An innocent woman caught in our problems, that required getting her free, getting her safe, taking care of the threat.
It was dispassionate.
Cut and dry.
But touching a woman who belonged to one of us, that was a different thing entirely. We didn't just need to take care of those who hurt her; we needed to make an example of them. We needed to put the fear of God into the hearts of anyone who would even think about touching a woman who was ours.
That said, you had to be sure, didn't you? She had to be yours in a more permanent way. The whole criminal underbelly needed to see her on the street, and know who she belonged to, know she was off-limits, unless they wanted to have their cocks cut off and shoved down their own throats to choke on.
"She's mine," I decided, the words popping out before I even thought them through.
She was mine?
She was in my bed, sure. In my house. In my kitchen. On my arm in public.
That didn't make her mine, though, did it?
No.
But the burning rage inside? The choking sensation in my throat that felt a fuckuva lot like panic? The way my mind kept wandering, racing to conclusions about what could be happening to her right then, how scared she must have been, if she was calling out for me?
Yeah, that shit felt a lot like she was mine.
As did the way I wanted to charge in, grab her, wrap her up, get her home safe, take her to bed, and never let anything ever fucking touch her again.
I wasn't a possessive man.
I didn't ever feel like I wanted to hold onto and protect a woman, or shelter her away from the world.
So the fact that I wanted to do that with Harmon said something, didn't it?
"It was looking that way," Che said carefully. "But it's new, and I didn't want to assume shit."
It was new. But not that new. Since she'd been staying at the clubhouse, kicking around with all of us for a bit now. It all seemed like an equivalent of a month of dating. And by then, didn't most people know if there was something there or not? Otherwise, what the fuck was the point?
I mean, did I know she was Old Lady status? That she'd be wearing my name on her back one day? That there would be rings and kids and all of that?
No.
I mean, who the fuck could predict that kind of thing? Who even knew if I would live long enough to even want to settle down, let alone do it.
But did I think I was closer to wanting those things with Harmon than I ever had been before? Yeah.
And did that mean that she was mine, albeit even in a temporary way? Yes.
So even if she was just temporarily mine, she was mine. That meant heads needed to roll for even thinking about hurting her.
"Maybe we should put some music on," Che said, wincing when the guy in the basement started wailing.
"Yeah, might be a good idea," I agreed, watching as he moved out into the living room, finding the stereo, then turning the music up loud before coming back in. "Did you look through this yet?" he asked, reaching for the phone on the table.
Fuck.
I was off my game.
I needed to focus.
My men shouldn't have been the ones with all the ideas.
"No, check the texts," I demanded, taking a deep breath, hoping it would bring some focus back into my system. "Any mention of her?"
"Nothing here about taking anyone. But there is a mention of seeing you with a 'blue-haired bitch,'" he said, air quoting it. "Here. This is suspicious. He said something to this guy about finding out she's rich. But that's where the conversation ends."
"Even stupid low-level guys are usually smart enough not to talk about concrete plans in a text," I said, shrugging. "From the looks of this place, they could use some cash."
"But why risk taking her? When she's not only connected to a powerful family in the area, but also us? Seems like a lot of risk."
"They're young," I said, shrugging. "Stupid usually comes along with that. Thinking you can do whatever the fuck you want and get away with it unscathed. We were all like that once."
Hell, some of my earliest chopping schemes involved me acting like a valet, actually talking to the marks before I stole their cars.