Chapter 1 - Remi - His Lies, My Eyes
The parking lot outside the clubhouse was half full, glowing dimly beneath the buzz of a broken streetlamp. I shouldn't have come.
I told myself that three times as I parked.
Five times in the last hour, circling this place like some pathetic ghost, hoping it'd look different from another angle.
I hoped I'd find a reason not to go inside, and stupidly hoped that I was wrong. But something inside me told me I had to know.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white. Trying to steady my heart... my breathing. This wasn't me. I wasn't this kind of woman.
But Logan hadn't answered my texts. Hadn't called back. Again.
Fuck.
It was probably nothing. I'd told myself that every night this week. That he was busy. That club business came first, but I came right after. That was how he told me it would go. But that he would always be mine, and I his.
Except nothing didn't knot your stomach or whisper truths you didn't want to hear.
Nothing didn't make you lie awake, remembering what other women had cried about across from you in therapy chairs... women who'd worn cuts on their hearts and bruises on their skin, blaming themselves for loving men who made loyalty feel like a game.
I wasn't supposed to be one of them. I knew better. I know better.
But I also knew Logan. Or I thought I did.
The first time we met, he said his club was different.
That he was different. He promised respect, loyalty, and a future I could believe in.
And God, he'd chased me hard. Flowers at the clinic, calls just to hear my voice, sitting through my rants about biker culture like he was dying to prove me wrong.
He wore me down with patience. He showed up.
He didn't back down. He faced my scrutiny and lack of interest, and then we fell.
We fell so hard... or I thought we did. But now, as I sit in this parking lot.
.. I wonder if he had pulled the wool so thoroughly over my eyes.
... If he sold me pretty lies. If I let him.
I cut the engine and stepped out into the cold.
He was supposed to come and get me tonight for a date night.
So I dressed for him. A pretty, flimsy black dress, one of his favourites.
It clung to my curves just the way he liked.
I didn't look like the club girls... didn't look like a lot of the old ladies either.
I always felt like I looked like the girl next door.
But Logan always said that I took his breath away, that I was special, I was perfect.
I left my long, auburn hair down in its natural soft waves.
Put on enough makeup to make the green pop in my hazel eyes… enough to feel pretty.
I hadn't been seeing him as much, and I missed him. Tonight was supposed to be special.
The heavy bass hit before I even reached the door. Smoke rolled out in waves from a cracked window, mingling with the bitter air. Music thumped through my ankle boots as I pushed inside.
The clubhouse was a riot of heat and sweat and sound. The scent of leather, beer, and cheap perfume clung to everything. A low-slung bar stretched along one wall, sticky and glowing under red lights. Bodies moved everywhere... dancing, laughing, grinding.
The embodiment of chaos making itself at home.
I used to think it was alluring, in a dangerous kind of way.
I used to tell myself I could handle this world, his world, because I loved him.
Because he promised he was different.
That his club was different, that I had heard the worst of the stories, and his club… his brothers weren't that.
A tall blonde in a micro top brushed past me. "Ol' lady," she muttered to her friend, her tone thick with sugar and venom.
"Not officially," the other replied with a smirk.
I swallowed hard and kept walking. I don't think I will ever understand the need to have women on call for any ‘brother’ to enjoy without consequence.
As I moved through the smoke and whispers, I felt that what I saw was exactly what I had envisioned for a clubhouse, the biker brother lifestyle.
.. but somehow he had convinced me it was different here.
His MC was different. He was different.
Past the pool table, past the hallway where the lights got dimmer, past girls pressed against patched backs like ornaments waiting to be worn. The air got heavier, not just with smoke but with the distinct smell of sweat and sex.
The sound of laughter, grunts and clinking bottles echoed from the back lounge.
Somehow, I was still trying to convince myself that the worry was all in my head. He had club business to attend to, and I was worried for nothing.
And then I saw him.
Logan. My Logan. Or the man I thought was mine.
He was sprawled in a leather armchair like a king on his throne. Legs spread. Beer dangling from his fingers. A girl in a crop top straddled his lap, giggling into his neck, her hands sliding under his shirt. His arm was around her like it belonged there. Like she did.
His head tilted back, and he laughed at something she said. His mouth, the mouth that I thought was mine, had whispered forever in my ear... that mouth grinned wide and wicked.
His beautiful blue eyes looked cruel in this light. In this truth.
I froze in the doorway, the breath knocked out of me like a punch to the ribs.
And then came the voice.
"Spike’s always the first to test the new ones," one girl said behind me, voice light and mocking.
"He says he can't commit until he's tasted the whole menu," another chimed in.
Laughter. Casual. Easy.
Like this was ok. Like this wasn't what I was afraid of. Like this wasn't what he swore didn't happen in his clubhouse.
I stared at him, unblinking. Waiting for him to shove her off, to say her name wasn't mine. To do something that proved this wasn't what it looked like.
He didn't even look up.
I wanted to scream. To cry. To drag her off him and ask him if he remembered the promises he made, the words he whispered into my skin. I wanted to rage and claw and fall apart right there in front of them all.
But all I did was breathe.
All I did was stare as he told her to ride him.
I stood, breathless, stuttering as the club girls behind me taunted and teased.
You know what fuck that shit, I had never wanted to call them what they were called but in that moment they were exactly the horrible name. .. Club Whores. They ate this shit up.
Ate up the destruction of what I thought was real and beautiful.
They giggled while I barely got a breath in.
Shallow. Broken.
I watched the one on his lap do as she was told, unbuckle him, unzip him, reach into his pants and seductively pull of his cock.
I watched her, panty-free, sit on it like it was nothing.
I saw her start to rock... start to ride.
I saw her moan like this was the best thing she had ever experienced in her life.
While he... My Logan, My love, My supposed to be forever.
.. casually sipped from his beer while talking to a brother on the couch out of view.
This was just another day in his life, and it must be.
.. He had fooled me so thoroughly, wrecked me so completely.
I just watched.
Because in that moment... that exact moment, I knew.
It was over.
He had lied. All this time. About the club. About who he was. About who I was to him.
I stepped back before he saw me, hand over my mouth as bile surged up my throat.
I shoved through the bodies, barely seeing them, my heels echoing off the concrete like gunshots in my ears.
Someone called my name, maybe the Prez. "Remi?"
I didn't stop. I couldn't. The bile and tears were threatening to burst free. I couldn't let them see me break. They couldn't win.
They had taken enough from me.
“Remi…”
I didn't turn.
Didn't breathe until the night air hit me like a slap.
I didn't even make it to my car. My legs just kept going. Away from the lights. Away from the noise. Away from him.
That fucking asshole.
And when I was far enough that no one could hear me, I finally let go.
The tears came fast, hard, and ugly. I stumbled and heaved into a bush along the sidewalk. I let myself gain control again...
And then I ran.