26. Angel
I’m standing in the backyard of the clubhouse, wrapped in one of Damien’s oversized hoodies, watching the sunrise bleed over the Seaview horizon.
Usually, the holidays are a time of loud, chaotic warmth at the Broken Halos clubhouse, but this year, there’s a persistent chill that has nothing to do with the weather.
My father.
He still hasn’t come around. He’s civil enough when he has to be—he is a medic, after all, and professional to a fault—but he treats Damien like a ghost in the literal sense.
He looks through him, walks around him, and speaks to me in a voice so strained it sounds like a violin string about to snap.
It hurts, a dull ache in the center of my chest, but it doesn’t change anything.
I am a Mercer now. I live in Damien’s room, our lives tangled together in a mess of dark sheets, half-packed boxes, and the blueprints of the house we’re looking to buy.
I look down at the heavy denim vest draped over the chair beside me. My property cut.
I remember being a kid, sitting on the clubhouse steps and watching the women move through the common room.
I’d watch the sunlight catch the silver hardware of their vests, the way the leather hugged their frames, and most of all, the patch on the back.
Property of... followed by a name that commanded respect.
To most people, it sounds archaic, maybe even degrading.
But I grew up seeing the old ladies wearing those cuts as a badge of honor.
It was a shield. It meant you were cherished, protected, and part of the soul of the club.
I spent a decade dreaming of wearing one with Ghost on the back, and now, I do.
Damien had it made a few days after we got back.
He didn’t make a big show of it; he just walked into the room, tossed it onto the bed, and watched me with those intense, silver-grey eyes as I ran my fingers over the embroidery.
It’s a weight I’m proud to carry. It tells the world I belong to the most dangerous man in this zip code, and he belongs to me.
But there’s a nagging weight in my mind that even the cut can’t alleviate.
I need to go to Onyx.
The thought has been circling my brain for weeks, a persistent itch I can’t scratch.
Before London, before Brian, I enjoyed the lifestyle.
I liked the intensity of a BDSM environment; I liked the theater of it, the clear boundaries, the way it made the world feel sharp and focused.
But since I’ve been back, Damien has treated me like I’m made of fine china.
He’s been incredible, but I know his history.
I know how deeply involved he was in the Onyx scene.
And I’m terrified that eventually, the careful version of our sex life will bore him. I’m scared he’ll start looking at the doors of Onyx with a hunger I can’t satisfy because he thinks I’m too broken to handle the dark.
I find him in our room, sitting on the edge of the bed as he pulls on his boots. He looks up when I enter, and the hardness in his face immediately softens. It’s a transition that still makes my heart skip.
“You’re up early, baby,” he rumbles, standing up and pulling me into the crook of his arm.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say, my voice a little too tight. I pull back just enough to look him in the eye. “I want you to take me to Onyx tonight.”
The change in him is instantaneous. The warmth vanishes, replaced by a wall of granite. He shuts it down before I can even take another breath.
“No,” he says. Just like that. A flat, final word that leaves no room for negotiation.
“Damien, listen—”
“I said no, Angel. You aren’t setting foot in that place. Not after London. Not after what that prick did to you.” He turns away, grabbing his keys from the nightstand.
“I’m not a child!” I snap, my frustration boiling over.
I grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “I know why you’re doing this. You think you’re protecting me, but you’re actually just cutting off a part of who I am. I used to enjoy that environment, Damien. Before Brian.. I liked the club. I liked the energy.”
His eyes flash with something dark—a low, animalistic growl vibrating in his chest. The mention of me having a history, of experiencing that world with anyone but him, clearly hits a nerve. “You liked it,” he repeats, his voice a dangerous rasp.
“It wasn’t like that, and you know it,” I say, refusing to flinch.
“But I’m worried about you. I know that scene is your release. I know you need that control. You told me yourself you can’t be dominated. I’m scared that if we stay in this safe bubble forever, you’re going to grow bored of me. You’re going to miss the heat of the club,
and you’re going to start resenting me for being the reason you can’t go.”
Damien sighs, a long, heavy sound. He steps into my space, his hands coming up to cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks with a tenderness that contradicts the intensity in his gaze.
“Angel, look at me,” he commands. “I went to Onyx because I was starving for a control I didn’t have in the rest of my life. It was a way to vent the pressure. But I don’t have that need anymore. You are my peace. Holding you, being inside you,
having you carry my name—that’s all the control I’ll ever need. I’m not going to get bored.”
“I believe you,” I whisper. “But I want this for me, too. I want to face it. I don’t want Brian to be the reason I never see the inside of a club again. I want to be there with my husband. I want to reclaim that part of myself.”
He stares at me for a long time, his jaw working as he battles with his own protective instincts. I can see the part of him that wants to lock me in this room and throw away the key, but the man who loves me is starting to listen.
“I’ll consider it,” he finally grunts, though he looks like the words were pulled out with pliers. “But if we go, we stay in the private lounge. And the second you look uncomfortable, we’re out the door. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say, biting my lip. A small spark of victory lights up my chest, and the word Sir sends a visible jolt through him.
His eyes go dark, the pupils swallowing the grey until they are nothing but twin pits of obsidian.
He crowds me back against the doorframe, his hand moving from my face to my throat in a grip that isn’t meant to hurt, but to claim.
His thumb presses firmly against the pulse point under my jaw, feeling the frantic, rhythmic jump of my heart.
His other hand slides down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans and pulling me flush against the hard, undeniable evidence of his arousal.
“Careful, baby,” he growls, his face inches from mine, his scent overwhelming my senses. “You have no idea how close I am to showing you exactly why I don’t want you in that club. I don’t want to share the sight of you like this. I want you on your knees in this room, and—”
Just then, the sharp, jarring ring of my phone breaks the tension.
Damien stiffens, his forehead resting against mine for a heartbeat as he fights for control. He lets out a ragged, frustrated exhale before slowly releasing his grip, though his eyes remain fixed on me with a possessive heat that promises we are far from finished.
I pull the phone out of my pocket, my fingers trembling as I look at the screen. My brows furrow when I see the caller ID.
“It’s Oliver,” I say, my heart skipping a beat. Oliver doesn’t call.
I slide the answer bar and immediately hear the chaos on the other end.
“Ollie? What’s going on?” I ask, my voice rising. I hit the speaker button so Damien can hear.
“Angel... I can’t stay here,” Oliver’s voice is frantic, jumping an octave. I hit the speaker button so Damien can hear. “I thought... I thought we were clean. But people are asking questions. The police... and the friends of... of him.”
Damien’s entire posture shifts. He goes from the man who was about to devour me back to a predator protecting his pack in a millisecond. He leans over the phone, his eyes narrowing into slits of cold steel.
“Oliver,” Damien says, his voice a commanding rumble. “Slow down. Talk to me. Who exactly is asking questions?”
“The police brought me in this morning,” Oliver chokes out, and I can hear the sound of a suitcase zipper frantically being pulled. “They’re looking at me for that night. For what happened to... him.”
The word hangs in the air, heavy and lethal. Oliver doesn’t have to say Brian’s name. We all know what he means. The line is likely bugged, and he’s dancing around the truth with a desperation that makes my skin crawl.
“I came home and my flat had been tossed,” Oliver continues, his voice thin and reedy. “Bloody tossed. Someone was looking for something. I.. I have nowhere to go.”
My heart aches for him. Oliver is the most normal person I know, and he put his entire future on the line to help us. To help me.
“You’re coming here,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. I look at Damien, and he nods once, a sharp, decisive movement. “Ollie, listen to me. I’m going to have Slayer—he’s our tech guy—book you a ticket right now. You’re going to be on a flight to LAX in a couple of hours.”
“Are you sure?” Oliver asks, his voice sounding smaller, younger. “I don’t want to bring trouble to your door.”
“You helped my wife.” Damien says, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man who looks ready to go to war. “You’re family now. We protect our own. We’ll get you a plane ticket and we’ll be at the gate waiting for you.”
“Okay,” Oliver breathes, a sob of relief catching in his throat. “Okay. Thank you.”
“I’ll go find Slayer,” Damien says, already moving toward the door.
The holiday spirit is gone, replaced by the grim reality of the life we lead. But as I watch Damien walk down the hallway to protect my friend, I realize that this is exactly why I wanted that property cut.
We aren’t just a couple. We’re a unit. And whatever is coming across the ocean to find us, it’s going to have to get through the Broken Halos first.