The nightclub thumped with bass, strobes slicing the air, bodies moving like smoke — but every Shelby brother stood still.

Tommy, Arthur, John — they all froze. Drinks half-raised, conversations cut short.

Because she walked in.

YN — strapless crop top hugging her curves like second skin, high-waisted ruffled shorts barely containing that wide, round, fluffy ass, a studded belt teasing rebellion. She walked like sin on heels. Every man in that room noticed. Every Shelby brother noticed.

And before any of them could speak, before a single thought left their mouths—

Finn appeared.

Black biker jacket. Chains. Boots. Gloved hands. The one look he never wore unless it meant something.

He moved through the crowd like he owned the place — no rush, no hesitation. And without a word, he wrapped his arm around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against his solid chest like she belonged there.

She didn’t flinch. She smiled. Soft. Comfy. Like his touch was home.

The room stopped breathing.

Finn (voice low, rough in her ear): “Didn’t think I’d let you walk around dressed like that without me, did you?”

He stared down anyone who dared look too long. That jaw clenched. That gaze? Lethal.

Finn (to his brothers, calmly but sharp): “This is YN. My girl. Mine. Been mine.”

No one said a word. They all knew one thing now — this wasn’t just a fling. This was the girl their youngest brother would kill for.