Chapter 2
TWO
JAVIER “REVOLVER” DOMINGO
Bella’s house smells like garlic, cheese, and sugar, which tells me two things.
One, she’s been cooking all damn day. Two, I’m not leaving hungry.
I never leave hungry. When I walk into the kitchen, there’s a whole spread on the counter.
Buffalo chicken dip is still bubbling in the crockpot, sliders stacked high, chips and pretzels everywhere, and a bowl of something green she keeps calling salad like that makes us respectable adults. No one is going to go near that shit.
Switch already has a plate loaded and is hovering like the dip might grow legs and sprint off the counter.
“Back up,” Bella tells him, smacking his arm with a dish towel. “That’s for everyone.”
“I am everyone,” he says, giving her that sideways look that makes her roll her eyes and blush at the same time.
Jesus. They’ve been married for over a year and are still acting like they just got together. With a baby asleep down the hall.
Bella points the towel at him. “And if you touch that again, I will stab you with a pretzel.”
“Worth it,” he mutters, but he backs up anyway.
Ansley comes in behind me with two bakery boxes and sets them down in the only empty spot left on the counter. I flip open the lid and take a look. Cupcakes, brownies, cheesecake bites, and a whole lot of Sugar Rush chaos. She’s Bri’s best friend and the owner of the best damn bakery in town.
“I brought options,” she says, unapologetically.
“Bless you, woman,” I mutter.
Blade is already reaching when Bri smacks his hand without even looking at him. “Do you ever wait?”
“No,” he says, grabbing a brownie and shoving half of it into his mouth like someone’s gonna steal it.
Then he looks at Bri, eyes narrowing. “You eat yet baby?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she says.
He’s already grabbing another brownie and holding it out to her. “Take the fucking brownie, and I don’t want to hear any shit about not wanting to gain too much pregnancy weight. You’re perfect and beautiful and you can eat a fucking brownie.”
She rolls her eyes but takes it then moans after she takes a bite. He settles back, arm sliding around her shoulders, hand resting on her belly like it belongs there. Because it does.
Switch drops onto the floor and drags the Monopoly box out from under the coffee table. “All right. This is a real game tonight. No kiddie stuff.”
Bella groans. “Last time you tried to bankrupt me over Baltic Avenue.”
“Because you deserved it.”
Blade snorts. “You cried when Rev took your railroad.”
“That was strategic disappointment.”
I grab a beer and drop onto the couch. “This is gonna take all damn night.”
“Good,” Switch says. “I got some beef to settle with you people.”
We start setting up. Bella passes out the money, Bri sorts the houses, Ansley reads the rule sheet like we haven’t played this game a hundred times already. “No house stacking,” she says. “And we are not ignoring rent just because you’re friends.”
Blade looks at her. “You are not invited to Vegas.”
Everyone’s here. Blade and Bri on one end of the couch, him half-wrapped around her like he’s daring the world to try something, Switch on the floor leaning over the board like he’s planning a hostile takeover, Bella bouncing between the kitchen, the game, and the baby monitor, and Ansley claiming the armchair like it’s hers by divine right.
Only, there’s someone missing. I clock it the second I sit down, but I don’t say shit right away.
Finally, I stop pretending I don’t care. “Where’s the Princess at?”
Bella stills, hand mid-reach for the dice, then looks at Bri like she’s deciding who has to answer. “She’s out,” Bella says, finally.
Blade glances up. “Out where? I thought she was working.”
Bri exhales. “On a date.”
That lands heavy. An ugly twist in my chest I pretend isn’t there. “A date,” I repeat.
“Yeah,” Bella says. “Some guy from her open house the other day.”
Switch’s head snaps up. “Hold up. Brooke went on a date and nobody told us?”
“Focus,” Bella says. “Roll the dice.”
Blade doesn’t. “Name.”
Bri hesitates, and that tells me plenty. “Grant. Grant Whitaker.”
Blade’s jaw tightens just a fraction. Switch’s whole posture shifts, shoulders squaring, eyes sharper.
“Whitaker,” Blade says. “I’ve heard of him. He comes from money.”
Switch mutters, “Great.”
Rich and respectable. Exactly her lane. Also exactly the kind of guy who might have reasons that got nothing to do with liking her and everything to do with getting close to us.
Bella crosses her arms. “Can we not start profiling a man none of us have met yet?”
“I ain’t profiling,” Switch says. “I’m thinking.”
Blade nods. “And I don’t like the timing.”
With all the crap going on at the club lately, neither do I. I take a slow pull from my beer. “Where’d he take her?”
Bella hesitates. “Downtown. Some fancy place. He even made reservations.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Switch asks, squinting at his wife like she just spoke another language.
Bri’s eyes go wide as she looks between Bella and Switch, already sensing chaos. Blade, meanwhile, is staring at his phone, thumbs moving fast, probably texting someone to start a background check because of course he is.
Bella crosses her arms and lifts one perfectly shaped brow at her husband. “Why? Feeling insecure? Need to step up your game?”
Switch lets out a slow breath through his nose. “What are you saying, baby? Do I not take good enough care of you?”
She tilts her head sweetly. “I’m just saying… you’ve never once made a reservation in your life.”
Bri bites her lip, barely holding in a laugh.
“That’s not true,” Switch argues. “I made a reservation once.”
Bella’s brow climbs higher. “When?”
He pauses. “I called ahead to the bar and asked if the pool table was open.”
Blade finally looks up. “Romantic as hell, brother.”
I choke on my beer.
Bella points at Blade like he just proved her point. “See? This man is out here wooing women with actual chairs that aren’t bar stools.”
Switch shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Next you’re gonna tell me I gotta start using cloth napkins and knowing what fork is for what.”
Bri grins. “You definitely don’t know what fork is for what.”
“Lies,” he says. “I use whatever one’s closest.”
Bella sighs dramatically. “I married a heathen.”
Switch slides an arm around her waist and tugs her into his side. “You knew what you were getting into.”
Bella rolls her eyes like she’s still annoyed, but the fight drains out of her as she leans into him and kisses him slowly and sure, one hand sliding up his chest like it belongs there. Switch hums into it, hand settling at her lower back.
Blade exhales through his nose. “Yeah… Riot’s not loving what he’s seeing on this Whitacker fuck. Some real questionable stuff. He has some shady shit in his background and possible ties to the Russians.”
Bri shakes her head. “We need to let Brooke have her night.”
Blade looks like he’s about to argue, but she keeps going.
“It’s been almost a year since she’s even let herself go on a real date.
She’s spent so much time taking care of everyone else, holding everything together, making sure we’re okay.
I just… I want her to get the chance to want something for herself for once.
To meet someone the way we did.” Her eyes flick to Blade, then back to the group.
“And yeah, you think everybody’s tied to the Russians.
I get why. That mess is still hanging over all of us. Trust me, I fucking get it.”
She exhales and softens just a notch. “But until we actually meet the guy and know more, let’s give her this one night. Just one.”
Blade scrubs a hand over his face, jaw tight, then looks at Bri. “You’re not wrong,” he says quietly. “She deserves that.”
Bri’s shoulders relax a fraction.
His gaze drops to her stomach automatically. “You okay?”
She gives him a look. “I’m pregnant, Blade, not fragile.”
“I know,” he says. “Still checking.”
None of us are comfortable with this, and it shows.
Brooke Calloway is beautiful and way too damn good for a grease-stained bastard like me.
She’s prissy, yeah. She loves her designer clothes, good wine, clean lines, and perfect hair.
She’s cultured and classy. Not the kind of woman who’s supposed to fall for a biker who comes home smelling like oil and smoke.
But she’ll still show up at Perdition, sit at our sticky tables, laugh at our dumb shit, and steal fries off my plate like she belongs there too. And she loves her sisters like it’s breathing, like it’s the most natural damn thing in the world.
She stepped up when their parents died and put her own life on hold to make sure Bella and Bri were okay.
I’ve known her for over two years, and yeah, she likes nice things, but there’s more to her than that.
She’s smart. Funny. Sharp as hell. Sassy when she’s comfortable.
And I’ve pictured what it’d be like to finally have her the way I want her more times than I’d ever say out loud.
It ain’t ever gonna happen though. I’m not the kind of man that fits into her perfect, polished life.
I ain’t rich, ain’t respectable, ain’t somebody you take to fancy restaurants and introduce to business friends.
I’m just Rev. Biker. Mechanic when needed.
Muscle when things get ugly. Not exactly Brooke material.
Ansley studies me over her cup. “You good, Rev?”
“I’m fine,” I say, voice coming out darker than I mean it to.
Nobody buys that.
Switch mutters, “You look like you wanna flip the damn board.”
I glare at him. “Shut up. It’s your turn.”
He rolls, lands on my property, and groans. “This game is rigged.”
“Pay up,” I tell him. “The house always wins.”