Connor’s mouth went dry.
Christ, he wanted her naked.
It’d been a long time since he’d experienced such a sudden, visceral attraction to a woman. His cock strained against his zipper, but another look in the woman’s direction and he knew the eager bulge in his pants wouldn’t be getting the attention it demanded.
She might be dressed like a bad girl, but she sure as shit wasn’t one. The fearful desperation clouding her eyes revealed her for what she was – a lost little lamb who’d wandered into a den of wolves. And yet… there was also determination flickering in her gaze. A sense of to-hell-with-you bravado that gave her a purposeful stride as she stepped into the room.
“Dibs,” came Xander’s low voice.
“Don’t even think about it,” Connor muttered.
He registered the surprised faces around the table realizing what his command had sounded like. Possessive. Like he was staking a claim. But that hadn’t been his intention. His body might be throbbing like crazy at the moment, but he had no desire to claim the woman. Every instinct he possessed told him to stay away from her. To keep his guys away too.
He watched as she approached the counter and spoke to the young man who’d taken over for the girl who probably had Rylan’s cock in her mouth at the moment.
The conversation was hushed, the blonde’s shoulders going rigid as the bartender said something she clearly didn’t like.
A flash of movement caught his eye. She’d slid something toward the kid, but Connor couldn’t make it out. A moment later, the bartender tucked the item in his pocket and slid a beer bottle across the counter. The blonde took it and went over to a table in the corner of the room.
Connor tore his eyes off her. He was still semihard and not at all happy about it. He shouldn’t be thinking about fucking, not when Dominik was finally within his grasp.
He could get off any damn time he wanted, but revenge? That was something he could carry with him for the rest of his life.
Hudson couldn’t believe she’d been forced to trade a Swiss Army knife for a measly bottle of beer. It wasn’t her last weapon, or one she was especially fond of, but handing it over to the bartender still grated. She hadn’t realized the wad of cash in her pocket was useless beyond the city walls, and that was just another disheartening item to add to the growing list of things she didn’t understand about this world.
She found an empty table and sat down, twisting off the beer cap and swallowing the lukewarm alcohol. She didn’t like the taste of beer much, but she wasn’t in the mood for anything stronger. She had to stay alert. And she definitely needed to find a place to sleep tonight.
Panic bubbled in her throat as she imagined spending the night outdoors again. She kept expecting bandits to pop out of the shadows, which made it impossible to fall asleep. She’d been in outlaw territory for nearly a week now, and she wasn’t even close to adapting to her rough, dangerous surroundings. She’d thought her training would help her survive out here.
She hadn’t expected to be this damn afraid all the damn time.
Taking a breath, she glanced around the room. Despite the low chatter and occasional chuckles, nobody looked relaxed. Shoulders were stiff and gazes were guarded. She was beginning to suspect this kind of behavior wasn’t uncommon. Since she’d left the compound, she’d realized that nobody was immune to the Global Council’s control. Even those who considered themselves free – the outlaws – continued to look over their shoulders.
When the GC had taken over four decades ago, they’d decided the only way to avoid another war was to rule with an iron fist. The council members insisted that the devastation of the world would not have happened if a strong global regime had been in place, so they’d eliminated conflict-causing factors like class, religion, free will. The new system worked, to some extent. Hudson couldn’t deny she’d been happy in the city, at least before Dominik had turned her into a prisoner in her own life.
She supposed she was an outlaw now too. A target like the rest of them. It was a culture shock to be thrust into this new world, surrounded by people who were determined to cling to whatever freedom they could.
Her gaze drifted to a table near the door, where four men spoke in hushed tones. They made a formidable sight. Gorgeous, masculine, oozing deadly intensity.
One in particular captured her attention. Late twenties, early thirties maybe, with cropped brown hair, cold hazel eyes and muscles galore. He wore a fitted olive green jacket that most likely hid a slew of weapons beneath it, and everything about him screamed warrior. The broad set of his shoulders, the way his hawklike gaze swept over the room even as he carried on a conversation with his companions.
Her breath hitched when the object of her perusal turned his head and looked at her.
Heat.
Holy crap. Nothing cold in his gaze anymore, just bold, undisguised fire.