Page 81 of Rocky Top

“Rocky,” he drawled, voice dripping with that Southern charm that had gotten him into, and out of, more trouble than I cared to count.

“What the hell brings you to Knoxville?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He smirked, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Thought I'd drop in, see how my big brother's holdin' up.”

I grunted. “Last I heard, you were too busy playin' possum down in Nashville.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his annoyingly perfect hair. “Can't help it if I’m a wanted man.”

“Yeah, well, keep that shit in Nashville. We got enough trouble without you stirrin' the pot.”

His grin widened, and I knew that look all too well.

“Speaking of trouble,” he said, eyes drifting past me toward the clubhouse.

I turned to see what had his attention and felt my stomach knot. Birdie stood on the porch, sun catching her hair just right, making her look like some kinda damn angel.

Villain took a big whiff of the air. His eyes glowed as he let out a low whistle. “Now, who might that be?”

“Off-limits,” I snapped, shooting him a glare.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, brother. Just appreciatin' the view.”

“Appreciate it from a distance,” I warned, feeling the wolf in me stir, not liking the way his eyes lingered on her.

Villain chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “Relax, Rocky. I'm here for business, not pleasure.”

“Then let's get to it,” I said, leading him toward theclubhouse.

We stomped up onto the porch side by side, boots thudding heavy against the old wood. Birdie hadn’t moved—just stood there with that wide-eyed, curious look like she was tryin’ to figure out if Villain was trouble or just pretty.

Spoiler: it was both.

“Birdie,” I said, my voice low but firm, like I was wranglin’ a goddamn tornado. “This is my brother. Villain.”

She tilted her head, ever the polite Southern girl, even when she was suspicious. “Villain? That your real name or somethin’ your mama cried about?”

Villain barked a laugh, clearly delighted. “Oh, she’s got claws. You didn’t tell me she was funny.”

“I didn’t tell you shit,” I muttered. “Birdie, meet the reason I have stress headaches. Villain’s Sergeant at Arms down in Nashville.”

Birdie stuck out her hand like she hadn’t just insulted him. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard… very little.”

He took her hand and kissed it, goddamn dramatic. “Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.”

“Alright,” I growled, snatching her hand back like he’d tried to brand it. “We’re done with the courtin’. Let’s go inside.”

Inside the Wild Dog, the place lit up the second Villain crossed the threshold. The boys always had a sixth sense for shit stirrers, and my brother was like throwin’ fireworks into a tinderbox.

“Look what the alley cat dragged in,” Smokey called from the bar, a beer halfway to his lips. “Villain, you bucktoothed cousin fucker.”

“Still ugly, Smokey,” Villain replied with a grin, striding over to slap palms with him. “But at least you smell better than I remember.”

TNT looked up from his usual corner table, flipping his butterfly knife open and closed like he was gonna stab someone just for fun. “Did Nashville finally run outta sins, or are you just bored?”

“Little of both,” Villain said, flashing that wolfish smile.

Chevy didn’t say a damn thing, just raised his glass in a silent toast from the shadows. Typical. The witch blood in him always made him watch first, speak later.

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