Chapter Three
NITRO
Three Days Later
It’s been three goddamn days since I dropped Marley off at her friend’s place, and I can’t stop thinking about her. That fiery red hair. Those quirky glasses. The vulnerability in her eyes when she talked about her piece-of-shit ex.
I’m standing in the clubhouse garage, supposedly checking the oil on my Harley, but really, I’m just turning this situation over in my head.
I’ve driven hundreds of people in my Uber, thousands, maybe.
I told myself it was about the company, about staying connected to the world, but the truth is I was running from my name, my past, the weight of everything I carry.
Strangers were easy. Temporary. Forgettable.
She wasn’t.
Maybe it’s the generous tip and that note. Maybe it’s the fact that she was so broken down and still found it in herself to thank me. Or maybe it’s just that she seemed like someone who needed looking out for.
My phone sits heavy in my pocket. I could pull up her ride information. With just a few taps, I’d have her contact details, but that feels wrong, invasive, like I’d be no better than the asshole who made her cry.
“You good, brother?” Ghost’s voice cuts through my thoughts, appearing out of nowhere. I jerk my head up to see him leaning against the doorframe, toothpick in his mouth, that perpetual calm radiating off him as if he’s never had an anxious thought in his life.
“Yeah,” I say, wiping my hands on a rag. “Just thinking.”
Ghost pushes off the doorframe and walks closer, studying me. The man doesn’t miss shit. “Thinking about what?”
I consider brushing him off, but what’s the point? “A passenger. From a few nights ago.”
His eyebrow quirks up. “Must have been some passenger.”
“She was having the worst night of her life,” I explain. “Got dumped. Body-shamed. Kicked out of her own home by her asshole ex. And despite all that, she tipped me like I’d saved her life and left a note thanking me for making her believe in decent humans again.”
Ghost nods slowly. “And you want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Yeah.” I meet his eyes. “I know how it sounds. I know it’s borderline stalker shit, but I can’t stop thinking about whether she’s safe, whether that ex is making her life miserable. She was so… vulnerable. And I have this gut feeling that I should check in, make sure nothing worse has happened.”
“You want me to run a background check.”
Not a question. The man’s too damn perceptive.
“I do,” I admit. “Just basic info. Make sure she’s not in danger. That’s all.”
Ghost studies me for a long moment, then pulls the toothpick from his mouth. “Gimmie her name.”
Relief floods through me, and I nod, knowing I am crossing about a dozen moral lines and definitely the ethical lines of being an Uber driver.
But right now, I don’t care.
“Marley Wren.” And I go on giving him anything else he needs.
“I’ll have something for you in an hour.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “For what it’s worth, Nitro? I’ve known you a long damn time. You don’t do shit like this unless you’ve got a good reason. Trust your gut.”
I nod, and he turns to leave. So I get back to work on my bike, actually finishing this time. When I’m done, I head into the main clubhouse. The place is relatively quiet for a weekday afternoon. A few brothers are playing pool, and Ro’s behind the bar, chatting with Gia.
Sin and Victoria are in the Chapel, the door slightly ajar. I can see them through the gap, him at the table, her perched on the edge, their heads close together as they review something on his laptop as I approach. “Got a minute, Pres?”
Sin looks up. Victoria straightens, her cop instincts probably already picking up on whatever is written all over my face.
“Always,” Sin says. “Come on in.”
I step inside but leave the door open. Victoria’s eyes flick between Sin and me, then she slides off the Chapel table.
“I’ll leave you boys to it,” she says, but not before leaning in and kissing Sin with enough heat to make me look away.
When she pulls back, she stands, grins, then walks toward me with a great big smile.
Then, as she reaches me, she squeezes my arm as she passes. “Whatever it is, you’ve got this.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and I turn back to find Sin watching me with those intense eyes of his. “You didn’t come in here to ask about our latest gold shipments,” he says, flipping his poker chip. “What’s going on?”
I drag a hand through my beard. “I met someone. A passenger, a few nights ago, when I was driving for Uber. She’d just been dumped, kicked out of her place. Real piece of work, ex-boyfriend. And I can’t stop thinking about whether she’s okay.”
Sin’s poker chip stills. “So you asked Ghost to run a check?”
I let out a half snort, half laugh at how he knows me so fucking well. “Yeah. I know it’s not exactly standard procedure, but—”
“You’re concerned for her safety,” Sin finishes. “That ex of hers… he dangerous?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of why I’m checking. He humiliated her, kicked her out. Who knows what else he’s capable of?” I shift my weight. “And yeah, maybe I’m also curious about her. She got under my skin somehow. One ride, and I can’t stop thinking about her. Which is, I don’t know… unusual.”
Sin sets his poker chip down, a rare gesture that means he’s taking this seriously. “What’s her name?”
“Marley Wren.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Pretty… look, I get it. Sometimes you meet someone, and your gut tells you to pay attention. Could be nothing. Could be something. But if you’re asking Ghost to dig, you’re obviously taking it seriously.
Just be careful with how you handle whatever information you get. Don’t be a fucking creep. Got it?”
I laugh despite myself. “Noted.”
“And Nitro?” Sin picks up his poker chip again, studying me. “If this turns into something more than just checking in on a stranger’s safety, let me know. Club doesn’t need any complications, but if you’re going after something that matters to you, know we’ve got your back.”
“Appreciate it, Pres.”
We talk for a few more minutes about club business, supply chains, upcoming meetings, and the usual logistics, but my mind keeps drifting to Marley. To her tears. To the strength it took for her to pick herself up and move forward.
When Ghost texts me an hour later, I excuse myself and head to his den.
The tech room is Ghost’s sanctuary, monitors everywhere, servers humming, blue light casting everything in shadows. He gestures for me to come over to his main screen.
“Marley Wren,” he says, pulling up a file. “Twenty-nine years old. Works at Fletcher & Associates, a mid-sized advertising firm downtown. Here’s the interesting part… her ex, Derek Fletcher, isn’t just her ex-boyfriend. He’s her fucking boss.”
My jaw tightens. “So she has to see that bastard every day?”
“Every. Single. Day.” Ghost clicks through more information. “He owns the house they were living in together, which explains why she got kicked out with just a bag.”
Rage builds in my chest. This asshole didn’t just dump Marley, he humiliated her, made her homeless, and now she has to face him at work, where he holds power over her career.
“What else?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Ghost pulls up more information. “Coffee shop regular. Goes to The Grind every morning at seven before work. Same order, caramel latte, extra shot, almond milk. Sometimes sits in the corner booth by the window if she is early, before heading to the office.”
I memorize every detail. Not because I’m planning to ambush her, but because knowing her routine gives me a sense of whether she’s functioning.
Whether she’s okay.
“Thanks, Ghost.”
He nods, already turning back to his screens. “Don’t fuck this up, Nitro. If she’s as decent as you think she is, she deserves better than a mountain of a man scaring her at a coffee shop.”
“I hear you.” I walk out and head straight for my bike. I need to clear my head, let the road sort through everything Ghost just told me. The wind in my face, the freedom of speed, it’s the only thing besides music that centers me.
With Ghost’s information burning in my brain, I slide onto my Harley, start my engine, and point my ride toward the one place that always gives me clarity.
Sunset Manor.
Besides my brothers, there is one person in this world I rely on for everything.
Who taught me to be the man I am.
Who raised me to be the man I am.
The one person I would burn down the world for and make sure she was the only thing left standing in it.
My grandmother.
Queenie.
Her real name is Clara, but everyone calls her Queenie.
I’m not really sure when or how it started, but it was back when I was a kid.
All the neighborhood kids called her that.
Even my parents, my father, her son, used it.
At some point, it stopped being a nickname and became her name—her moniker, worn like a crown.
The parking lot is mostly empty when I arrive. I sign in at the front desk, and Paige gives me a warm smile. “She’s upstairs in her room, honey. Been asking about you.”
Guilt twists in my gut. I haven’t visited in almost a week.
I take the stairs two at a time. Queenie’s door is open. She’s in her favorite armchair, watching a cooking show with the volume too loud. But the moment she sees me, her face transforms. “There’s my boy!” She reaches out her arms.
I cross the room and bend down so she can wrap her thin arms around my neck. She smells like lavender and peppermint.
Like home.
“Hey, Queenie,” I murmur. “Sorry I haven’t been by.”
“Psh.” She waves a hand dismissively as I pull up the ottoman. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”