Chapter Thirty-One
MARLEY
One Week Later
My mind wanders to Queenie, still recovering in the hospital. She’s developed a bad case of pneumonia as a side effect of the smoke inhalation, so the doctors are doing all they can for her.
Nitro is worried sick.
We all are.
But the world doesn’t stop turning, and the assholes don’t stop being cunts just because the people we love are fading before our very eyes.
Derek needs to pay, and after taking some time to come up with a plan at Queenie’s bedside, today we’re taking a stand.
The wire itches against my skin.
Not physically, the thin adhesive tape holding the tiny microphone between my breasts is barely noticeable, but mentally, it burns like a brand.
Ghost spent twenty minutes making sure it was secure, his hands clinical and professional as he explained how the device works, how far the range extends, how Maria Moretti’s team will hear every word Derek says.
Every confession.
Every damning admission.
Every piece of evidence we need to put him away for what he did to Queenie, to those innocent people at Sunset Manor, to Nitro.
“You’re sure about this?” Ghost asked one final time before we left the clubhouse, his eyes searching mine with that quiet intensity he’s known for.
I was sure then.
I’m even more sure now.
I’m doing this for Queenie. I’m doing this for me.
Even if my hands are shaking so badly, I have to clasp them in my lap to keep them steady.
The café Derek chose is aggressively trendy, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs, craft coffee that costs more than a meal, the kind of place where people come to be seen rather than actually to drink overpriced lattes.
Give me my usual café, The Grind, any day of the week.
It’s midday, busy enough that we won’t stand out, public enough that Derek won’t suspect a trap.
At least, that’s the theory.
I sit at a corner table near the window, my back to the wall so I can see the entire space.
Nitro insisted on that detail during the briefing this morning, his voice rough with barely contained fear as he went over every possible scenario, every potential danger, every reason why this is a terrible idea and I shouldn’t do it.
But I have to.
Derek burned down a retirement village because of me.
Because I drunk dialed him in a moment of weakness.
Because I fell in love with Nitro.
Because I dared to move on and find happiness with someone who actually sees me, values me, and loves me for exactly who I am.
People died in that fire.
People whose only crime was being older, vulnerable, and in the wrong place when Derek’s arrogance and misplaced rage ignited into something monstrous.
The weight of that sits heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“You don’t have to do this,” Nitro said this morning, his hands cupping my face with devastating gentleness, his eyes, those impossibly beautiful eyes, dark with anguish. “We can find another way. Ghost can dig deeper, Maria can—”
“I want to do this,” I interrupted, covering his hands with mine. “He did this because of me. I have to help fix it.”
The fear in his expression nearly broke me.
Fear for me, fear of losing me, fear that something will go wrong, and he won’t be able to protect me.
But underneath that fear was something else, pride.
Trust. The knowledge that I’m strong enough to face the man who tried to destroy me, to destroy us, and come out the other side.
“I’ll be right outside,” he promised, his forehead pressing against mine. “Sin, Koa, Bear… we’ll all be there. The second anything goes wrong, the second he even looks at you wrong, we’re coming in.”
I believed him then.
I believe him now.
Even though I can’t see them, I know they’re close.
Sin is parked across the street in the club’s truck, watching through the café window with predatory focus. Koa and Bear are likely scattered around the block, maintaining perimeter security. Ghost is back at the clubhouse, monitoring the wire feed, recording everything for Maria.
And Nitro?
Nitro is somewhere nearby, close enough to reach me in seconds, but far enough that Derek won’t spot him. The club decided it was too risky for him to be visible. Derek knows his face and would recognize him instantly, and the whole plan would fall apart.
But knowing he’s out there, knowing he’s listening to every word, gives me the strength I need to focus on what I must do.
The bell on the café door dings, and the door opens.
My heart slams against my ribs. Derek walks in as if he owns the place, all expensive suit and practiced confidence, his eyes scanning the space until they land on me.
A smile spreads across his face, not warm, not genuine, but smug.
Satisfied. Like he’s already won some game I didn’t know we were playing.
God, I used to think this asshole was handsome.
Now all I see is the cruel twist of his mouth, the cold calculation in his eyes, the way he moves through the world as though everyone else is simply background noise in his personal movie.
He slides into the chair across from me, not bothering with pleasantries or apologies or any acknowledgment of the pain he caused.
“Marley.” My name sounds wrong coming from his mouth. “I have to admit, I was surprised when you called. Though I am glad to hear you’re done slumming it with biker trash.”
The insult rolls off me like water. I’ve heard worse. I’ve survived worse. And more importantly, I know the truth—Nitro is worth a thousand Dereks.
A million.
I force my expression into something vulnerable, broken. It’s not hard. I channel how I felt that night he kicked me out, standing on his porch with my hastily packed bag, my world crumbling around me.
“You were right,” I say quietly, the words tasting foul. “About Nitro. About everything.”
Derek’s eyes light up with vicious pleasure. “I’m listening.”
I take a shaky breath, letting my voice crack just enough to sell it. “I-I thought… I thought he was different. That he actually cared about me. But it was all a lie.”
“Of course it was.” Derek scoffs, folding his arms. “Men like him don’t do relationships.
They do shields. You were convenient. Sweet.
Harmless-looking. A perfect distraction while he hid whatever he didn’t want people to see.
You were a cloak, Marley, a disguise, masking what he really is.
.. what he really does. Everything about you and him was fake, just to put a shine on him so no one suspects the sins. ”
The wire captures every word Ghost records.
Maria’s team is listening.
But I need evidence.
I need him to talk about the fire.
“The thing is…” I continue, dropping my gaze to my untouched coffee. “After the fire at the retirement village… he changed. Got paranoid. Started saying someone was out to get him.” I look up, meeting Derek’s eyes. “I think he knew it was you.”
Derek’s smile doesn’t falter, but something flickers behind his eyes.
Is that interest?
Curiosity?
Fucking pride?
“Did he now?” He leans forward, dropping his voice like we’re sharing a secret. “And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing.” I wrap my hands around my coffee cup, letting them tremble visibly. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to believe you could actually…” I trail off, leaving the implication hanging.
“Could what?” Derek prompts, his voice silky smooth. “Teach him a lesson?”
My stomach churns, but I force myself to nod. “Something like that.”
Derek laughs, actually laughs, as if burning down a building full of older people is funny. As if murder is a fucking punchline.
“You know what your problem always was, Marley?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You never appreciated what you had. I gave you everything… a nice home, stability, a chance to be with someone who could actually provide for you. And you threw it away for what? Some biker with a savior complex?”
I have to fight to hold back my what-the-fuck facial expressions. He broke up with me, but in his madness, he seems to have conveniently forgotten all about that.
“I know,” I whisper, hating myself for every word. “I see that now.”
“He needed to learn his place,” Derek continues, his voice hardening with satisfaction. “No biker trash makes a fool of me. Nobody takes what’s mine and gets away with it.”
There it is.
The first honest admission.
But I need more. I need him to say it explicitly, to confess to hiring the arsonists, to acknowledge the deaths.
“How did you—” I start, then stop, like I’m afraid to ask. “How did you even arrange something like that?”
Derek’s smile turns predatory. “You’d be amazed at what money can buy, Marley.
A couple of shell companies, some cash transactions, and suddenly you have very motivated contractors who don’t ask questions.
” He examines his manicured nails with casual indifference.
“The fire was supposed to be controlled. Just enough to send a message, destroy some property, make that asshole suffer a little.”
“But people died,” I murmur, genuine horror coloring my voice because I don’t have to fake this reaction—innocent older people.
Derek waves a hand dismissively. “Collateral damage. Not my problem. If that retirement village had proper fire suppression systems and proper evacuation protocols, those people would’ve been fine. Really, if you think about it, it’s the facility’s fault for cutting corners.”
The casualness of what he is saying steals my breath.
He’s not just admitting to arson, he’s justifying murder and blaming the victims. He is showing absolutely no remorse for destroying lives because his ego couldn’t handle being rejected, even though he rejected me.
It seems his mind has twisted what actually went down when he dumped me.
But I get on with it, because rehashing what happened isn’t going to get this job done.
“You hired people,” I say slowly, making sure the wire catches every word. “To set the fire. At Sunset Manor. Where Nitro’s grandmother was.”