Page 132 of Undisputed Chaos
Tonight felt like a celebration of how far we'd come since then.
The main floor was ours—no civilians, just fighters, coaches,promoters, and the kind of people who bet millions on blood for sport.
"Shots!" Jax bellowed, his voice carrying over the music as he made a beeline for the bar, that golden-boy swagger making women melt in his wake despite the fact that his arm was clasped firmly around Estelle’s waist.
"We're celebrating a fucking massacre!”
Connor followed, all brooding intensity, Sierra tucked against his side. Even in celebration, he moved like he was expecting an attack from every shadow.
I wrapped my arm around Isla, pulling her against me as we navigated through the crowd.
She fit perfectly against my side with her soft curves and vanilla-scented hair, the perfect contrast to the crazy that was me.
The bartender, a tattooed ex-heavyweight who knew us well, lined up premium liquor without being asked.
Top-shelf liquid that costs more per shot than imaginable.
"Gentlemen," I said, raising my glass with theatrical flourish, "to making it look easy."
"To putting that prick in his place," Connor added, his version of eloquent praise.
"To Adrian not getting his pretty face messed up," Jax chimed in with a grin that was teeth and mischief.
We downed the shots in unison, the burn familiar and welcome. But as the glasses hit the bar, I caught the bartender's eye and slipped him a few crisp hundreds.
"Water," I murmured, quiet enough that only he could hear. "Same glass, same color. Keep them coming when I do my thing.”
He nodded once, understanding the game.
While the guys ordered another round, I watched the girls migrate to a corner, a plush seating area with perfect sight lines to the bar and enough shadows to feel intimate.
They moved with the easy grace of women who'd learned to navigate rooms full of predators, secure in the knowledge that their particular monsters would destroy anyone who looked at them wrong.
Bee curled into the velvet cushions with a drink that looked like liquid sunset, something fruity and tropical.
Star chose something sharp and sweet, a citrusy one that sparkled under the lights like liquid diamonds.
But it was my angel who made my adrenaline flare. She'd ordered a chocolate martini, the rim dusted with cocoa, the liquid dark and rich as sin.
She sipped it slowly, her pink tongue darting out to catch a drop of sweetness from her lower lip, and I had to adjust myself through my jeans.
Fuck, she was hot.
"Another round!" Jax demanded, already three shots deep and showing no signs of slowing down.
His tolerance matched Daddy Easton’s, that pampered rich-boy metabolism processing alcohol like it was water.
Connor matched him drink for drink with stoic determination, barely blinking as the liquor went down.
He’d built himself a liver that could probably process antifreeze without complaint.
Meanwhile, I was also on my third shot of actual alcohol. I drank with my brothers, but not for my game.
The crowd around us got louder, more animated. Fighters from both camps mingled with varying degrees of hostility, the kind of tension that could explode into violence at any moment.
It was intoxicating with all that barely leashed aggression crackling through the air like electricity before a storm.
“Catalyst!” The voice cut through the music like a rusty blade. "Heard you can handle more than just pretty boys with glass jaws."
