Bonus Chapter
Isabelle
TWO YEARS BEFORE CLUB WAR
Trixie’s voice scrapes across my nerves like sandpaper. I’m almost hysterical at her audacity. This is the third time this month she’s asked me to cover her kitchen duty for the nightly dinners.
And for the most part? I’ve said yes. Even when I couldn’t afford the time—when college assignments were stacking up, deadlines breathing down my neck. I’d throw together the simplest meals I could, make enough to stretch, and run back to the tiny communal room I share with Juggles and Misty.
But tonight? Tonight is different.
I’ve got a rare free evening, no coursework, and a freshly waxed bikini line I wouldn’t mind showing off.
Not to just anyone, of course.
Only him.
Only Ryder gets to see that part of me—has ever gotten that part of me. I’ve never engaged with anyone else at the club.
And even though it’s only been five months of late-night fucking, lazy mornings, and conversations that feel dangerously close to something real... I can’t shake the feeling that this could actually go somewhere.
I haven’t seen him touch anyone else since we started... whatever this is.
I know what people call me. Slut. Club pussy. Sometimes even whore, just to spice things up. It’s a label slapped across my face whether I earn it or not. But I know who I am. And more importantly—Ryder does too.
So that’s what I focus on. That truth. That possibility. That maybe, just maybe, I’m not invisible.
Trixie yanks one of Misty’s sleazy leopard bras over her perky tits—the ones that have been bouncing for dramatic effect with every single ‘please’—and I already know where she’s going.
Sinner’s Night.
The club-owned strip joint she technically isn’t allowed to work at, but still shows up to like she owns the place. She likes the clientele. Likes being watched.
I sigh, already regretting my decision because it’ll delay my sneaky plans to head to Ryder’s room. “Fine. But don’t ask me again for at least another month.”
She rolls her eyes like I didn’t just do her a massive favor. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t. Just make a little extra for the nomads. Wolf said we’ve got two dropping in for the patch party.”
I wave her off and snap my laptop shut. Today is a small club party in the honor of Ruin finally making VP.
And Wolf—our Prez—relies on us club girls for the dinner part, if not the whole booze and snacks portion.
He doesn’t usually bother with us unless someone’s slacking. But me? We have an arrangement.
I came to the Wardens of Sin MC when I was chasing college applications and surviving off instant noodles after finally earning my GED. Foster care had never given me a shot at actualizing any dreams.
Hell, I didn’t even know I had dreams—until four years ago. I was at a walk-in school fair when I picked up a Bachelor of Science in Nursing brochure. Something in it stuck.
And I ran with it.
Eight months ago, I passed my RN exam. And I’ve been practicing at a private clinic ever since—Dr. Moore’s place. Healer, to everyone in the club.
But to me? He’s Dr. Owen Moore. Club brother, part-time miracle worker, and full-time owner of Moore Medical Centre. My mentor for earning my Doctor of Nursing Practice degree.
This life—it’s not glamorous. But it’s mine. And it’s real.
Just like I hope Ryder is.
About three hours later, I’m finally done in the kitchen.
No one usually helps when one of us is on dinner duty—some unspoken rule about pulling your own weight—but thankfully, Misty had pitched in for the first half. Mostly so she could bail early and doll herself up for the party.
Now the place smells like spiced meat, old beer, and testosterone. The thudding bass of rock and club laughter pounds through the floorboards beneath my feet. The brothers are in full swing in the common room. Loud. Rowdy. Hungry.
I set the last tray down on the buffet counter, wipe my hands on a kitchen towel, and duck back into the hallway. I haven’t seen Ryder all day. Not since last night.
Which is fine. It’s fine.
I make my way to the room, slip out of my sweats, and throw on a tight tank top and cutoff denim shorts that ride just enough to get attention. Pull my brown hair free from the bun, run my fingers through the waves, swipe on a bit of liner, a dab of gloss.
Effortless. But with purpose.
I step out and scan the main room. Still no Ryder.
Instead, I catch sight of Ruin—our newly appointed VP—at the bar, a whiskey in hand, laughing alongside Wolf. Ruin always looks like he’s seconds away from strangling a throat or cracking a joke. You never know which.
Near the pool table, I spot Juggles, Misty, and Glory, draped over stools like centerfolds. Fabric optional. And of course, Charlie’s with them—club princess, Wolf’s younger sister, though she rarely acts like it. She’s got that careless grin on.
And that’s when it hits me. Why Trixie ditched tonight.
If all the brothers are here for the party, she’s at Sinner’s Night, circling fresh meat. Typical.
I move past the bar, toward the couches where Healer’s sprawled like a king, some blonde hang-around curled into his side. He gives me a lazy smirk. I lift a hand in a polite wave and keep walking.
That’s when I see him.
Scar.
Another officer. Quiet, observant, sharp as a blade. He’s carrying three beers toward the back door, walking slow, deliberate—like he’s got something important in his hands. Scar’s tight with Ryder. Always has been.
So I follow.
I slip past the chaos, crossing the room like I belong here—because I do. Just not always in the way I want to.
The screen door creaks shut behind Scar before I get there, but I push it open and step into the night.
Cool air wraps around my legs. It’s quiet out here. The sound of the party fades to a muffled echo. For a second, I think I lost them.
Until I hear it.
A low, gravelly laugh that sends a shiver up my spine.
Ryder. My Ryder.
I move past the back porch, onto the lawn, and freeze just beyond the gazebo, cloaked by shadow. My breath hitches as I see them.
Ryder’s leaning against the wooden rail, grinning as he grabs a joint from one of the nomads. Turbo, I think. He barely shows up, so seeing him at a party is rare. Scar cracks open the beers and passes them out.
They don’t see me. I stay still, hidden by the night, the orange glow from the gazebo lights spilling just short of where I’m standing.
Ryder passes the joint to Scar, still chuckling. I have no intention of crashing their little session. I just wanted to see him. Hear him. Remind myself he’s real. So I turn to head back in. Promising myself to catch him afterwards.
But then—
“Can’t be no one, Ryder,” Turbo says, voice teasing. “Even I used to get more action on the road.”
“Christ,” Ryder mutters, amusement in his tone. “I’m not in the market for an STD like you.”
“No STDs for me.” Turbo smirks. “Got only one woman and I ain’t sampling no more.”
“Fucker found his one and can’t shut up about it!” Scar lets out a bark of laughter. Then he slaps Ryder on the shoulder. “All you gotta worry about is if Bel’s spreading her cheeks for more than just you and Healer.”
My breath lodges in my throat.
Ryder stills. Not visibly. But I see it. In the set of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders.
“Healer?” he repeats, smirk curling—but there’s something else under it. Fire.
I know that look. He’s pissed.
Scar shrugs, careless as ever. “I mean... I’ve seen them around. Always together. Not a gamble, brother.”
I can’t move. My feet are cemented to the ground.
It’s not true. None of it’s true. Healer’s a friend. A mentor. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. But Ryder’s eyes are blazing now. His face flushes, but he stays still—almost stoic.
Turbo bursts into laughter. “Fucking hell, brother. Don’t tell me you were expecting exclusivity from a whore.”
Scar snorts again, takes a long drag from the joint. “Yeah, not exactly her brand.”
Ryder doesn’t speak immediately. Doesn’t move. But I can see the storm brewing beneath his skin.
And all I can do is watch.
Then he chuckles—dark and mean. “I wasn’t. And I’m not worried there, brother. I always wrap up.”
Liar.
He doesn’t. Not always.
“—but Bel’s just a flavor of the month anyway.”
A month?
Try five.
Five months of late-night laughs, bruised-up tenderness, and half-spoken promises he never had to make out loud. Five months of thinking I might’ve been different.
I bite my lip, hard. Why is he saying this shit? Why is he letting them say this shit?
I told him I haven’t slept with any other brother. Not even close. And still—I can see it in his eyes. That flicker of doubt.
He’s second-guessing everything we’ve been doing for the past so many months. Everything I’ve been to him—or tried to be.
But now my heart is sinking to the muddy ground beneath me. Has he been with other women while going bare with me?
Shit. I need to get tested as soon as possible.
“Well,” Turbo drawls, “if you’re actually lookin’... then maybe stop fuckin’ the slut and get yourself a real woman. Come on the road with me, man. Find someone that ain’t passed around.”
I flinch when Ryder nods in agreement. Like he actually believes I was just put in the right plain box of slut.
My face drains of color like he just slapped me.
Scar snorts. “He’s thirty, Turbo. Let him live it up first before taking him to the dark side.”
“Dark side?” Turbo laughs, dragging out the smoke between his teeth.
Ryder rolls his eyes and punches Scar lightly in the ribs. “Still got a good year left, fucker.”
He grins, turns to Turbo. “Just ‘cause you might be cuffin’ soon doesn’t mean I’m settlin’ down with an ol’ lady, yet.”
Turbo scoffs into his beer. “Says the man practically nesting with the chick that made the whole spread for dinner tonight.”
Scar barks a laugh. “Please. Fucker still hasn’t sampled all the club pussy. He fucking bet me he would do it before the end of the year.”
Ryder chuckles. “Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m running behind.”
“Oh?” Turbo grins. “Who’s left?”
Ryder lifts his beer, smirking. A smirk I used to love but now seems dirty—demeaning. “Just two. If you don’t count Charlie.”
Scar whistles. “Damn. Goin’ for the Prez’s sister?”
Ryder shrugs like he doesn’t give a damn. “Might make Misty my next month’s flavor, though. Great tits. Heard she got no gag reflex.”
“Nope, she doesn’t,” Scar agrees, casually clinking his beer with Ryder’s.
My stomach twists. Stupidly remembering that I do in fact have a gag reflex. Something Ryder had never posed as an issue.
Turbo shakes his head. “Bored of that Bel girl already?”
That’s it. He is, isn’t he?
“C’mon, man.” Ryder leans back against the gazebo, takes a lazy sip, like the words don’t mean shit. Like I don’t mean shit. “Can’t be bothered with the same cunt every day,” he says coolly. “I was already planning an out. Your brother needs variety.”
The bottom falls out of my chest.
I feel hollow. Airless.
Turbo mutters something under his breath, shaking his head as he chuckles. “Fucking imbeciles.”
But it’s drowned by the blood rushing in my ears.
My legs move before my brain catches up. I stumble backward, hand flying to my mouth, vision burning.
And then I run.
Inside. Away. From the man who kissed me like he cared. From the man who just gutted me without blinking. From the only person I was stupid enough to hope for. Thinking that he actually saw me. Believed me.
Guess I’ll never escape the reality I built when I signed up to be a club girl. Something that’s now seeming more like a mistake than a financial fallback.