Page 24 of Ruthless Obsession (Royal Bastards MC Chicago, IL Chapter)

SOPHIE

My brown eyes sweep across the familiar scene from behind my dark sunglasses.

People dance below with their drinks held high.

For a Wednesday night, Club Crush is packed wall to wall—but that’s no surprise.

This exclusive party only happens once a month, and the free drink ticket at the door guarantees a full house.

From my spot in the second-floor VIP, I sway to the music, letting the bass guide my hips even though my nerves are tight. This is the perfect setup to catch Toby off guard. He’ll be too busy flaunting his latest “date” in front of his business associates to notice me in the crowd.

He thinks he’s in control. He doesn’t realize I’m here to watch him try to sell another woman—just like he planned to sell me. Everything we had was a lie. Our relationship? A setup from the start.

My fingers trail the gold embroidery hugging my curves.

The gown is bold—dramatic in all the right ways.

A thigh-high slit and cascading ruffles flow like liquid fire with every step.

A gold choker connects to the plunging neckline, framing my bare shoulders and jeweled straps that glitter against my skin.

Clear stilettos show off my gold-polished toes, the metallic straps winding up my calves. My hair’s swept into a sleek bun—simple, polished, regal.

Brisa said I’d turn heads tonight. She wasn’t wrong.

And then there’s Mavis. Dressed in a crisp white suit with a gold tie and his dirty blond hair slicked back. Gold-lensed aviators shield his green eyes. The man looks sinfully delicious and downright lickable.

Tonya stands beside Legos, rocking a silver studded gown that hugs every curve and lifts her cleavage.

The high slit teases every inch of her honey-brown legs, and her black and silver strappy stilettos add the perfect edge.

Legos looks sharp too. His tailored black suit and silver tie cling to his broad chest and thick arms.

Prez, Fuse, Webbs, Flock, and Flex are posted around the massive club, dressed to kill, but clearly here for one thing—backup.

Mavis’s grip on my hip is firm and possessive, like he’s warning the whole club I belong to him.

“Eyes open, guys,” he says low into his earpiece.

Since the night Ruthless cut off Darran’s hand, it’s been different around the clubhouse. When I step to the bar bikers scatter. If they speak, it’s a stiff, respectful “Hey, Ruthless’s OL’ Lady”—exactly what I didn’t want.

Webbs is the only one who still jokes around with me. He’s not afraid of Mavis, probably because he was there the day Mavis kidnapped me. Flock too. Webbs once told me how bad off Mavis was after he got shot, how he was spiraling.

My man hasn’t said it outright, but I know. He cares for me. Maybe even loves me—obsessively. And I’ve stopped pretending I don’t feel the same. How did I get lucky with my psychopath captor who would burn down the world for me? After everything we’ve been through he’s the only man for me.

Last night at the clubhouse bar, Mavis had one too many.

His lips and teeth stayed glued to my neck, claiming me in front of everyone.

My hands roamed his leather cut and the long chain connected to his wallet in his back pocket.

He had one big black biker boot resting on the bottom of my stool as his hand disappeared up the side of my skirt.

I loved every second of it. Except for the way the club foxes and sluts stared, Karla most of all.

He slipped and said he hoped I was pregnant. Karla looked like she got kicked in the gut. I should’ve felt nothing, but I did. Because they knew Ruthless before I did.

Their eyes were fixed on the way he nearly fucked me at the bar. It made me feel bad for them. But I won’t make that mistake again. If the roles were reversed, those women wouldn’t give a damn about my feelings.

So from now on, I won’t give a damn about theirs either.

A man in a sleek gray tailored suit strolls by with a woman on his arm—porcelain skin, mousy brown hair twisted into a messy updo. A small security detail flanks them as they strut past like royalty, right under our noses.

They head toward the VIP room on the first floor. The one with glass walls and a perfect view of the dance floor.

Mavis plans to dangle me in front of Toby later tonight.

“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on that motherfucker,” Mavis growls into his earpiece, talking to Psycho.

His lips graze my ear, voice thick with promise. “When we get home, I’m fucking you in that dress and those heels.”

A soft moan escapes my lips. “Can’t wait.”

I slip from Mavis’s arm, step to the nearest table, and pour a generous glass of whiskey. Tonya joins me, fixing herself a whiskey neat.

“Let’s dance,” I say, grabbing her hand and taking a quick sip before leading her toward the dance floor.

Across the room, Webbs and Flex are locked in, keeping eyes on everything.

It’s surreal being back in this place, knowing it doubles as a front for sex trafficking. My sexy biker doesn’t follow me onto the dance floor. He stays posted, watching from a far. I try to let go, let the music take over, moving the best I can in a glamorous gown made to distract, not dance.

Twenty minutes later, after the best dance session I had in a long time, Tonya and I walk off the floor, placing our empty glasses on the table. We saunter over to our men.

The brooding enforcer’s eyes sweep over me, his gaze sharp and unreadable. “Have fun?” he asks, low and controlled.

“Yes,” I say, snapping my fingers to the next popular song blaring through the speakers.

“All clear?” he mutters into the earpiece.

Mavis snatches my hand and leads me down the stairs. Behind his practiced poker face, I can feel the predator coiling beneath his skin, ready to strike. The muscle in his jaw twitches once, twice—a silent warning of the storm brewing inside him.

When we reach the bottom floor, Mavis leans in close to a member of security stationed outside the glassed-in VIP section.

Inside, Toby sits casually sipping a Scotch, pretending to listen to the woman beside him. His business partners are likely somewhere deeper in the club, maybe exploring the dungeon.

My chest tightens, heart hammering against my ribs.

Last time I saw this man… he hit me. And I was walking away.

“Nice VIP space,” Mavis says as we approach the table.

“I thought it was a nice touch. Have we met before?” Toby asks.

Mavis pulls me onto the sofa beside him. “No.”

Toby’s eyes move over my face and body. “What the fuck is going on?” He snarls.

“Relax.” Mavis pulls back his suit jacket brandishing his Glocks in the shoulder and waist holsters.

Toby fists curl on the table across from us. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you,” he spits.

I remove my sunglasses, tucking them into my clutch. “I’m not a fucking stuffed animal. I’m a person, asshole.”

He points a finger toward me fire in his eyes. “Stop it, Sophie, it’s time to come home.”

“You blew up the place I called home.” I wave him off. “Not that it matters. I was walking out of your life. You hit me for the last time.”

We talk like his date isn’t sitting beside him mouth agape.

Mavis snickers at our exchange clearly unbothered.

“My men told me someone was sitting outside the house the night we had a heated discussion.”

I laugh incredulously.

“The asshole who blew up our home was taken care of. They were just supposed to warn them to back off.” He reaches for my hand.

I inch backwards.

“Baby, I’ve had my men tearing up the city looking for you.”

He looks like the seedy businessman everyone warned me about. He only showed me the clean cut good boy. But with his dark brown hair slicked back and his angry piercing blue eyes holding mine he looks like an evil treacherous businessman.

My lower lip trembles. “You never loved me. You planned to sell me.”

Toby’s eyes soften. “Baby, it’s me. I’d never do that.”

There he is. The man who I first met.

“You’re a monster, Toby,” I sneer.

Toby reaches for me again.

Mavis pushes my hands under the table. “Don’t you dare touch my woman,” he grits out.