Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Livie
My fingers tremble as I apply mascara, nearly poking myself in the eye for the third time.
I set the wand down with a frustrated sigh and stare at my reflection.
Despite the hours I've spent getting ready, nothing feels right.
The black dress is too tight. No, too loose.
My hair is too straight. Too curly. Too everything and nothing at all.
"Get it together, Liv," I mutter to myself, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter.
The clock on my phone reads 7:15 PM. The party at the clubhouse started fifteen minutes ago, which means people are already arriving, already wondering where I am. Two years away, and suddenly the thought of walking into that familiar space makes my stomach clench with anxiety.
A knock at the door startles me.
"Honey?" Mom's voice comes through. "You almost ready?"
"Just finishing up," I call back, my voice steadier than I feel.
"Your dad's getting antsy. You know how he is about being fashionably late to his own events."
I can hear the smile in her voice, and it helps center me. Some things never change, like Dad's impatience and Mom's gentle teasing.
"Two minutes," I promise, taking one last look in the mirror.
The woman staring back is both familiar and strange. I've grown up during these two years away. My features have sharpened, lost some of their youthfulness. My eyes hold experiences that the girl who left town couldn't have imagined. But beneath it all, I'm still me.
With a deep breath, I apply a final coat of nude lipstick and open the bathroom door.
Mom's waiting in the hallway, her eyes softening when she sees me. "Oh, sweetheart. You look beautiful."
"Thanks, Mom." I smooth my hands over the fitted black dress nervously. "Not too much?"
"It's perfect." She reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Everyone's going to be so happy to see you."
Downstairs, Dad's pacing by the front door, keys jingling in his hand. He stops when he sees me, his expression shifting from impatience to that look fathers get when they suddenly realize their daughters have grown up.
"There she is," he says gruffly. "Worth the wait."
Dad helps Mom onto his bike, and I climb into my Honda. The boys insisted on escorting me to the clubhouse.
I suspect they're still on edge after learning about my stalker incident.
As we pull away from the house, the rumble of their motorcycles flanking my car is oddly comforting. The short drive to the clubhouse gives me little time to spiral back into anxiety, though my heart rate picks up as we turn onto the familiar road.
The Grim Sinners' compound comes into view, bikes already lined up outside, music and laughter spilling from the open doors. The large brick building with its infamous skull and crossbones sign looms ahead, strings of lights illuminating the parking area.
I park between two Harleys, taking an extra moment to check my lipstick in the rearview mirror. My hand is still trembling slightly.
"You coming, or you planning to live in your car now?" Mason raps on my window. "Hey. They're family. They don't bite."
"I know," I say, opening the door. "It's just been a while."
"Two years isn't that long in MC time." He offers his arm. "Uncle Smiley still tells the same three jokes he's been saying since the beginning of time."
That makes me laugh, and I loop my arm through his gratefully. "Does he still do the one about the biker and the penguin?"
"Every damn time," Mason confirms, guiding me toward the entrance.
The noise hits me first: dozens of conversations, laughter, the thumping bass from the speakers. Then the smell: leather, beer, cigarettes, and the barbecue someone's got going out back. It's so familiar, it makes my chest ache.
As we step inside, and the first person I see is Aunt Brittany, already making her way toward us with open arms.
"There's my girl!" she calls, pulling me into a hug that smells like hairspray and tequila. "I was starting to think you'd changed your mind."
"Just fashionably late," I say, returning her embrace.
When she releases me, I realize the room has quieted. Dozens of eyes are on me, familiar faces from my childhood, members of the club in their cuts, old friends, and women who've known me since I was in diapers.
For a terrifying moment, I'm frozen, unsure what to do under the weight of all that attention.
Then Uncle Derek breaks the silence. "Well, look what LA sent back to us! Even prettier than when she left!"
Just like that, the spell is broken. People surge forward, and I'm engulfed in a wave of hugs, back slaps, and welcome homes.
Women who've watched me grow up exclaim over my hair, my dress, how I've "filled out in all the right places.
" Older members of the club tell me how much they've missed me, how the place hasn't been the same.
I'm passed from person to person like a cherished relic, everyone wanting their moment to reconnect.
Some faces show genuine joy, others curious about what brought me back.
A few of the younger club members I don't recognize eye me with interest that makes me uncomfortable until my brothers materialize at my side, their presence enough to redirect those gazes elsewhere.
Through it all, I'm scanning the crowd for one particular face.
"He's not here yet," a familiar voice says close to my ear.
I turn to find Lani, her red hair styled in perfect waves, her smile knowing. She's wearing a green dress that makes her eyes pop, and she looks so much like the girl I left behind that it makes my heart squeeze.
"Who?" I ask innocently, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrays me.
"Don't play dumb." She laughs, pulling me into a tight hug. "It doesn't suit you."
"I missed you," I say into her hair, fighting sudden tears. Weekly video calls weren't the same as having my best friend beside me.
"Missed you more," she replies, pulling back to study my face. "You good? Really good?"
The question carries weight beyond simple politeness. Lani knows about the stalker, about the real reason I left LA so abruptly. I called her the night it happened, terrified and alone.
"I'm getting there," I answer honestly. "Being home helps."
Dad's voice booms over the crowd. "All right, all right! Everyone grab a drink. Time to officially welcome my daughter home!"
Someone presses a soda into my hand as the crowd forms a loose circle. Dad stands in the center, his arm around Mom.
"Two years ago, my stubborn daughter decided she needed to see what life was like beyond this MC town," he begins, his voice carrying easily over the quieted room. "And while her mother and I supported her—"
"Eventually," Mom interjects with a smile, earning laughs from the crowd.
"Eventually," Dad concedes, "we always knew she'd find her way back home."
His eyes find mine with emotion he rarely displays in public.
"Livie, you've made us proud out there in the world. But we're even prouder to have you back where you belong." He raises his beer. "To Livie, our daughter, sister, niece, and friend. Welcome home, baby girl."
"To Livie!" the crowd echoes, glasses and bottles raised.
The surge of love I feel is overwhelming. These people, extended, complicated, fiercely loyal, are family and have always been my foundation. How could I have stayed away for so long?
As the toast ends and conversations resume, the clubhouse door swings open. The crowd shifts, making way for the new arrivals, and my breath catches in my throat.
Greyson Reed stands in the doorway, flanked by several men wearing Devil Souls cuts.
He's taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, his dark hair slightly longer.
The boyish good looks I recalled have hardened into something more defined, more commanding.
His eyes scan the room with the practiced assessment of someone used to taking in every detail at once.
Then those blue eyes land on me, and everything else fades away.
Two years disappear in an instant. I'm eighteen again, stealing glances across crowded rooms, pretending not to notice when he noticed me.
Except we're not those people anymore. I'm not that girl, and he's not that boy. He's the president of the Devil Souls MC now, and I'm…
I'm still staring at him like an idiot, my soda halfway to my lips, frozen in place.
Lani's elbow in my ribs breaks the spell. "Breathe," she whispers, amusement clear in her voice.
I inhale sharply, suddenly aware that I'd been holding my breath. Greyson's mouth curves, the same slight lift at one corner that used to make my teenage heart race. Still does, apparently.
My heart leaps into my throat. I resist the urge to check my hair or straighten my dress, forcing myself to stay still, to appear composed even as my pulse hammers wildly.
"Livie."
His voice is deep, with a rough edge that sends a shiver down my spine. I turn slowly, meeting those blue eyes directly for what feels like the first time.
"Greyson." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, though I can hear the slight breathiness that betrays my nerves.
He's closer now, close enough that I catch the scent of leather and something distinctly masculine that makes my stomach flutter. The noise of the party continues around us, but it feels muted, like we're in our own bubble.
"Welcome home," he says, and there's something in his tone. Relief, maybe? Or something deeper that I don't dare name.
"Thank you." I take a sip of my drink, needing something to do with my hands. "Congratulations on taking over the club. Dad mentioned it in passing."
A shadow crosses his features. "Yeah, well. Time moves on."
There's an awkward beat of silence, filled with all the things we're not saying. Two years of distance, of carefully maintained boundaries, of pretending the pull between us didn't exist.
"You look good." His eyes do a quick sweep that makes heat bloom in my cheeks. "LA treated you well."