Chapter Nine
NITRO
The Next Day
The rumble of my Harley beneath me feels like a heartbeat—steady, powerful, alive. I’ve ridden this bike through every kind of storm Vegas can throw at a man, but right now, rolling up to pick up Marley with my Las Vegas Defiance cut on my back, I’m more nervous than I’ve been in years.
Maybe ever.
I kill the engine in front of Sage’s house, and the sudden silence feels deafening. My hands grip the handlebars as if they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth.
This is it.
No more hiding behind the Honda Accord and plain black T-shirts.
No more pretending I’m just some regular guy who drives Uber for kicks.
Marley is about to see a piece of me I’ve kept locked away from her—the part that wears a leather cut with Las Vegas Defiance MC stitched across the back, the part that calls a motorcycle club family, the part that lives in a world she might not want anything to do with.
I swing my leg over the bike and stand, my boots hitting pavement with a solid thud. The cut settles against my shoulders as if it’s a second skin, familiar and heavy with meaning.
Every patch tells a story.
Every thread represents blood, loyalty, and brotherhood.
The front door opens before I can take three steps.
Marley freezes in the doorway.
I watch her face cycle through confusion, recognition, and something I can’t quite read. Her green eyes go wide behind those quirky glasses, traveling from my boots up my jeans to the cut, lingering on the Las Vegas Defiance MC patch, then finally landing on my face.
“You’re…” She steps out onto the porch, the screen door banging shut behind her. “You’re a biker?”
The way she says it, not quite scared, not quite excited, just stunned, makes my chest tighten.
“Yeah.” I shove my hands into my pockets because if I don’t, I might reach for her, and I need to know how she’s going to react first. “This is me, Small Town. The real me. I need you to know before we get any deeper into this.”
She walks closer, each step deliberate, and I feel exposed in a way I haven’t felt in years. Not since I was eighteen when my parents died, and the entire fucking world found out Damon Blackwell was heir to a billion-dollar empire.
But this—this feels different.
This feels like it matters.
“You ride a Harley,” she says, stopping a few feet away. Her gaze drops to the bike, then back to me. “You’re in a motorcycle club.”
“Las Vegas Defiance MC.” I pull my hands from my pockets, spread them in a gesture that feels too vulnerable. “It’s my family. My brotherhood. Has been for years.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. Probably thinking about every biker stereotype she’s ever seen in movies. Probably wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into.
Probably about to tell me this fake-dating thing was a mistake.
“Derek will absolutely hate this,” she says finally.
I blink in confusion. “What?”
A slow smile spreads across her face, and something in my chest unfurls like a fist unclenching. “Derek’s all about image, propriety, and what people think. A biker boyfriend?” She laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard all week. “He will lose his damn mind.”
“So… you’re not freaked out?”
“Oh, I’m definitely a little freaked out.” She moves closer, close enough that I catch a hint of her perfume, something floral and sweet that’s been haunting me since that first night. “But also intrigued. And maybe…” She tilts her head, studying me. “Maybe a little exhilarated?”
Thank fuck.
“You ever been on a bike before?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and her hair catches the afternoon sunlight, all those shades of red and copper shifting like fire. “Never.”
“You want to?”
Her eyes drop to my Harley again, and I see it, that flicker of nervousness mixing with curiosity. “Where will we go?”
“Wherever you want.” I move to the bike, running my hand over the seat. “Strip. Desert. Wherever feels right. This is a practice date, yeah? We should get comfortable with each other.”
“On a motorcycle,” she says it as if she’s testing the words.
“On my motorcycle.” I grab the spare helmet from the saddlebag, the one I kept there just in case, and hold it out to her. “I promise I’ll keep you safe, Small Town. Won’t let anything happen to you.”
She takes the helmet, turns it over in her hands. When she looks up at me, there’s something raw in her expression, something that makes my throat tighten.
“Why do I believe you?” she asks softly.
“Because I mean it.” I step closer, and she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact.
The height difference between us has never been more obvious, and I love it.
Love that I could wrap her up in my arms and shield her from the whole damn world if she’d let me.
“Every word, Marley. I’d never let anything happen to you. ”
She holds my gaze for another heartbeat, then nods. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
I help her with the helmet, leaning down slightly, my fingers brushing against her jaw as I adjust the strap.
She’s warm, soft, and so close I can count the freckles across her nose.
When I’m satisfied the helmet is secure, I swing my leg over the bike and settle into the seat, then reach back to pat the space behind me.
“Come on, Small Town. Time for your first ride.”
She hesitates for only a second before climbing on behind me, and when her arms wrap around my waist, when her body presses against my back, every nerve ending I have lights up like the Strip at midnight.
“Hold on tight,” I tell her, and she does.
I start the engine, and the bike roars to life beneath us. Her grip tightens, her hands fist on my T-shirt under my cut, and I can’t help but fucking grin.
I ease back on the accelerator, pulling away from the curb, and I keep it slow and steady until she relaxes against me. We cruise through the city, past the neon and the crowds, and I take us onto the highway heading toward Red Rock Canyon.
The desert opens up around us, all that vast, empty space under a sky so black it’s like a dark void. The stars glisten through the smattering of clouds, the wind keeping us cool, and Marley’s arms never loosen from around my waist. If anything, she holds tighter, as if she’s afraid of letting go.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to.
I take us to a scenic overlook I know—a spot where you can see for miles, where the city is just a shimmer of neon lights in the distance, and the desert stretches out like something eternal. When I kill the engine, the silence that follows is broken only by the wind and the sound of our breathing.
Marley unwraps herself from me slowly, as though she’s not quite ready to let go. I help her off the bike, and she removes her helmet, her hair wild and windblown, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.
She looks fucking radiant.
Even in the glow of the moonlight.
“That was…” she trails off, spinning in a slow circle to take in the view. “I don’t even have words for that.”
“Good?” I lean against the bike, drinking in the sight of her.
“Incredible.” She turns back to me, and there’s something in her expression that makes my pulse kick up. “I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never seen Vegas like that. Never felt…” She gestures vaguely. “Free like that.”
I understand exactly what she means. The open road has always been my therapy, my escape, the nitroglycerin pulsing through my veins. My way of processing everything this world throws at me. Sharing it with her feels like giving her a piece of my soul.
“The club,” she says softly, stepping a little closer. “Tell me about it. I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything you shouldn’t, but I want to understand this part of you.”
I scratch at my jaw, buying a second. “What do you wanna know?”
“Everything,” she says, smiling as if it’s the easiest request in the world. “Or… whatever you can tell me.”
I huff out a breath, half a laugh. “That’s a dangerous question to ask an MC guy.”
“Then start with the safe parts.”
So I do. “It’s a brotherhood,” I say. “First and last. Loyalty, trust… keeping each other standing even when the rest of the world tries to knock us down.”
She nods, her eyes softening. “Sounds… intriguing. But good.”
“It is.” I lean back against my bike, my arms crossed. “Sin… he’s my president. The kinda man you follow without question. If he told me we were riding straight into hell, I’d ask what gear he wanted me in. And when we were leaving.”
Her eyes warm. “He means that much to you?”
“He’s my best friend. My brother.” The words feel inadequate. “When you go through real shit together, life and death shit, it bonds you. Sin’s been there for every major moment since I joined. He’s the one who put my VP patch on my cut. He knows me better than anyone… except Queenie.”
“What does being VP mean exactly?”
“I’m his right-hand man. Run day-to-day operations and make sure the brothers are taken care of.
But more than that, I’m expected to challenge him when I think he’s wrong.
To point out risks. To have his back even when I disagree with him.
” I meet her eyes. “He depends on me more than he probably realizes, and I’d follow him into war without a second thought. ”
She’s quiet for a long moment, processing. “It sounds intense.”
“It is. But it’s real. No bullshit, no pretending to be something you’re not. Just brothers who’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what.” I trace circles on her hip with my thumb. “We protect what’s ours. We stand together. And we don’t abandon each other.”
“Have you ever…” She hesitates. “Have you ever had to do things for the club that scared you?”