Page 151 of Revv

I swipe gloss across my bottom lip. “Pretty sure you manage that without my help.”

“True.” He finishes the last button and comes up behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him against my bare back. His hands settle low on my hips while his eyes meet mine in the mirror. “But walking around Miami looking like this sure as fuck isn’t helping.”

I turn in his arms and smooth the front of his shirt, pretending his reaction isn’t doing wonderful things for my ego.

“Then you better make sure it’s clear who I’m here with.”

His brows lift, and the slow grin that spreads across his face tells me I’ve just handed him way too much ammunition.

“Oh, Mama.” His hands tighten around my hips. “You sure you wanna give me permission like that?”

“Permission to behave yourself? Yeah.”

He laughs. “That is not what you fucking said.”

“It’s what you heard.”

“Liar.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “But I’ll make it real fucking clear.”

***

The club is pure Miami excess—violet neon, mirrored walls, VIP booths overlooking a packed dance floor, and bass heavy enough that I feel it through my heels before we’re even fully inside.

Revel keeps one hand against my lower back as we move through the crowd.

It’s become such a normal thing lately that I barely register it until his touch disappears.

I follow his stare across the club toward the raised VIP section overlooking the dance floor.

Two guys stand behind the railing, and judging by the way Revel’s attention locks onto them, I’m guessing they aren’t random.

“Who are they?”

“Ajax Sawyer and Dimitri Petrov.” His jaw shifts. “Deadly Diablos.”

I’ve heard the names. I just haven’t had faces to put to them until now.

Ajax is the first one I notice. Built, tattooed, messy brown hair, with the kind of rough face that looks like smiling is something he does strictly when necessary.

He’s broader than I expected, dressed in black, and carries himself less like some polished professional racer and more like the guy security should probably be keeping an eye on.

Dimitri looks like he belongs in an expensive fucking cologne ad.

Taller, leaner, blond hair pushed back from sharp features, black shirt open low enough to show the chains at his throat. Even from down here, he somehow manages to look bored.

“Those are the guys from the Miami team?”

“Yeah. Ajax is the one I beat in the race that Andre suspended me for.”

Ajax catches Revel looking.

For a second, the two of them just stare at each other across the club, and I can practically feel the testosterone poisoning the fucking air between them.

Then Ajax surprises me.

He lifts his chin toward the stairs and motions for us to come up.

Revel’s brows pull together.