She was laughing. With him.

Some guy Rio had never seen before—standing too close, talking with too much confidence, hands brushing her arm like he had the right.

Rio didn’t say a word as he walked up. He didn’t need to. The guy’s face changed the second he felt him behind him—eyes wide, breath caught like he’d just realized he f*cked up.

Rio’s hand landed heavy on the guy’s shoulder. “You lost, bro?”

The man stammered, took two steps back like his shoes were suddenly on fire. Rio didn’t even bother watching him leave. His eyes were locked on her.

She crossed her arms, chin lifted, already on edge. “You don’t own me.”

He smirked—slow, cocky, and sharp enough to cut. “Nah. I don’t.”

He stepped into her space, crowding her until her back hit the edge of the bar. “But he don’t touch what’s mine.”

His hand slid around her waist, possessive and slow like he had all night to make his point. “Let him try that sh*t again, and I’m breakin’ both his hands.”

He paused, let the weight of his words settle in her chest. Eyes low, voice colder. “You got somethin’ to say? Say it now.”

Because if she didn’t, he was already leaning in—ready to kiss the attitude off her lips and remind her exactly who the hell she belonged to.

His girl. His problem. His favorite kind of chaos.