24. Angel
The air in the clubhouse is exactly as I remember it: a heavy, intoxicating blend of stale beer, motor oil, and the lingering scent of exhaust. It should feel like home, but as I walk through the double doors, my heart is hammering against my ribs so hard I’m afraid it’ll bruise.
Damien’s hand is a warm, solid weight locked with mine.
He doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t tuck his thumb away or try to keep a respectful distance.
He holds me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip.
Every step we take onto the scuffed hardwood floor feels like a declaration of war.
We aren’t even ten feet into the common room when Shade steps out from the kitchen, a bottle of water in his hand.
He freezes for a second, his eyes dropping to our joined hands, and then a slow, predatory grin spreads across his face.
He looks far too relaxed for a man about to witness a nuclear explosion.
“Welcome back,” Shade says, leaning against the doorframe. He looks at Damien, then at me, his eyes dancing with mischief. “The bags made it. Oh and Ghost? Good luck with dad.”
I narrow my eyes at my brother, my jaw tightening. “Thanks for the support, Shade. And thank you so much for not mentioning anything to dad. Real team player, you are.”
Shade just chuckles, taking a slow sip of water. “Hey, some things a man has to see for himself. I wasn’t about to rob him of the surprise.”
Damien doesn’t take the bait. He just leans down and presses a firm, lingering kiss to my temple. It’s a silent reassurance, a way of telling me he’s not going anywhere, no matter how loud the yelling gets.
“It’s okay, baby,” he rumbles, his voice low and steady.
“What is okay?”
The voice cracks through the room like a whip. My stomach drops into my shoes. I turn, my breath catching in my throat.
My father is standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the infirmary.
As the club’s medic, my dad carries a different kind of weight.
He’s the man who patches the brothers up, the man who knows everyone’s secrets and scars.
He’s spent his life stitching people together, but right now, he looks like he’s ready to tear someone apart.
He looks at us, his eyes darting from my face to Damien’s, and then they land on our hands. His face turns a shade of purple I’ve only ever seen in comic books.
“What the fuck is this?” he demands, stepping forward. His voice isn’t loud yet, but it’s vibrating with a lethal kind of confusion. “Why are you holding her like that?”
I open my mouth to speak, to try and soften the blow, but Damien beats me to it. He doesn’t flinch.
“We’re married, Doc,” Damien says.
The silence that follows is deafening. Even the guys at the pool table in the corner stop moving. Shade’s grin vanishes, replaced by a look of here we go.
“We went to the clerk’s office in LA yesterday,” Damien continues, his voice devoid of apology. “I love her and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with her. She’s my wife now.”
Dad looks like he’s having a stroke. He sputters, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“Married? You... you took my daughter to a government building and tied her to you? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
He rounds on me, his eyes wide and frantic.
“Angel, you were supposed to be in London! You were supposed to be studying, building a life away from this... away from all of this!”
“Something happened, Dad,” I say, my voice trembling but rising to meet his. “I couldn’t stay there. It wasn’t safe.”
The anger in his face flickers for a fraction of a second, replaced by the instinctive concern of a father and a medic. He scans my face, his eyes narrowing as he spots the faint, fading yellowish marks on my neck that the makeup couldn’t quite hide.
“Something happened?” he repeats, his voice dropping an octave. “Are you okay? Did someone touch you?”
“I’m not okay,” I admit, the honesty hurting more than I thought it would. I squeeze Damien’s hand. “But I will be. Ghost helped. He saved me, Dad.”
“Ghost helped?” Dad lets out a harsh, bitter laugh that sets my teeth on edge. He steps into Damien’s space, pointing a finger at his chest. “I don’t care if he flew across the sun for you. Absolutely not. I will not accept this. I will not have my daughter tied to a man who is as broken as he is.”
My heart breaks for Damien as I watch his expression go stone-cold.
“I know you, Ghost,” Dad spits. “I saw you at Onyx.You’re fucked up, son. You’re a great enforcer, but you’re a hollow shell of a man. You have no business being a husband to anyone, let alone my little girl.”
“Dad, stop it!” I scream, the tears finally stinging my eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know him like I do!”
“I know him better than you think,” Dad bellows, turning his back on us. “This isn’t a marriage. It’s a mistake. And I’m not going to sit here and watch him drag you down into whatever dark hole he lives in.”
He storms out toward the back exit, the heavy door slamming behind him with a force that rattles the windows.
The silence returns, but this time it’s suffocating. I feel small, exposed, and utterly crushed. The high of our two days’ honeymoon has evaporated, leaving me standing in the middle of the clubhouse feeling like a wounded animal.
Damien doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t yell back, and he doesn’t try to defend himself.
He just stands there, his jaw locked so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
I can see the walls he worked so hard to tear down in the hotel trying to slam back into place.
He looks like Ghost again—the cold, unfeeling shadow.
I turn to him, my eyes blurred with tears. “Damien...”
He doesn’t look at the brothers watching us. He doesn’t look at Shade, who is now looking down at the floor, uncomfortable. He just looks at me. The hardness in his eyes softens just a fraction when he sees my unshed tears.
He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that isn’t about passion. It’s about survival. It’s him telling me that even if the whole world—even my own father—is against us, he is still my anchor.
“Come on,” he whispers against my mouth.
He doesn’t lead me to the guest rooms. He leads me down the hallway to the back of the clubhouse, to the heavy door that marks his private quarters. He opens the door and ushers me inside, clicking the lock behind us.
The room is dark, smelling of leather and the same vanilla scent I’ve carried with me since London. It’s his sanctuary, and now, it’s ours.
I turn to him as soon as we’re alone, a sob breaking from my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Damien pulls me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin.
“He’s right about one thing,” Damien murmurs into my hair.
“I am fucked up, Angel. I am a wreck.” He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his thumb wiping a tear from my cheek.
“But I’m your wreck. And I’m never letting you go. He can stay angry as long as he wants, but he can’t change the fact that you’re mine now.”
I lean into him, the sadness still there, but the anger starting to solidify into something else. Determination.
“Now, lie down,” he says, kissing my forehead. “You’ve had enough for one day.”
He guides me to his bed—a simple, large mattress with dark sheets—and settles me in. He doesn’t leave. He climbs in beside me, his large body a shield against the rest of the world. In the quiet of his room, with the muffled sounds of the clubhouse far away, I finally feel like I can breathe again.
My father might hate us, but here, in the dark, I know exactly who Damien Mercer is. And that’s all that matters.