CHAPTER TWO
EDEN
Breakfast is where the real chaos begins.
I barely make it into the dining room before the entire club explodes—party poppers, whistles, things that absolutely should not be this loud when you’ve had two hours of sleep.
Everyone yells happy birthday and fires confetti in my direction.
My hangover screams, but I force a smile and instinctively hide behind Kade’s broad back.
“Happy birthday, Queenie,” he murmurs, pulling me around to stand in front of him.
I glance at the room, and my heart swells. This club, these people, they’re my whole world. One by one, they hug me, shove gifts into my arms, and make a fuss until Maggie claps her hands and orders everyone to sit.
“Thirty is a big one,” she announces as she places a three-tier cake down in front of me. The candles flicker like something out of a film.
“Did you make this?” I gasp.
She nods proudly. Of course she did. Maggie’s practically raised twenty bikers—no wonder she can bake like a pro.
“You’re going to have the best day,” Fern declares, looping her arm through mine. “We’re starting with shopping.”
I groan. I hate shopping with a passion, but Fern immediately bribes me with the promise of a cocktail lunch, so I let it slide.
Fern became my best friend the day I met Kade.
I’d stumbled into the club tattoo shop drunk, demanding he cover up my cheating ex’s name.
He was about to close, but I begged—and he told me he never could resist a girl who begs.
After that, we were inseparable. I fell fast, stupidly fast, and he brought me to the club that same night to meet his father and his “brothers.”
Back then, I genuinely thought all twenty of them were blood-related.
I learned quickly what brotherhood really meant, and I loved it.
I didn’t have a bad childhood—not compared to some of the women tied to The Satan Kings MC, but I lost my mum at eighteen to cancer, and with no dad around, it was just me and my younger sister Martha. I became her carer overnight.
So, seeing a place where people looked out for each other like this, I got pulled in hard.
Since then, Martha and I have become part of their tight-knit family, and I honestly can’t imagine life without them. They’ve given us what we always craved. Love. Security. A place where we’re accepted.
Fern, the VP’s old lady, is my ride-or-die. Then there’s Maddie, who’s with Stacks, our Sergeant at Arms. Lucy, Kade’s younger sister. Darcie and Orla, who floated in like lost souls and somehow stuck like glue.
And then there are the other women—the club girls.
The brothers call them whores, which I hate, but it’s the truth of the lifestyle.
Most of them are a nightmare, and I steer clear, but a couple of them?
Jet and Nymph? I adore them. Jet with her ink-black hair and quiet stare.
Nymph, a literal goddess, apparently in and out of the bedroom.
They’re strong and beautiful, but if you heard even half their pasts, they’d break the toughest heart in the club.
I let the girls drag me around the shops.
Kade shoved a wad of cash into my hand this morning to “treat myself,” but honestly, there’s nothing I need.
Fern, however, is determined I buy something scandalous.
When she shoves a deep-red lace bodysuit at me, I roll my eyes and remind her it’s my birthday, so technically I shouldn’t be treating Kade.
Still, it’s cute. And it’ll drive him absolutely insane. So into the bag it goes.
We’re rushing to catch up with the others, who went ahead to grab a table at the cocktail bar, when someone calls my name.
Not my real name. Queenie.
The nickname Kade gave me the night he covered my ex’s name with a Queen of Hearts card.
My whole body goes cold, it feels wrong coming from anyone but Kade.
And when I turn, there they are.The two men from last night.
This time with a cluster of older teenagers trailing behind them like guard dogs, with hoods up, eyes sharp, expressions blank and intimidating.
I swallow my panic, because as scared as I am, I can’t show that. They’ll feed off it.
“Hey,” I manage, completely thrown. How the hell do they even remember me? They barely saw my face.
“Queenie isn’t your real name, is it?” Jimmy asks. His tone is casual, but there’s no mistaking the authority in it. He’s the one in charge. Absolutely.
I shake my head as the group of youths subtly fan out, forming an arch around us. Enough to block us from view. Enough to trap us without it looking like they are.
Fern grips my arm, nails digging through my sleeve. She feels it too—the danger.
“So what is it?” Jimmy pushes, smiling like we’re sharing a joke.
“It’s… Eden.”
“Eden.” He repeats it with a grin that makes my stomach twist. “Pretty. And your friend?”
“Why do you want to know?” Fern shoots back. She always hides her fear with attitude, but her voice isn’t as steady as usual.
“Just being friendly, sweetheart.”
“Well, I’m not your sweetheart, and we’re in a rush, so—” She tugs my hand to pull me away, but one of the teens steps directly into our path, blocking us with a lazy, deliberate stance.
“Now, now,” Jimmy says, voice dipping. “Let’s not get all huffety. I’m a friend of the club.”
Fern spins back to him. “I’ve never seen you.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know your old man.” Jimmy tilts his chin at her. “Diesel’s ol’ lady, right?”
Her spine straightens. “That’s right. And he doesn’t like me chatting to strangers. So, if you don’t mind, we have to go.”
Jimmy flicks his hand. The teenagers part instantly, silent as shadows.
“Have a good day,” he says, winking.
We’re barely two steps away when his voice carries after us. “You’ll look hot in the little lace number, Queenie. Kade’s a lucky man.”
My blood turns to ice. Fern grabs my hand, and we practically run all the way to the cocktail bar.
“Are you calling Kade, or shall I?” Fern asks.
I groan, “Can you? I don’t need him to lie again about how these guys aren’t trouble, or how they’re old friends of the club, cos that out there, didn’t seem friendly.”
She gives a sympathetic smile before pulling out her phone and pacing to a quieter corner.
I fill the others in while we wait for our drinks. But the second the Porn Star Martini tree hits our table, Fern returns, face pale.
“He’s sending a couple of the guys to escort us home.”
KADE
“That fucker,” Diesel growls the moment I finish telling him about Fern’s call. “I’m gonna kill him.”
I shake my head. He knows as well as I do we can’t. Not yet.
I drop into my chair, elbows on my desk, and bury my head in my hands. Because this mess? This Jimmy mess? It’s mine.
Making the deal with Jimmy and his brother was a stupid fucking move, but Bull left me no choice.
Bull. Former Vice President, back when my pops was in charge. While Pops thought he’d cleaned the club up—dragged us out of the dirt—Bull was doing all kinds of shady shit behind his back. Smuggling. Side deals. Cash jobs. His own personal little empire.
One of those deals ran too deep. Too big. Too tangled for me to cut us loose cleanly.
When Pops died, Bull panicked. He gave Jimmy evidence, actual physical evidence, of the club tied into all sorts of illegal shit. Insurance. His way of making sure we didn’t slit his throat for everything he’d done.
It backfired.
Because I slit that fucker’s throat anyway. The same day I buried my dad.
And ever since, Jimmy’s had us by the balls.
His latest threat? Photos of Tap and Cole, our enforcers, taking out a police officer. That alone would bury this club forever.
Going back to crime wasn’t a decision I took lightly.
Pops wanted us clean. I wanted that too.
But clean clubs don’t survive long, not without money.
So, we voted as a club. And we compromised.
We don’t deal drugs or guns, but we move them for others.
We pick up. Drop off. Keep a distance. Keep clean enough.
Our biggest client right now? Jimmy.
Him and his idiot brother are parasites. Greedy. Reckless. Street rats who think a few months of fast cash makes them kings. We’ve always dealt with organised men. Men with codes. Boundaries. These two? They’re chaos. They’re dangerous. They’re the kind of trouble that spreads like rot.
And Liam’s already using the shit they sell. He’s a liability. A bomb waiting to go off. I don’t trust men who can’t even control their own product.
“I’ve sent the prospect to follow them home,” I mutter.
Diesel freezes. “Seriously? You sent Rabbit?”
“Rabbit can handle it.” He’s been prospecting for a year, and he’s solid. Loyal. Sharp.
Diesel grabs his bike keys, his jaw clenched tightly. “My ol’ lady is out there with those fuckers watching her. We need to start taking him seriously, Kade. He isn’t going away.”
He storms out of the clubhouse, leaving my office door rattling behind him.
Stacks is over by the bar. “Follow Diesel,” I tell him, and he leaves without a single question.
Twenty minutes later, Diesel reappears—furious—and Eden storms in right behind him. She doesn’t say a word, just marches straight past me with that look. Her look. The one that means, Follow me. Now.
I close the office door behind us, and she spins on her heel.
“What’s going on?” I give her my most innocent shrug. She doesn’t buy it. “Kade!”
“Nothing’s going on, Queenie. I told you, they’re from days of old. Back when Pops was running in dark circles.”
“Bullshit.”
My eyes narrow. “Mouth.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Don’t curse.”
We stare each other down, me trying to shut the conversation down, her refusing to let it go. She knows exactly what I’m doing.
“He called me Queenie,” she says, one brow arched high. The statement lands like a punch to the gut. That piece of shit used my name for my ol’ lady. I move behind my desk, sit down to hide the way my jaw clenches. “He saw the lingerie I bought.”
My head snaps up. “Huh?”
“He said it would suit me and you’re a very lucky man.”
A slow burn ignites in my chest. Jealousy. Rage. Something dark.
“Okay, yeah, that’s weird,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “But nothing is going on. I’ll deal with the lingerie, stalking, whatever-the-fuck behaviour. It’s handled.”
She plants both palms on my desk, leaning in until her eyes are level with mine. “Kade, are you doing shit you shouldn’t? Because if you’re involved in things—”
“Watch your mouth,” I snap before I can stop myself. “I told you already, everything is fine. Stop questioning me.”
I never raise my voice at her. Never. The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Her face changes. She steps back like I physically shoved her. “Fuck you, Kade,” she whispers. “Don’t pull the president act on me.”
She turns, reaching for the door, and panic flashes through me. I’m on my feet instantly, slamming my hand against the wood before she can leave. Then my arms wrap around her from behind, pulling her into my chest.
Her vanilla-sweet scented hair wraps around me, and guilt hits my ribs.
“Sorry,” I breathe into her skin. “Truth is, I don’t know why he’s hanging around. And it’s pissing me off. But I’ll find out. And I’ll deal with it. You don’t need to worry, Queenie. I’m handling it.”
But she’s stiff. Hurt. Holding herself away from me even while I hold her close.
I hate that I did that to her, on her birthday, of all days.
I kiss along her shoulder, soft and slow.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. The words scrape coming out.
I don’t apologise to anyone. Ever. Except her.
I gently turn her in my arms. Her eyes are glossy, shining with frustration and love and fear she doesn’t want to admit.
“I love you,” I say, cupping her face in both hands. “Always.”