Chapter Twenty-One
SIN
“Should we?” Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “Because I’m not sure what’s left to say. You told me about Marcus Delaney. About the corruption. About Rourke. I said I wouldn’t print anything that could compromise what needs to happen. Where does that leave us?”
“Somewhere complicated,” I admit, closing the distance until I’m standing beside her. Close enough to feel her body heat, to smell her shampoo mixed with the lingering scent of the clubhouse.
She finally looks at me, and the vulnerability in her eyes guts me.
“I came here thinking I’d write a story about a motorcycle club.
Maybe find some colorful characters, some interesting angles.
But this?” She shakes her head. “This is police corruption. Trafficking. Murder. A cover-up that goes to the top. This is the kind of story that could get me killed, Sin.”
“It could,” I say honestly. “Which is why you need to be careful who you trust.”
“Like you?” She turns to face me fully, challenge in her eyes.
“Should I trust you, Sin? Because a few weeks ago, I wasn’t sure.
Now you’re handing me information that could bring down a police captain.
Either you’re the most trustworthy person I’ve met in Vegas, or this is the most elaborate setup in history. ”
The air between us feels charged, heavy with all the things we’re not saying. The attraction that’s been building like a storm. The danger that surrounds us both. The line between truth and lies that gets blurrier every day.
I reach out and cup her jaw with one hand. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second.
“You want to know if you can trust me?” My voice is rough, weighted.
“Here’s the truth… I don’t trust easy. Neither do you.
But what I told you in that Chapel about Marcus Delaney?
That’s real. The corruption is real. Rourke is real.
And the fact that I’m standing here, risking everything to help you expose it?
That should tell you something, wildcat. ”
Her eyes flicker open, searching mine like she’s trying to see past the mask I keep locked tight. “Why? Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”
“Justice for a kid who deserved better,” I say, the honesty scraping raw in my throat.
“A chance to take down a corrupt cop who’s been a thorn in our side for years.
” I hesitate, then let the truth fall between us, heavy and unignorable.
“And maybe…” My thumb grazes across her cheekbone, soft against the desert chill.
“Maybe a chance to see if this thing between us is as real as it feels.”
The words hang suspended between us, fragile, electric. The wind sweeps through the rooftop, lifting strands of her hair that catch the dim light, framing her face like fire. Her lips part, but no sound comes out, only her ragged breath.
I should step back.
But I don’t.
Neither does she.
The silence is thick, weighted with everything we haven’t said.
My gaze drops to her mouth, lingering there.
Her pulse flutters in her throat, and I feel the tension crackling like static, pulling us closer.
My hand cups her jaw, fingers sliding back into her hair.
She leans into the touch, and that small surrender is the breaking point.
By the time I lower my head, she’s already rising onto her toes.
The first brush of her mouth against mine is tentative, testing, but then it ignites.
Her kiss deepens, raw and hungry, like a wild animal.
Like a wildcat. She grips my cut, tugging me closer, and I back her against the wall, my body locking her in like I couldn’t let her go if I tried.
She tastes like coffee and sugar, and when she moans against my lips, the sound rips through me, shattering every wall I’ve built. My hands grip her hips, pulling her tight against me. Sparks scatter down my spine as she arches into me, heat searing through the thin line where our bodies meet.
“Sin,” she breathes, her lips brushing mine. And fuck, the way she says my name, like it’s both a curse and a prayer, undoes me completely.
I spin us, pressing her back harder against the commercial AC unit, my mouth moving to her neck. She tilts her head, giving me access, her pulse racing against my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” I growl against her skin. “Tell me this is a bad idea, and I’ll walk away right now.”
Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me groan. “I can’t,” she admits, her voice wrecked. “I should, but I can’t.”
My hand slides up her side, thumbing the underside of her breast through her shirt. She gasps, her hips rolling against mine, and I’m about to lose what’s left of my restraint.
“Pres!” Ghost’s voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water. “Need you downstairs. We got a situation.”
Elizabeth and I freeze, our breathing harsh and uneven in the sudden quiet. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and I know I look just as wrecked.
“Fuck,” I mutter, resting my forehead against hers. “Worst timing ever.”
“Or best. Because the way I want you scares me more than all the bullets I’ve faced this week,” she whispers, her breath still unsteady.
“I don’t give a fuck if it scares you,” I growl, tilting her face up to mine. “You want me, wildcat. That’s all that matters.”
Her lips part, her voice barely more than a whisper. “And that’s what terrifies me, Sin… because I know I shouldn’t.”
I cup her face with both hands, forcing her to hold my gaze. “This isn’t over, Elizabeth. Not by a long shot.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“Sin!” Ghost yells again, more urgent this time.
I step back, adjusting my cut, trying to get my body and insanely hard cock under control. Elizabeth’s cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from my kiss, and she looks thoroughly debauched. It’s a fucking good look on her.
“Go,” she says, smoothing down her shirt. “I’ll be down soon. I just need a minute…” She gestures vaguely at herself.
I nod, but before I go, I lean in one more time, pressing a softer kiss to her forehead. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”
“Promise?” There’s vulnerability in the question that makes my chest tight.
“I promise.”
Downstairs, Ghost is waiting for me, his expression grim. “Sorry to interrupt, but we got intel you need to see.”
“What kind of intel?”
“The kind that says the Alliance is planning something bigger than the clubhouse attack. And Rourke’s fingerprints are all over it.”
My jaw clenches. “Chapel. Now. Get everyone.”
As Ghost moves to round up the brothers, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Nitro, leaning against the bar, is watching me with an unreadable expression.
“Let me guess,” he says as I approach. “You were on the roof with her.”
“Not now, Nitro.”
“When then?” He pushes off the bar, blocking my path. “When are we gonna talk about how you’re letting your cock make decisions for the club?”
I step in close, my voice dropping to a dangerous level.
“You want to question me? Fine. Do it in Church, with the brothers. But don’t you ever suggest I put this club at risk for anything or anyone.
I’ve bled for this patch. I’ve killed for it.
And I’d die for it. So, watch your fucking tone, brother. ”
We stare at each other for a long moment, tension crackling between us.
Finally, Nitro backs down, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m just looking out for you, Pres. That’s my job as your VP.”
“I know,” I say, my voice softening a fraction. “And I appreciate it. But trust me on this one. Elizabeth’s the key to ending this whole mess. We need her.”
“And what do you need?” he asks quietly. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you need her for more than just taking down Rourke. And once this is all said and done, will she still be there for you if you want her?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Or maybe I do, and I’m just not ready to admit it yet.
Before I can respond, Deek appears, grinning like a maniac. “Nitro, my man, you going back out on Uber patrol tonight?”
Nitro shrugs, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah, man. Gets me out of my head. Open road, even in a car, clears my mind. Plus, I get to call in and see Queenie.”
His grandmother.
The one person, besides this club, that Nitro would do anything for.
“When are you heading out?” I ask.
“After Church. Figure I’ll clear my head before things get crazier.”
“Be careful out there,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “World’s a dangerous place for us at the moment.”
He grins, some of his usual swagger returning. “I’m a dangerous man, Pres. World should be scared of me.”
***
Later that night, after another Church session, after more planning and strategizing, I find myself alone in my room. The clubhouse has finally settled, and the brothers either passed out or gone home. Elizabeth is in her room down the hall, but I feel her presence like a phantom limb.
Moving to my desk, I pull out the file we have on Marcus Delaney. It’s not much, a few photographs, some background information, the official accident report that’s worth less than the paper it’s printed on.
But there’s one image I keep coming back to.
Marcus is on his bike, grinning at the camera with fire in his eyes. He looks happy. Alive. Unaware that in a few short weeks, his life would be stolen by a corrupt cop with too much power and no conscience.
I run my thumb over the photograph, feeling the weight of promises made and kept. We couldn’t save Marcus. But maybe we can expose the truth about what happened to him. Maybe we can give him the justice he deserves, even if it’s too late.
The poker chip emerges from my pocket again, moving through my fingers in the dark. My mother gave it to me when I was just a kid, told me to keep it as a reminder that sometimes you have to gamble everything to get what you really want.
I’ve been gambling with this club since I took the gavel.
Gambling with our reputation, our safety, our very existence.
And now I’m gambling with something even more dangerous—my heart.
Because somewhere between Elizabeth walking through our doors and tonight on that roof, something shifted.
The game changed. And I’m no longer sure if I’m playing to win or if I’ve already lost.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket, casually glancing at the screen.
Ghost: Alliance on the move. Surveillance confirms meeting with Rourke tomorrow. Location TBD.
I type back quickly.
Me: Keep me posted. And Ghost… good work!
Setting the phone down, I look at Marcus’ picture one more time. “We’ll get him,” I say to the image, to his memory, to whatever’s left of the man who should have lived. “Rourke’s gonna pay for what he did. That’s a promise.”
The chip clicks between my knuckles, a familiar rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat in the quiet room.
Outside my window, the Vegas lights paint the sky in shades of neon and sin.
This city has always been about gambling, about risk, about putting it all on the line for a chance at something better.
I’ve been playing it safe for too long. Protecting the club, maintaining order, keeping everyone at arm’s length.
But Elizabeth Hale, whoever she really is underneath all those layers, has made me want to bet it all again.
To risk everything for the chance at something real.
And maybe that makes me a fool.
Maybe that makes me reckless.
But for the first time in years, I feel something other than duty and obligation.
I feel hope.
And that’s the most dangerous gamble of all.