Chapter 5 #2
“You’re not terrible,” Lady says, breathless and smug.
Shady leans in close enough. “You talk too much.”
Lady grins like that’s a compliment. “And you don’t talk enough.”
He spins her once, clean and smooth, and when she lands back against him her smile slips into something smaller, something real. Shady’s hand stays at her waist like he forgot to let go.
I look away first, because it feels like catching someone in a moment they didn’t mean to show. But when I glance back, Lady’s fingers are still hooked in his, and Shady’s eyes are still on her.
It dawns on me. That’s why she’s here. She’s involved with a biker. One of the Saints Outlaws. We have more in common than I thought.
She throws her arms around me without hesitation, squeezing tight enough that my ribs protest. For a second the noise and heat fade under the simple comfort of someone holding me like I matter.
Then she pulls back.
Her gaze drops to my collarbone.
Her expression darkens instantly.
“Oh hell no,” she mutters.
Her fingers brush lightly over the bruise, careful but furious.
“Which bastard did this to you?”
I flinch before I can stop myself. The word bastard echoes strange in a room full of men who wear sin like a patch.
Lady notices the movement immediately. Her eyes narrow.
“Come with me,” she says, voice turning hard. Protective.
She grabs my hand before I can argue and pulls me through the crowd toward the hallway that leads away from the main floor. A prospect moves out of our way without being asked, eyes down, like he knows better than to get in between an upset woman and her mission.
Carmen watches us go from where she stands near the bar.
Still smiling.
Still calm.
Like none of this bothers her at all.
Lady drags me down the hallway where the bass becomes a dull vibration instead of a physical force pounding through my bones. The air is cooler here, smelling faintly of ink and cleaning chemicals instead of tequila and sweat.
The moment we’re alone she spins to face me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demands.
Her voice is sharp, but worry sits right under it.
“You told me you were done with bikers. Done with Diablo. Done with this entire circus.”
I swallow. My brain wraps around the last time I saw her. I probably did say that.
“I didn’t come here on purpose.”
Lady snorts.
“You never do. Somehow you always end up getting dragged back.”
The truth of it tightens my throat.
Her expression softens a little. She cups my face gently with both hands, thumbs brushing under my eyes like she’s checking for tears I refuse to shed.
“Girl,” she says quietly, “I’ve already seen it. He looks at you like you’re his.”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it.
“Then why is he still engaged?”
Lady glances back toward the main room where Carmen’s voice drifts faintly over the music, smooth and sharp.
“Because he’s trapped,” she says. “Or because he likes having his cake and eating it too.”
The words hit harder than they should.
I press my lips together, trying to swallow the ugly mix of anger and humiliation crawling up my chest.
“I won’t be someone’s secret,” I say.
My voice trembles slightly but I force it steady.
Lady studies me for a long moment.
“Okay,” she says finally. “Then we get you out of here.”
Before I can answer, a roar erupts from the main room. The kind of roar that spreads through a crowd like gasoline hitting flame.
Lady’s hand clamps tighter around mine.
“Come on.”
We step back into the chaos and I immediately see why the room exploded.
Carmen stands at the center of the floor now, slightly elevated on the platform near the bar.
Someone has handed her a microphone like she’s hosting the event.
Saints crowd around her with bright eyes and flushed faces, already drunk on liquor and spectacle.
A few patched men stand back with arms crossed, watching the room like they’re counting exits, not applause.
Diablo stands a few feet behind her.
His arms are crossed over his chest. His face is unreadable.
He looks like a man trying to hold a storm inside his bones.
Carmen raises her hand and the diamond ring catches the lights again.
“Saints Outlaws,” she calls out, voice carrying easily through the speakers.
The music dips just enough for her words to cut through.
“We’ve survived blood. We’ve survived loss. And we’re not going to let Miami think we’re weak.”
Cheers erupt immediately.
Carmen’s smile grows wider.
“My father built this club,” she continues smoothly. “He bled for it. And before he died, he chose the man he trusted to lead it.”
The crowd starts chanting before she even finishes.
“Diablo. Diablo. Diablo.”
Diablo doesn’t move.
His eyes find mine through the crowd.
The heat of that look crawls up my spine like a spark.
Carmen glances back at him briefly, then faces the room again, sweet as poison.
“We’ve been planning a wedding. We’ve settled on a date. Next month. Everyone here tonight is invited.”
The room explodes.
Whistles. Shouts. Somebody throws a shot glass into the air and it shatters somewhere behind the bar. The DJ cranks the music back up like the whole club is celebrating a coronation.
Lady’s grip tightens around my hand.
I stare at Diablo.
He should say something.
He should shut it down.
He does neither.
He stands there silent while the room celebrates a future that apparently includes him and Carmen.
The silence hits harder than any insult.
My lungs lock. The room tilts at the edges.
Lady leans closer to my ear. “Darling…”
I pull my hand away from her.
My feet start moving before I consciously decide to leave. I shove through the throng around the bar, through the heat of bodies, through the stench of sweat and cigar smoke.
If I stay here another minute I might cry.
Or scream.
Or throw something at Carmen’s perfect face.
I make it three steps before a hand clamps around my wrist.
Strong.
Familiar.
Diablo.
He pulls me back into him with a single motion, grip firm enough that escape isn’t happening unless I make a scene.
His voice drops low against my ear.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, mami?”
My skin prickles at the word. My stomach twists.
I spin toward him, fury burning hot enough to sting my eyes.
“Away from you,” I snap. “Away from this. Away from your ring and your queen.”
His jaw tightens.
“She’s not my queen.”
“She just announced your wedding like she owns you.”
His eyes flash, dangerous and dark.
“It’s politics.”
“It’s betrayal.”
The words leave my mouth sharper than I intend. The truth is uglier than the word.
He leans closer, voice tight with restraint.
“You don’t understand.”
I yank my wrist but his grip holds firm.
“Try explaining it then,” I demand. “Tell me why you can say that you fucking love me in private and stand there silent while she plans your wedding in front of everyone.”
His fingers tighten slightly around my wrist.
“Darling,” he warns.
My throat burns.
“I’m leaving,” I say. “You don’t get to keep doing this to me.”
For a moment he just stares at me like he’s fighting a war inside his own skull.
Then his expression hardens.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
The words land heavy between us.
Ownership again.
Control again.
Behind him, Carmen stands on the platform watching us with a slow, satisfied smile. Like she already knew exactly how this would play out. Like she lit the fuse herself.
And now she gets to watch us burn.