Chapter Thirteen
ELIZABETH
New Year’s Eve Morning
While the club celebrated the festivities in its own way, I spent Christmas with my parents. I had a couple of days away from the club, but I am back just in time to watch the guys gear up for their annual toy run.
I did ask Ro why they give out the toys after Christmas on New Year’s Eve, and she told me that December is already jam-packed with events, rides, and charity runs.
Holding it on New Year’s Eve means less competition with other toy drives and Christmas commitments.
It allows the club to stand out with its own unique tradition rather than blending into the sea of December charity rides.
The ride becomes a final year-end gathering—a mix of charity and celebration before the big New Year’s party or lockdown at the clubhouse.
It makes sense that they want to stand out, and it’s also a way to drag out the end-of-year cheer for the kids. Yet another way the club is making itself look like the good guys.
I stand back, shaking my head with a genuine smile as the rumble of Harleys warming up in the parking lot vibrates through the clubhouse walls, a sound that’s become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.
I stand at the clubhouse window, watching the brothers gear up for their annual toy run, their leather cuts gleaming in the morning sun.
The sight should fill me with warmth, watching these rough men prepare to bring joy to underprivileged children, but instead, my stomach churns with guilt.
Today is the day. While they’re out spreading cheer, I’ll be betraying their trust.
A sharp pain shoots through my temples, and I press my palm against my forehead, wincing. The stress of the last few weeks has been building, and now it feels like someone’s driving nails into my skull.
“You all right there, Lizzie?” Ro’s voice startles me from my internal turmoil.
I turn to find her watching me with concern, her usually wild hair tamed into small braids for the ride. She looks every inch the biker’s club girl in her leather and denim, but her eyes hold genuine warmth.
“Just a migraine starting,” I say, the lie sliding off my tongue easier than it should. “I don’t want it to get worse before the New Year’s Eve party tonight.”
Ro frowns, stepping closer. “That sucks. Maybe you should rest up, make sure you’re fighting fit for the festivities?” Before I can respond, her voice carries across the common room. “Sin! Lizzie’s got a migraine. She should sit the ride out, don’t you think?”
My heart lurches as Sin appears in the doorway, his mismatched eyes immediately finding mine.
Even in the morning light, he’s devastating to look at, his dark hair slightly tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
The memory of his mouth on me, his hands claiming every inch of my skin, three nights ago, floods back with devastating clarity.
“You wanna go home, get some rest before the party tonight, wildcat?” he asks, sauntering toward me with that swagger he is known for.
“Don’t be silly,” Ro continues, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. “No point driving home when you feel like shit, right, Pres?”
Sin’s gaze holds mine for a long, charged moment. I easily see the war playing out behind his eyes, the same push and pull that’s been driving us both crazy for weeks. Finally, his expression softens, and he gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.
But then Ro widens her eyes like she’s remembered something. “Oh shit, I just put the sheets in the room you’ve been staying in, in the washer… so the bed isn’t made up. Fuck I’m sorry, Lizzie!”
I go to wave it off like it’s no bother, but Sin cuts in before I can say anything. “You can sleep in my room while we’re gone.”
The offer hits me like a physical blow.
His room.
His bed.
“Thank you,” I manage, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the typhoon of emotions swirling inside me.
He simply dips his chin, then turns, walking back to his men to continue to prepare for their day of spending time with kids in need. I don’t know what it is about knowing that Sin spends the day of New Year’s Eve helping needy children, but it makes me weak for him.
And that is bad.
Really fucking bad.
It’s why I can’t go on this ride with them.
It’s why I can’t see it in action, because knowing it is one thing, it’s already messing with my head, but seeing them giving out toys to children, witnessing the joy on those kids’ faces and the happiness that these alpha bikers are bringing them—that Sin is bringing them—would completely crumble any strength I have left.
And I am here with a job to do, and so far, I am not doing it well.
Within minutes, the club is mounting up.
The sound of engines revving fills the air, a symphony of power and rebellion.
I watch from the doorway as Sin throws his leg over his Harley, the machine purring beneath him like a caged beast. For just a moment, his eyes find mine across the parking lot, and something passes between us.
Something that makes my chest tighten and my pulse race.
He signals to Liam, who moves into position at the gate.
He props himself there like he is ready for a long haul station at the clubhouse gate, and then, without hesitation, the rest of the club revs their bikes and takes off, disappearing in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes, leaving me alone with my guilt and my mission.
My heart hammers in my chest. I weakly smile at Liam, and he dips his head at me, then settles into his position.
I don’t think he’s moving for anything. I spin and make my way inside, making sure to close the clubhouse door so I will know if Liam enters the clubhouse or not.
But for now, there’s no one in here but me and my racing thoughts.
I wait a full ten minutes, listening to the silence settle around me like a shroud.
My hands shake as I pour myself a glass of water, trying to steady my nerves.
The migraine wasn’t entirely a lie, the stress is building to a crescendo behind my eyes.
Finally, I can’t put it off any longer.
Sin’s room feels sacred and forbidden as I step inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The space is surprisingly neat, masculine, and understated.
A king-sized bed dominates the room, the sheets still rumpled from where he’d slept.
The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mixed with something uniquely him that makes my knees weak.
Quickly glancing at the door to make sure Liam isn’t here, he’s not, so I force myself to focus, moving methodically through the space.
Sin’s dresser reveals nothing but clothes and the usual male accessories.
The nightstand holds a book on motorcycle repair and a photograph that makes my blood freeze.
It’s Sin with a woman, both of them smiling at the camera with genuine happiness. She’s beautiful in a classic way, with long brunette hair and delicate features. But it’s the way he’s looking at her in the image that guts me. It’s like she hung the moon and stars just for him.
This must be Rebekka, his ex.
The woman who shattered him so completely that he can barely let himself feel anything for anyone else.
Jealousy, sharp and unexpected, slices through me.
I hate that I care.
I hate that seeing him happy with someone else makes me feel like I’m drowning.
But most of all, I hate that I’m standing here feeling jealous of a dead relationship when I’m supposed to be investigating him for my brother’s murder.
Marcus.
I have to remember why I’m here.
I’m not here to get lost in Sin’s eyes. I’m not here to feel the warmth of these people or to let myself be lulled by the loyalty that runs through this clubhouse like blood.
I’m here to find the truth.
To find justice for Marcus.
I scan the rest of Sin’s room one last time, but there’s nothing useful. No smoking guns, no evidence of illegal activity. Just the life of a man who’s locked himself off behind steel and leather, whose secrets don’t spill easily.
That should be my cue to leave.
To play it safe.
But the moment stretches, heavy with possibility.
Because I know what comes next.
The tech den.
Ghost’s domain.
The heart of their operation.
The walk feels longer than it should, every step echoing like a warning. When I finally stop in front of Ghost’s door, the keypad glows green, its numbers waiting for me like a dare.
My stomach lurches with nausea. This is it. This is the line I can’t uncross.
I hover, my palms sweating, my heart battering my ribs. If I open this door and someone catches me, Ghost, Sin, hell, any of them, there’s no talking my way out of it.
I’ll be done.
Worse than done.
I squeeze my eyes shut, Marcus’ face flashing through my mind. His laugh. His stubborn streak. The empty space he left behind.
You came here for me. Don’t you dare back out now.
But then Sin’s face rises to meet his, Sin the man, not the president. Sin with soot-streaked skin and eyes that soften when he looks at me. Sin, who kisses me like I matter. My throat closes, guilt gnawing deep.
How can I betray him like this?
How can I betray all of them?
I take a step back, shaking my head.
Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe this is too far?
My hand presses against my chest, trying to steady the frantic beat. One more breath. One more chance to walk away.
I glance at the clubhouse doors to make sure Liam is nowhere to be seen, and then, I force myself forward.
With fingers trembling, I press the first number.
5
My breath shudders out.
2
My hand falters, hovering over the next button. This is insane. I should stop. I should. But I don’t. I finish the sequence, each number like a hammer pounding a nail into my coffin.
7-8-9-1
For a terrifying moment, nothing happens. My knees nearly buckle from the sheer relief of failure.
Then the lock clicks.
And I’m in.