22. Exposure Therapy #2
Rock grunts, a low, noncommittal sound, but his eyes stay on her for a beat longer before he goes back to nursing his drink. It’s not approval, but it’s not dismissal either. Around here, that’s the first step.
Then Rampage pushes off his stool, grabs a pool cue from the wall, and tosses it underhand to Nevaeh. “You any good?”
She catches it without fumbling, which already earns her a couple of raised brows. “Guess we’ll find out,” she says, stepping toward the table.
City exchanges a quick glance with Rock. One of those silent MC conversations that says, Let’s see what she’s made of.
The shift’s small, but I can feel it in the air. She’s not just the outsider anymore. She’s being tested. And if she passes? She’s in the room for real.
Rampage leans one hip against the table, twirling his cue like he’s about to hustle a tourist. “Eight ball, standard rules. Loser buys the next round.”
Nevaeh lines up the balls, her expression all faux innocence. “You sure you want to bet on this? Could get embarrassing.”
City chuckles, pulling a crumpled twenty from his wallet and slapping it on the edge of the table. “Yeah? You planning to wipe the floor with our boy here?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve beaten a man at his own game,” she says, chalking her cue like she’s done it a thousand times.
Rampage narrows his eyes, but there’s a spark there, respect, maybe. “Ladies first.”
She breaks hard. The crack echoes across the clubhouse, scattering balls in every direction. Two solids drop in the corner pocket.
“Damn,” City mutters, leaning forward like he just saw a magic trick.
Rampage straightens, lips twitching. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Mm-hm.” Nevaeh walks around the table, sizing up her next shot like she’s got all night. “That's what you tell yourself when you’re losing?”
Even Rock makes a short, surprised huff that might be a laugh if you tilt your head and squint.
Rampage watches her sink another ball, then another. His grin sharpens. “Alright, Queen of the Felt. Let’s see how you handle pressure.”
He lines up a tricky corner shot and nails it, knocking one of her solids into the rail on the way. “Whoops,” he says, all fake apology.
Nevaeh doesn’t flinch. Just circles the table, hips swaying, drawing my attention to her ass. An ass I’d like to take to my room and have a repeat of the night before she ran off on me. Rampage’s smirk falters.
“Nice shot,” she says smoothly. “Here’s mine.”
The cue ball clicks, the solid drops, and she straightens without even watching it fall. “Guess I’m solids.”
City’s eyebrows shoot up. “Guess you are.”
They go back and forth for a few turns, but when she finally calls “Eight ball, side pocket,” the table goes quiet. She sinks it clean, no hesitation.
Rampage throws his head back and laughs, the sound rough but real. “Well, shit. Didn’t see that coming.”
“Pay up,” she says, tapping the twenty on the rail.
City slides it over with a low whistle. “Alright, I’ll say it. You got game.”
Rock just grunts, but this time it’s with a small nod. Around here, that’s practically a hug.
I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she moves, the way she talks, holding her own with Rampage and City like she’s been part of this family her whole life. It hits me in a way that twists my gut.
Pride? Yeah, I feel it. She’s sharp, fearless, and clever. That’s my girl, or at least, she could be, if I didn’t have to keep one eye on the danger she’s stepping into.
And lust. Fuck, the way she smirks at Rampage, tossing that pool cue with that cocky confidence, has my chest tightening. Every move she makes, every word she drops, it’s like fire curling through my veins. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. She’s not mine, not yet. But I want her. God, I want her.
Caution claws at me too, sharp and insistent.
She’s stepping into a world that’s mine to protect, a world that doesn’t forgive mistakes.
One wrong glance, one misplaced word, and she’s a target.
I have to keep my distance. I have to keep my control.
But watching her, feeling this mix of pride and heat, I know I’m already losing both.
I catch Nevaeh’s eye, the corner of her mouth curling in triumph. She didn’t just win the game, she won something bigger, a crack in the wall between her and my brothers.
I approach Nevaeh. “Care to walk with me?” I ask, extending my hand for her to take.
She sets the pool cue down and slides her hand into mine. “See ya later, boys.”
The clubhouse hum fades behind us as we step outside. The night air is thick and cold, but the fire pit crackles. I take a seat on the wooden bench beside Nevaeh, the flames casting shadows across her face, making her eyes glow in that way that’s both dangerous and fragile.
She sits close but not touching, her knees pulled in, shoulders tense like she’s holding herself together by sheer will. I don’t push her. Silence has its own language.
But in my head, there’s no silence. There’s Jordan. Look at her, Morrison. She’s holding too much. You know what that’s like.
I swallow hard because he’s right. He always was.
Nevaeh draws a breath, eyes still on the fire. “I… I was scared at the motel.”
The words hit harder than a fist. My hands curl into fists without thinking. I keep my voice low, steady, but there’s steel under it. “I know. I’ve got you. Nobody touches you or Lena without going through me first. MC promise.”
Her shoulders ease, just a little. And maybe that should be enough, but it’s not. Not for me. Not for Jordan.
Don’t half-ass it, his voice pushes. She needs more than words. She needs to believe them.
“I thought I could write the truth, make things better,” she whispers. “But all I did was get people hurt.”
I shake my head. “Jordan… he walked into the fire for people who couldn’t fight back. He died because he believed in doing what’s right. You didn’t make anyone hurt, Nevaeh. You put a spotlight on the monsters in the dark. That’s not on you. It’s on them.”
Finally, she looks at me. No walls. No guarded edges. Just her, stripped to the truth.
The fire pops, and for a heartbeat, I see him.
Jordan.
Not the bloody alley, not the lifeless stare. But him. Leaning against the old, rusted oil drum we used to use as a fire pit, arms crossed, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth. The one that always said You’re doing alright, brother.
I blink, and he’s gone. Just the shadows and the heat and the ache in my chest.
I shift closer to Nevaeh, my shoulder brushing hers. She doesn’t pull away. The night feels different now, thicker, threaded with a promise I can’t take back.
Jordan’s voice is softer this time, almost fading: Look after her. Don’t let her regret the world.
I give the ghost a silent nod.
Her trust isn’t all there yet, but it’s enough to fight for. Enough to make me burn down whatever I have to, to keep her safe.
The flames lick higher, sparks spiraling into the dark. She leans ever so slightly into me, and I let myself believe, just for tonight, that maybe we can both survive this.