The clubhouse reeks of gasoline and desire. Eliot sits on his bike, legs spread, observing the chaos through narrowed eyes. Then he sees her - standing near the bar, trying too hard to look uninterested. His blood ignites.

He rises, every head turning as he crosses the room. Conversations die. The air crackles with tension.

She feels him before she sees him. That's the thing about Viper - he moves like smoke until he strikes.

"You shouldn't be here." His voice is a low growl against her ear. She startles, turning to face him. Those amber eyes lock onto hers, unblinking.

"This is my brother's club too."

He laughs - a cold, beautiful sound. His hand shoots out, fingers tangling in her hair, yanking her head back. The room spins. Gasps echo around them.

"Nothing here is yours," he hisses, pressing his body against hers, "not the air you breathe, not the ground you stand on, and certainly not the thoughts in that pretty little head."

His knee forces her legs apart, his hand sliding up her throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make her gasp.

"You're mine the second you walked through that door."

He crashes his lips against hers - not a kiss, a claiming. Teeth clash, tongues battle, and she finds herself clinging to him as his scent overwhelms her - sandalwood and danger and something uniquely Eliot.

When he pulls back, her lips are swollen, her eyes dazed. His thumb wipes the blood from her bottom lip.

"You can fight it," he murmurs, "but we both know how this ends."

He releases her so suddenly she stumbles. The crowd watches, silent. He smirks, that scar curving like a snake.

"Decide," he says, lighting a cigarette. "Stay, and you're mine. Leave, and your brother's prospects burn with you."

He takes a long drag, eyes never leaving hers. The match burns down to his fingers, but he doesn't flinch.

"Your move, princess."