying her hips, a random guy hugging her waist from behind and grinning into her neck as he matched her tempo. Her eyes were on me, and she had that expression. The ‘what-the-fuck-are-you-going-to-do-about-it-huh?’ look. I was going to wipe it off of her face.

Here I was, watching someone else touching her, every inch of my body raw with violent rage. The one I hadn’t felt all those years ago when Millie left. Oh, it was inside me, all right. It was just waiting to be ignited by someone else entirely.

I’m going to end this shithead.

I looked down and typed.

Dean

Don’t test me, LeBlanc. We’re not teenagers anymore. Our actions have consequences.

Rosie

And…?

Dean

And with the actions I have in mind, I’m looking at ten to fifteen years in a cage. Cut that shit before he gets hurt.

I felt my pulse in my eyelids. My spine. My fucking balls. It was everywhere, because my heart was jackhammering like it wanted to jump out of my ribcage and into her hands. It felt like snorting two lines of brown-brown, the gunpowder rushing through my system.

For the first time in a very long time, I cared.

Breaking them up and causing a scene crossed my mind, but I wasn’t that person. I was the chilled, asshole motherfucker who smiled at the world, even when it threw shit at him. And Rosie threw shit at me because I deserved it. Because I did kiss her sister when she was in the same house. Because I didn’t stop it from happening. Because it was payback, and she wanted to take it far. I was going to let her explore the distance, even if it hurt me—but the line was going to be drawn at kissing. She was fucking mine. He could look, but hell if he tried to touch.

The guy spun Rosie around and they danced together, but she kept an appropriate gap from him, probably knowing he wasn’t going to appreciate a trip to the ER. Dude was okay-looking, I suppose. Mid-height and young—about Rosie’s age, casually dressed. Nothing to write home about.

He yelled something into her ear over the music, and I felt my nostrils widening like a mad bull. She motioned for him with her fingers to wait a minute, looked down, and typed a message.

Rosie

How does it feel?

It felt like death. But that fire in her eyes looked fresh. Too fresh to only be about me. There were other things occupying Rosie’s mind. Family-related things. I knew that, and this time…this time I was going to be the punching bag. Fuck, how I wanted to feel her little fists all over my body.

Dean

Point made. Now stop it.

She didn’t answer.

And she didn’t fucking stop it.

My eyes traveled up and the fuckwit took her hand, leading her to the back door of the club. I looked around. All of our friends were still busy dancing, drinking, and generally not giving two shits. My plan to corner Rosie backfired in my face in spectacular fashion.

Because Rosie wasn’t Millie. Rosie couldn’t be cornered.

Rosie was never the prey. She was, at times, the motherfucking hunter.

I used every ounce of self-control in my body to stop myself from running after them. No, I sauntered. Cool. Unnerved, pushing bodies, and stepping on feet on my way to the door that led out to an alleyway at the back of the club. I moved past darkness, through saturated lights. Yellow, green, red, and purple twirling together. They probably looked beautiful if you were drunk, but I wasn’t. And when I finally poured myself out into the static, hot air of Las Vegas, I stilled.

Her back was pressed against an exposed brick wall and he was hovering next to her, his lips inches from tasting what belonged to me.