Chapter 9
Cami
"I don't have anything to wear,” I say to Rhett as he emerges from the bathroom rubbing a towel over his wet hair.
His jeans ride low, and that magnificent tattooed chest is on full display.
Every inch of him screams hot and dangerous, and my body still hums from what he just did to me in the shower.
"Wear whatever you want." He stalks closer. "You'd look beautiful in a paper bag.”
I settle on dark jeans and a black tank top. Nothing fancy. When I check the mirror, I like my appearance. There's more color in my cheeks. My lips are swollen from his kisses. I don't look scared and homeless anymore.
Rhett catches my eye in the reflection, and heat flares in his gaze. "Fuck the party. Let's stay here."
Before I can answer, someone pounds on the door.
"Wrath!” Diesel calls through the closed door. “Get your ass out here. Party started an hour ago. We’re all waiting for the guests of honor.”
Rhett groans. "Cockblocking bastard."
I turn to face him planting a quick kiss on his lips. “We should go."
He pulls me close, one hand palming my ass. “If it gets too much, squeeze my hand three times. We bail. No questions."
The common room is packed. String lights cast a warm glow over tables loaded with food—ribs, potato salad, three kinds of pie.
Music thumps from speakers, all bass and guitars.
The whole club's here—patched members, prospects hovering at the edges, old ladies and even a few patch chasers wearing some of the skimpiest clothing I’ve ever seen worn in public.
Every eye turns when we walk in. Rhett's hand is steady on my lower back.
Then Trix whoops loud enough to wake the dead. "There she is! The woman who tamed our VP!"
Everyone laughs. The tension breaks. People surge forward, and I brace for congratulatory hugs.
Lizzie hugs me first, and she holds tight. "Welcome to the family, honey." Her voice cracks. "For real this time."
She accepted me from day one without question. No test. No trial period. Just acceptance.
"Thank you." The words barely make it out of my choked throat. "For everything."
"Stop." She grips my shoulders. “No crying. Not tonight. Tonight is a laughter only night.”
Steel approaches, his expression neutral. The president doesn't smile much.
"Wrath. Got something for your old lady."
Rhett's hand tightens protectively on my waist and I shrink into his side as the room goes quiet. Steel turns and takes a small leather cut from Tank, who stands beside him. He hands it to Rhett, who holds it up for the room to see. I inhale sharply when I see the patches.
On the back is the the Hellbound Devils logo in perfect detail. Below it, it reads: "Property of Wrath."
Property. The word should bother me. After years of being treated like an object, that word should send me running. But when Rhett takes the vest from Steel and holds it open for me, all I feel is pride.
This isn't ownership like my father's control. This is belonging. Being claimed. Being protected.
I slip my arms through, and the weight of it settles across my shoulders like armor. Like safety. Rhett adjusts it, smooths the patches, his hands reverent. When he's done, he swallows hard.
"Perfect," he says quietly, just for me. "Absolutely fucking perfect."
I trace the stitching with shaking fingers. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful." He turns me to face him, and there's something fierce in his eyes. "And you're mine."
"Yours." I kiss him, hard and deep, not caring who watches.
The room erupts in cheers. Bottles clink together in toast. Someone cranks up the music, and the party surges back to life around us.
Someone yells for a speech. Rhett flips them off, and everyone laughs.
He pulls me close. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying. For trusting me."
I don't have words, so I just hold on.
A couple hours later, I'm behind the bar with Trix, learning to pour shots without spilling while Rhett drinks with his club brothers who have fun ribbing him about finally taking an ol’ lady.
Trix smiles at me. "You're a natural."
I love working the bar with you. I get to overhear all the juicy gossip.
She grins. "Plus, working here means unlimited access to me, and I'm a fucking delight."
I laugh. "Modest, too."
"One of my best qualities." She shows me how to mix a Jack and Coke. "See that scar on my old man’s neck?"
I glance over at the thick white line that runs from Diesel’s jaw to his collar.
"That's from when he took a knife meant for Steel. Damn near bled out on this floor." She says it casual, wiping down the bar. "Thought I’d lose him."
I watch Diesel sink a pool ball, laughing.
"That's the thing about the guys in this club.” Trix meets my eyes. “They’ll die for each other. Kill for each other. But they also know how to live life to the fullest. Celebrate the good moments. Because life is short and brutal, so you take the wins when you can."
My eyes find Rhett across the room. He's laughing with Steel and Tank, and every few minutes he glances over. Each time our eyes meet, he winks—this small, private thing just for me.
Something warm blooms in my chest. Not vague romance novel warmth. Hope. Actual fucking hope.
After another hour, my feet are killing me, but I'm happy. Rhett appears at my elbow.
"Dance with me."
"I don't know how—"
"Don't care." He's already pulling me toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. "Just follow."
His arms wrap around me, one hand splayed on my back, the other capturing mine against his chest. I feel his heartbeat, steady and strong.
“You okay?"
"More than okay." I rest my head on his chest, letting him guide me. "Thank you. For all of this."
"Nothing to thank me for." His hand moves in circles on my back. "This is what you deserve. Being celebrated. Being loved."
Loved.
He hasn't said those three words to me yet. Neither have I. But I feel them in how he holds me, see them in how he looks at me.
They echo in my chest like a second heartbeat.
The song ends. Something faster starts. Rhett releases me reluctantly.
"I need to talk to Steel for a few. You good?"
"Yeah." I touch his face, feel the scruff. "I'll go help Trix again.”
But Lizzie intercepts me. "Honey, Trix is fine. Why don't you take a breather? You look a little overwhelmed.”
She's right. The noise, the crowd—it's a lot.
“I could use a little fresh air,” I admit.
"Side door." She points. “There’s a little patio. It’s a quiet spot."
Maybe I shouldn’t go out alone… No, that's old thinking. I'm safe here at the Hellhound Compound.
This is home.
I make my way through the crowd, accepting wide smiles and pats on the back. The side door opens easy, lets in cool night air that feels like relief.
The patio is small—mismatched chairs, dying plants, a view of the parking lot. I lean against the railing, breathing deep.
Behind me, the party continues. Laughter and music. I'm wearing Rhett's claim. I'm officially part of the Hellbound Devils.
Just the realization that after years of abuse, I have a caring family has me grinning like a fool.
The night air tastes like freedom, but I should know better than to let my guard down.
Happiness like this is never free. Eventually the bill comes due.
I feel a presence on the concrete behind me.
I turn, expecting Rhett. "That was fast—"
But it's not Rhett.
Two more men emerge from the shadows near the dumpsters. Hard faces. Unfamiliar patches. Different colors.
Wrong. Everything is wrong.
Before I can scream, hands grab me. Big hands. Something covers my mouth—a cloth that smells chemical-sweet, choking.
I fight. Drive my elbow back, connect with something solid. Someone grunts. Good. I hope it fucking hurts.
But he’s too strong. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision.
The last thing I see is the warm lights of the clubhouse, my new family celebrating inside while I'm dragged backward into the night.