Page 67 of Held-

“Property? Like...ownership?”

“It's not as medieval as it sounds,” I explain. “It's about protection more than possession. Means if anyone fucks with property of one of our patched members, they answer to the whole club, not just her man.”

“And the women...they're okay with this?”

I shrug. “The ones who stick around are. Club life isn't for everyone. Most women who get patches know exactly what they're signing up for.”

“Tasha has one?”

“Yeah. She wears it proudly. As does Skelly’s girlfriend, Mirna.”

Cece is quiet for a moment, absorbing this. I can practically see her mind processing what this means.

“So if we...” she trails off, her cheeks flushing slightly. She looks down at our joined hands, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. “If we became...whatever we're becoming. Would you expect me to wear one of those patches?”

I answer matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

Her lips part, surprise flickering across her face at my blunt answer. For a second, I’m sure I’ve pushed too hard, too fast. But then something shifts—a curious heat replacing the initial shock.

“That’s...presumptuous.”

“It’s honest,” I counter, leaning closer. “If you’re with me—reallywith me—then yeah, I want you marked. But we’re nowhere near that conversation yet, princess.”

She studies me, her gaze steady and intent, as though she’s searching for something beneath the surface. “Would I get any say in it?”

“In wearing my patch? That’s entirely your choice. But if you’re asking if I’d let another man touch what’s mine—” I let the sentence hang, unfinished but clear.

A small smile curves at the corner of her mouth. “You’re very territorial for someone who claims we’re nowhere near that conversation.”

“I know what I want,” I say simply. “Always have.”

She doesn’t look away. I can tell she’s turning the words over, weighing what they mean—for her, for us.

Before she can respond, the door bangs open, shattering our bubble of quiet.

“There you are, you antisocial motherfucker!” Dom’s slurred voice blasts through the small room as he stumbles in, wearingwhat appears to be a second beer-can crown stacked on top of the first. “Been looking everywhere for you two!”

I suppress a groan. “We’re having a private conversation.”

Dom waves that off as though it holds zero relevance. “Forget that! It’s my birthday! You can talk later.” He sways a little, grinning at Cece. “You don’t mind if I borrow him, do you? The boys are setting up the shot table, and we need our resident champion.”

Cece glances between us, clearly trying to decide how to handle this circus of a man.

“We were actually thinking about heading out,” I tell Dom, not trying to hide my irritation.

“What? No!” Dom presses a hand to his chest, wounded to his core. “Come on, brother. One round. For my birthday.” Then he turns those pleading eyes on Cece. “Tell him he has to stay. Just for a little while.”

The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured into sticking around this madhouse longer than she wants. But instead of looking uncomfortable, she seems to be considering it.

“It’s up to you,” I say, my tone making it clear I’m perfectly fine with leaving. “We can go whenever you want.”

She bites her lower lip, glancing from me to Dom’s ridiculous beer can crown, then back again. “Maybe we could stay a little longer?” she says, surprising me. “I mean, itishis birthday.”

Dom punches the air triumphantly. “See? She gets it! Birthday rules!”

I narrow my gaze at her. “You sure? This isn’t exactly the quiet introduction to club life I had in mind.”

She shrugs, a glint of challenge playing across her face. “I think I can handle it. Besides, I’m curious about thisshot tablechampion title.”