When Taryn lets her guard down, I throw an uppercut and send her back on her ass. Standing over her, I smile. “I don’t know about your daddy, but my uncle taught me to cheat.”
“Hot damn, that was sexy,” Conor says, clapping approvingly.
Before I can receive a triumphant kiss, Wyatt rushes from across the room and tackles Conor. Time slows down as my man’s head bounces off the ground. My confidence evaporates. Should I help him? Will that make him look bad in front of the other men? Do I give a shit what they think?
No, no, I really don’t.
Reaching over to the nearby table, I grab a plate of food and throw it at Wyatt. Fighting him won’t work, though. He’s too big. Yet, I do distract him long enough for Conor to stagger to his feet.
When Wyatt reaches for me, Lowell barks out his name. The younger man stops to look at the VP he ought to obey. The rage in Wyatt’s blue eyes flares hotter. I see such hatred for my father in that asshole’s gaze.
Then, Conor slams into Wyatt, taking him to the ground. Before I can react, Taryn shoves me. DeAnna kicks out her leg, tripping me and sending me hard on my ass.
“We can cheat, too, cunt,” Taryn sneers through bloodied lips.
“I see that,” I say, scrambling backward past DeAnna and through onlookers. “By the way, I’m breaking the redhead’s fat nose.”
Now, I’m no superhero badass with kung fu moves. I also didn’t get pounded on growing up like my mom did. However, Clive’s boys—Brian Clive and David Clive—didn’t give me an ounce of slack when roughhousing.
“Your tits don’t make you immune to payback,” they’d say when I wronged them somehow.
Every time, I would file away those grudges for a rainy day. Now, I let them free and focus my subsequent rage on Taryn and DeAnna.
First, I grab a drink from a middle-aged honey’s hand and throw it at DeAnna. The dumbass redhead freaks out and hides under the buffet table. Even with my path to Taryn clear, I don’t run at her. She’s clearly pumped. Her mind is likely racing as fast as her heart. She’s aware of Conor and Wyatt beating the shit out of each other nearby. Everyone’s eyes are on them or us. She has an audience to cheer on her win or laugh at her loss. These people matter to her. To save face, Taryn won’t go down easily.
Of course, these same people are essentially strangers to me. I won’t feel included if they cheer my win, and my heart won’t be broken if they boo me. I plan to let my temper run free and see where shit lands.
When I rush Taryn, she backs up slightly, changes her mind, and then braces for my attack. I throw a punch, purposely missing. She takes the bait, ducking my hit and leaving her gut open. That’s her weak spot. I punch her hard, hurting my knuckles on her rib cage. When Taryn leans forward from the strike, I headbutt her with such intensity that I nearly knock myself down.
I’m not surprised when she hits the ground and stares dazed. That headbutt move even stopped David Clive when he wouldn’t stop tickling me last year. Uncle Clive applauded while his son stared stunned, much like Taryn does now.
I sit back on the ground before remembering how I owe DeAnna a broken nose. Seeing me crawling toward her, the little bitch scurries away like a scared rabbit. I stand and take off after her while the rest of the party descends into chaos.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Conor and Wyatt still battling. Their mothers are throwing down not far away. Bronco tries to break up his sisters’ fight until they threaten his dick. Then, he backs off and lets them have at it.
Grabbing hold of DeAnna’s hair, I yank her toward me before shoving her back at an approaching Taryn. The two women fall together, tangled limbs keeping them from regaining their balance. I adjust my dress and get ready to throw myself on top of them. I don’t really have a plan. I just hope to keep hurting them until one of us gives up.
“Stop, bitch,” Taryn growls, holding her head after pushing DeAnna off her. “Just stop.”
“I haven’t broken her nose yet.”
“Do it later.”
Moving for them again, I mutter, “Fuck that shit. I’m breaking both of your noses now.”
“We’ll break yours!” DeAnna yells.
Taryn startles me by elbowing her sister-in-law in the face. “Shut up, dipshit.”
While the redhead holds her bloody nose and cries, Taryn gets to her feet and walks off.
“That’s it?” I ask no one in particular.
I receive only silence. The club brothers and their honeys are far too focused on the other more violent clubhouse fights. My catfight with these bitches barely gets a glance. No boos or applause. Way to make a girl feel invisible.
CONOR
Wyatt’s been a pain in my ass since we were kids. We’ve never been friends. I tolerate him. He often says he tries to tolerate me, but I’m too annoying. Aunt Bambi claims I’m scarred from growing up without a dad, despite my father dying when I was a young adult. Barbie claims Wyatt is scarred from owning an ugly woman’s face. The quiet hostility nursed by the sisters all their lives naturally transferred to their kids.
Today, the quiet part bails. Wyatt uses his sister’s battle with Monroe as an excuse to attack me. He’s dying to show the founding members how he’s a bigger badass. But Bronco didn’t become president based on his fighting skills alone. He was smarter than the other guys, too. No way is Wyatt beating me in a thinking battle.
Though after my head smacks the floor, I might be dumb enough to make things more level between us.
“You gonna cry?” Wyatt mocks as my head swims.
Seeing the asshole ready to attack while I’m down, Monroe throws a plate of food at him. My cousin doesn’t get any prettier with shrimp in his hair. I force myself to sit up when I notice Wyatt moving for Monroe. Someone calls his name. Lowell, maybe? The mood before trouble broke out makes me think no one will step in to stop the fighting. If I want Wyatt to submit, I’ll need to do the deed myself.
Still feeling woozy, I don’t dare throw punches. Instead, I tackle Wyatt. His head meets the same floor as mine did. I see pain flash in his blue eyes, even as his fist digs into my rib cage. I realize I’ll lose if I don’t create distance until my brain unscrambles. Crawling over him, I’m careful to grind my knee against his balls. I know I hit my target when he wails as loudly as his sister does when she ends up on the floor.
I wish I could enjoy Monroe kicking ass, but I’m too busy kneeing Wyatt in the face as I break free of him. Struggling to my feet, I instruct my brain to get organized. I’m on the clock here. No time to deal with the world spinning.
“Need a barf bag, boy?” Bambi taunts, clearly pissed that I injured her son’s floppy balls.
“Watch out,” Rooster tells his wife.
Too late! My mom punches Bambi in the cheek and shoves her toward her man.
“I’m killing you today,” Barbie warns her sister.
I don’t have time to watch them throw down. Holy hell! Two chick fights are taking place, and I can’t enjoy either one.
Based on how quickly Wyatt returns to his feet, I don’t think his head hit the floor nearly as hard as mine did. I might not win this battle. My woman will be disappointed and dump me for another, more worthy man. The club will decide I’m unfit to be president and force me to become Wyatt’s VP. My mom will wonder if I was switched at birth with her real, tougher son. Fuck that shit. No way am I losing this fight.