Chapter 1
Chapter One
Aero
I knew when I took the position of President that running my own chapter wouldn’t be easy.
Capone and I talked about it at length when he gave me the news that Jameson had appointed me to lead this chapter, with his blessing and full support.
But no conversation, no amount of planning, prepared me for it being this fucking hard.
The weight of leadership isn’t just about making the right calls, keeping the club strong, or making sure no one steps out of line.
It’s not even about the endless fights, the threats that never stop coming, or the enemies waiting for us to slip.
Those I can handle. That’s the job. That’s what I signed up for. But this?
This is something else entirely.
Lacey moves on the makeshift dance floor, her body swaying to the slow thrum of music pulsing through the clubhouse speakers. She’s not dancing for anyone in particular, but the way she moves has every man in the room stealing a glance. Some are more blatant than others.
I see it. I feel it. The low hum of tension rolling through me like a slow-building storm. And I fucking hate it.
My dog, Dog, is glued to her side, his eyes locked on her like he’s appointed himself her personal bodyguard.
He’s never been like that with anyone but me.
Loyal to a fault, never straying, always a shadow at my side since the day I found him outside the clubhouse and took him in.
But that dumb dog follows Lacey around like she hung the damn moon.
It rubs me the wrong way. Not because Dog’s protective. No, that part I understand. I trust his instincts more than most people I know. It’s because I know exactly why he’s so damn attached to her.
The same reason my fists clench every time another man so much as looks in her direction. The same reason my gut tightens when she laughs, the sound wrapping around me like a fucking vice.
Possession.
Mine.
The thought is as sharp as a blade, cutting through the wall I’ve spent months building between us.
When I first met Lacey, she was working with Emery at the strip club.
She was a damn tease, and she knew it. When she took the stage, I thought I lost my damn mind.
It was like my fantasies had come to life.
Then she looked at me. Danced for me. Every instinct told me to drag her off that stage, away from the hungry stares and crude comments.
But she was too mesmerizing to stop watching, too wild and free in that moment.
And damn it, I enjoyed every second of it.
But once I got my hands on her later that night, I knew nothing would ever be the same.
She was made for me but that doesn’t change a damn thing.
Since then, I’ve spent too many nights with her in my bed, and when she’s not I spend them thinking about her in ways I shouldn’t.
Dog dips his head under the long skirt of Lacey's sundress that’s floating around her ankles causing her to chuckle.
I can’t help but be jealous of the damn needy bastard, who's now got his face between her legs where mine should be. Although I would aim a few feet higher and she wouldn’t be chuckling, she’d be moaning and panting and screaming my name.
The only name that should ever fall from her lips.
I drag in a slow breath, gripping the armrest of my chair as I remind myself that I don’t need this shit. I don’t need her. Lacey is a complication I can’t afford.
The heavy bass of the music hums through the clubhouse, vibrating in my chest as I keep my eyes on Lacey anyways.
She moves like she owns the room, completely unaware of the effect she has on me.
My jaw ticks as I watch another brother glance her way.
Dog shifts at her feet, huffing, like he’s as annoyed as I am.
I grip my beer tighter. This shit needs to stop.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging me out of the cycle of wanting something I can’t have. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
Unknown Number but I already know who it is.
I let it ring out. No fucking way I’m dealing with this shit tonight.
As if I need another reminder that Ritorno Holdings is only days away from reopening the casino that got blown to hell less than six months ago.
Or that Ritorno isn’t just any company. It belongs to Antonio Ricci, a man who built his empire on blood and fear.
Still, I can’t shake the sinking feeling in my gut. My grip tightens around the phone. This isn’t just business for Ricci. It’s personal.
I put the phone down and drag my eyes back to Lacey just in time to see a man get a little too close. His hand brushes her arm, and she turns, laughing at something he said.
I’m on my feet before I even register moving but I don’t make it far before the clubhouse doors swing open.
I take a slow breath, pushing down the possessiveness clawing its way up my throat. Lacey’s not mine. Won’t be. Can’t be. I remind myself of that fact as a group of women steps inside, their presence commanding the attention of the entire club.
The Royal Harlots MC, an all female motorcycle club and sister to the Royal Bastards.
The group is led by Quinn, their president moving with a confidence that demands respect.
The Harlots have their own reputation, their own rules, and they don’t take shit from anyone.
Including us. They’re here as allies, but they don’t need us.
That alone earns them more respect in my book than most men I deal with.
Quinn approaches, her short, messy blonde hair falling loose on top, the shaved sides only making her rebellion look more deliberate, her leather cut fitting snug over a white tank top.
She carries herself with the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be announced.
It’s just there, like a natural extension of who she is.
“Aero.” She inclines her head slightly, her blue-grey eyes locking on me. “Thanks for the invite.”
I nod. “Welcome to the fold. It’s about damn time.”
She smirks. “I’d say the same about you boys getting your heads out of your asses and making the connection.”
Behind her, the other Harlots move toward the bar, unloading cases of beer with their club’s insignia stamped on the labels.
A sugar skull woman with long, dark hair, wearing a golden crown and her face painted in a Dia de los Muertos style, flanking her are two skulls, one on each side surrounded by dark roses and mechanical pistons emphasizing the club’s rebellious biker identity.
“We brought a little something from our brewery,” Quinn says. “Consider it a gift.”
I take a bottle from the nearest case, inspecting the label before popping the cap. I take a long swig. It’s good. Real good.
I nod in approval. “Is this what you were talking about when you said we had business to discuss?”
Quinn crosses her arms. “It is. I figured when your casino is up and running you’ll need a steady supply of liquor. Thought we’d get ahead of it.”
I push the thoughts of Ricci and Lacey aside for now. Business comes first. I glance toward my VP, Grizzly, who’s been listening in. He nods slightly, already seeing the value in the deal.
“Are you looking for an exclusive contract?” I ask.
Quinn shrugs. “Wouldn’t say no. But I’m not here to strong-arm you. Just think it makes sense to keep business in the family.”
I smirk. “Have you ever had to strong-arm anyone into a deal, Quinn?”
She grins. “Only the ones too stupid to see a good thing when it’s right in front of them.”
I chuckle, taking another sip of beer before nodding. “Let’s work it out. We’ll set up a formal sit-down, and get the details on paper but for now let’s just enjoy the party.”
“Looking forward to it.” She tips her chin, then turns to join her crew at the bar.
I lean back in my chair, watching as the Harlots blend into the party, their presence seamlessly folding into the chaos of the club. This alliance will be good for all of us.
Just as my attention falls back to Lacey, a familiar voice cuts through the noise, drawing my focus back to the club.
“Aero! You got a second?”
I straighten, giving Lacey one last look before I glance over to see Emery pushing through the crowd looking more serious than usual.
“What’s up?” I ask as she steps into my space blocking my view of her best friend Lacey. Which I don’t hate because I need a minute to breathe.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says.
I nod. “Go ahead.”
She hesitates, then exhales sharply. “With the insurance money from the strip club, I’ve been thinking about opening that women’s shelter I told you about.”
I tilt my head. “Yeah, I remember. Are you serious about it?”
“Dead serious.” Determination flickers in her eyes. “I just need some help getting started. Finding a location, getting it off the ground. I know the club’s busy with the casino, but…”
“Done.” I don’t let her finish.
Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” I confirm. “We’ll make it happen. I’ll set up a meeting with you and the boys to figure out what you need.”
Emery’s shoulders relax. She’s as tough as they come, but this means something to her.
“Thanks, Aero,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”
I shake my head. “No thanks needed. This club takes care of its own.”
Before she can respond, I nod toward the bar where Quinn is talking with some of my guys. “Come with me.”
She nods, falling in step beside me. “Where?”
“I think I know someone who can help.”
I lead her through the crowd, stopping just beside Quinn, who turns to face me with a raised brow.
“Aero.” She eyes Emery, then looks back at me. “Something I can do for you?”
“This is Emery, Surge’s Ol’ Lady,” I say, gesturing between them. “She’s working on starting a women’s shelter. I figured since that’s part of what your club does, you two should talk.”
Quinn’s expression shifts into curiosity.
She turns fully to Emery, looking her up and down like she’s assessing her.
Emery meets Quinn’s gaze without hesitation, her back straight, shoulders squared.
She’s not the kind to be intimidated, even by someone like Quinn, whose reputation speaks for itself.
“A women’s shelter?” Quinn asks.
Emery nods. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but now I have the funds to actually make it happen. What I don’t have is the connections or the experience to get it off the ground the right way.”
Quinn tilts her head, considering the possibilities. “You running this solo, or you got backing?”
Emery glances at me. “Aero just offered the club’s support.”
Quinn smirks. “Is that so?” She looks back at me. “Didn’t peg you as the charity type.”
I shrug. “It’s not charity. It’s business. The right kind.”
Her smirk widens. “Fair enough.” She turns back to Emery. “If you’re serious, I can put you in touch with the right people, help you avoid the usual pitfalls.”
Emery stays tough, but for a split second, I catch a flicker of relief in her eyes. “That would be… yeah. That would help a lot.”
Quinn studies her for another beat, then nods. “Good. Let’s grab a drink and talk.”
Emery looks at me, and I nod. “You’re in good hands with Quinn.”
She hesitates, like she wants to say something, but instead just gives me a small, appreciative nod before following Quinn toward the bar.
I watch them go, the weight in my chest easing just a little. The casino, the alliances, the club, those are my responsibilities but helping Emery, making sure this shelter happens, that actually matters.
The night wears on, but I don’t move from my seat. My beer’s half-empty, sweat from the bottle dripping onto my fingers, but I barely notice. My attention keeps dragging back to Lacey.
She’s still dancing, still oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I rub a hand over my jaw, exhaling slowly.
She’s not yours. I remind myself of that simple fact again and again, but it doesn’t stick. Not when I watch her move. Not when I see the way other men look at her.
Being President means sacrifice. It means putting the club first, always. It means dealing with the weight of a hundred different problems every damn day. And Lacey is a problem I don’t have room for.
It’s not just that she’s too damn tempting, too easy to want in ways I shouldn’t. It’s what having her would mean.
Weakness.
Not because she is one, but because caring too much makes a man reckless. And I can’t afford recklessness. Not with the casino finally taking shape. Not with the new alliances being forged. Not with enemies circling, waiting for a misstep.
And yet, every time she moves, every time she laughs, every time Dog settles at her feet like he’s staking a claim, I feel that recklessness creeping in.
I drain the rest of my beer and force myself to look away.
There’s work to do. There always is.
The Harlots’ deal needs locking in. The casino needs to get up and running without any complications from Ricci.
The gun shipment coming in next week needs to be handled quietly.
And now, I’ve got a shelter to help get off the ground.
Lacey can’t be another thing added to that list. No matter how much I want her. No matter how much it burns.
I push up from my chair, leaving my empty bottle on the table. Maybe some fresh air will clear my head. Maybe distance will remind me why she can’t be more.
Maybe I’ll finally believe it.