Chapter Twenty-Three
NITRO
Six Days Later
The clubhouse is alive with the familiar sounds of brotherhood, laughter, trash talk, the crack of pool balls, and the low rumble of bikes pulling into the lot.
I lean against the bar, nursing a beer that’s gone lukewarm in my hand while I watch Will pace near the front window for the third time in five minutes.
“Brother, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” I call out, my voice carrying that edge of amusement I can’t quite hide.
Will stops mid-stride, running a hand through his hair in that nervous way of his. The kid, and yeah, I know he’s twenty-one, but compared to my forty-three years, he’s still a kid, looks like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, but his eyes drift back to the window anyway. Probably looking for Millie’s car, though he’d deny it even if I pressed.
“Sure, you don’t.” I take a swig of the beer, grimacing at the taste, definitely past its prime. “You’ve been checking that window every thirty seconds for the last hour. If you’re not waiting for someone, you’re the worst lookout I’ve ever seen.”
Deek snorts from his spot at the pool table, not bothering to look up from his shot.
“He’s got a hard-on for Millie. Everyone knows it except apparently Millie.
” The cue ball cracks against the striped nine, sending it spinning into the corner pocket.
“And Will, apparently, since he still thinks he’s being subtle. ”
“Shut the fuck up, Deek,” Will fires back, but there’s no venom in it. Just exhaustion. The kind that comes from wanting something, someone you think you can’t have.
I know that feeling better than most.
“Look,” I say, pushing off the bar and crossing to where Will’s standing. “You want my advice?”
“Not particularly,” he says, but he’s listening. I see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way he’s stopped looking at the window to focus on me instead.
“Too bad, you’re getting it anyway.” I clap a hand on his shoulder, and the weight of it seems to ground him. “Stop overthinking it. Millie’s not some delicate flower who’s gonna break if you actually talk to her like a man instead of dancing around your feelings like a teenage boy at prom.”
“It’s not that simple,” Will protests, and there’s genuine anguish in his voice now. “Her father works with the club. Jonas trusts us, trusts Sin. If I mess this up, if I pursue her and it goes south—”
“Then you deal with it like a man,” I interrupt because I’ve heard this song and dance before. Hell, I’ve sung that shit myself. “But you know what’s worse than taking a shot and missing? Never taking the shot at all. Trust me on that one.”
Will is quiet for a moment, processing. Then he looks at me with eyes that are far too knowing for someone his age. “Is this about Marley?”
The mention of her name sends that familiar warmth spreading through my chest. It’s been six days since her birthday party, six days since everything between us clicked into place.
Six days of her thriving at Blackwell Entertainment Group, my fucking company, though she still doesn’t know that particular truth.
And God only knows how she hasn’t caught on.
I mean, I stay out of sight, but still, there are so many ways in which this could all go south.
“Everything’s about Marley these days,” I admit, and I don’t even try to hide the smile that pulls at my lips.
“She started her new job a week ago, and brother, she’s fucking thriving.
Came home last night practically glowing because her campaign pitch got approved.
The team loves her. She’s finally working somewhere that appreciates her talent instead of smothering it. ”
“That’s good,” Will says, his sincerity coming out. “She deserves it. Especially after what that ex of hers put her through.”
At the mention of him, my hand tightens around the beer bottle. Just thinking about that piece of shit makes my blood pressure spike. The way he tore Marley down made her doubt herself, weaponized her body against her—
“Easy, Nitro,” Deek calls out, reading the tension in my shoulders from across the room. “We all hate the guy. No need to shatter glass over it.”
I force myself to relax, setting the bottle down on the nearest table before I do exactly that.
“Yeah. It gets me every time knowing that fucker did a number on her. And watching her come back from it, watching her remember who she is and what she’s capable of…
” I shake my head, that warmth in my chest expanding until it feels as though it might crack my ribs. “It’s fucking incredible.”
“You love her.” It’s not a question when Will says it. It’s a statement. A fact as undeniable as gravity.
“Yeah,” I say simply, because what else is there to say? “I love her.”
“Then maybe take your own advice,” Will says with a small smile. “Stop overthinking. Just let yourself be with her. All of you.”
If only it were that simple. The thought brings a bitter taste to my mouth, souring that warmth because there’s still the matter of my secret identity. The billions I’ve been hiding. The fact that I engineered her dream job at a company I own.
The fact that I’m still lying to her, even if it is by omission.
“Hey, Nitro.” Ghost’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I look up to find him standing in the doorway to his tech den, his expression serious in that way that makes my stomach drop. “Got a minute? Need to talk to you and Sin.”
Something in his tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This isn’t a casual hey-check-this-out conversation. This is a we-have-a-problem conversation.
Already moving toward the Chapel, I say, “Let me grab Sin.”
I find our president sitting at the back of the clubhouse at a table, going over paperwork with that look of intense concentration that means he’s probably dealing with some headache regarding club finances or underworld politics.
He glances up when I tap on the table to gain his attention, and whatever he sees in my expression makes him set down his pen immediately.
“Ghost needs us,” I say. “Sounded urgent.”
Sin’s on his feet in seconds, following me toward the Chapel. Ghost is already there, laptop open on the table, fingers flying across the keyboard with that precise, methodical speed that would be mesmerizing if I wasn’t so fucking worried about what he’s found.
“What’s going on?” Sin asks, closing the Chapel door behind us. The soundproofing immediately muffles the noise from the main room, cocooning us in the kind of privacy that means serious club business.
Ghost doesn’t look up from his screen. “Someone’s been poking around Nitro’s identities.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “What?”
“Started noticing it about a week ago,” Ghost continues, his voice calm despite the bombshell he’s dropping.
“Nothing major at first, just some irregular search patterns, queries about Blackwell Entertainment Group’s ownership structure, and some digging into public records.
I thought it might be standard corporate espionage at first, maybe a competitor doing due diligence, but then they started cross-referencing with Las Vegas Defiance MC. ”
“Fuck.” The word comes out as a breath, barely audible.
Sin’s expression has gone hard, his mismatched eyes sharp as broken glass. “Can you trace it?” Sin asks. “Find out who’s digging?”
“I’m working on it,” Ghost says, finally looking up from the laptop. “Whoever it is, they’re good. Not as good as me, but good enough to cover their tracks better than your average PI. They’re using VPNs, proxy servers, the whole nine yards. I’ll crack it eventually, but it’s going to take time.”
“How deep have they gotten?” I ask, and I hate how rough my voice sounds. How exposed I feel, like someone’s peeled back my skin and left all my vulnerabilities on display.
“Not deep enough to connect all the dots yet,” Ghost assures me.
“But they’re getting close. Another week, maybe two, and they’ll have enough to piece together that Nitro, the biker VP and Damon Blackwell, the billionaire CEO, are the same person.
Damon Blackwell is a faceless, silent owner, but if they dig deep enough and hard enough, the connections will be made. ”
The Chapel feels like it’s shrinking, the walls pressing in on me. I spent years building these separate identities, keeping them compartmentalized, making sure the world of Blackwell Entertainment never touched the world of Las Vegas Defiance.
And now someone’s threatening to burn it all down.
“You think it’s Derek?” I ask because he’s the obvious suspect. The ex-boyfriend who hates me, who would love nothing more than to expose me and hurt Marley in the process.
Ghost shrugs. “Could be. He’s got motive. But this level of technical sophistication? I’m not sure he has the resources. He might have hired someone, though, a private investigator with actual tech skills.”
Sin leans back in his chair, that poker chip appearing between his fingers like magic. It’s his tell, the thing he does when he’s thinking hard about a problem. “Options?”
“We could go on offense,” Ghost suggests. “I can trace it back, find out who’s digging, maybe pay them a visit. Convince them to stop.”
“Or…” I say slowly, the words tasting like ash in my mouth, “I could tell Marley the truth.”
Both of them look at me. Sin’s expression is carefully neutral, but I see the concern in his eyes. Ghost’s is more direct. He’s worried about me, about the fallout, about what this revelation might do to the woman who’s become so important to me.
“You sure about that?” Sin asks quietly. “Once you tell her, you can’t take it back.”
“I’m not sure about anything except that she deserves to hear it from me.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration and fear warring in my gut. “Not from some fucking news article or exposé. Not from Derek if he’s behind this. But from me. Before someone else ruins everything.”