Secret Betrayals (Lucifer’s Saints MC LSMC Sacramento Chapter #1)

Prologue

Knowing your worth means walking away even if you don’t want to.

Seventeen years old

C oming back from my trip, everything felt off.

Like the life I left behind had shifted without me—subtle, but enough to make my skin itch.

My thoughts immediately go to Brian. Things between us had been strained long before I left, but now the silence is louder than ever.

No texts. No calls. We’ve never gone this long without checking in.

And that alone is a red flag I can't ignore.

It’s why I was up at dawn, heading straight to the clubhouse. Something’s wrong—I can feel it deep in my gut. That slow-burn kind of dread that won’t let you breathe until you get answers.

I’ve never been the clingy type. I don’t chase.

Don’t beg. I don’t ask questions, and Brian?

He gives fewer answers. Always brushing me off with “club business,” like that’s supposed to be enough.

Most times, it’s his way of shutting me up more than anything else.

And looking back now... yeah, that was another red flag.

It’s been two years since Brian and I got together.

Two years of him being unpredictable, sometimes distant, always just out of emotional reach.

And yeah… I know. I saw the red flags—waving, screaming—and still, I chose to ignore them.

That’s on me. I made excuses for Brian, and I won’t lie about that because I understand what it means to live under someone else’s control.

I know what it feels like to be crushed under the weight of family expectations.

The last thing I wanted was to become another person pulling at him, demanding more than he could give.

So I let things go. I swallowed my questions.

Bit my tongue. Pretended his silence was love in disguise.

But that uneasy feeling I’ve had all morning?

It’s only getting worse the closer I get to the clubhouse.

My heart’s pounding, and I force myself to take slow, deep breaths.

I should accept this for what it is. Something’s off.

And the way my stomach churns makes me want to turn the hell around.

But I can’t. I won’t. My instincts don’t lie—not about this.

I stop just outside the main door, trying to get my bearings. The churning in my stomach is relentless now, a storm I can’t calm.

Red flag… red flag… damn red flag.

But I have to do this—no matter how it ends.

This conversation, this moment, is the line in the sand.

How Brian responds, how he shows up––or doesn’t–– will define what’s left of us.

Am I expecting some fairytale ending? Hell no.

That’s not the world we live in. But I still have hope.

Even knowing things are about to get messy.

I have hope.

And deep down, I know—my life will never be the same after today. I can feel it in my bones. That quiet ache in my chest confirms it. My palms are slick with sweat, but I keep moving.

I shake my head, steady my breath, and step through the door.

The room hits me with a wall of scent—booze, sex, and sin. The air is thick, the kind that clings to your skin. The music plays low, a lazy beat that matches the slow, satisfied movements of the people scattered around the space. It’s obvious last night’s celebration was one to remember.

I don’t make eye contact with anyone in the room.

What would be the point of that? Taking each stride purposefully, I refuse to acknowledge the brothers who speak to me.

Why would I? I chuckle at how ridiculous this is, how these grown men act and live their lives.

The women and ol’ ladies allow it, forgiving and forgetting.

It couldn’t be me.

Making it to his door. I see a shirt hanging from the handle. “Bunch of fucking frat boys,” I say under my breath while shaking my head. I try the handle, but it’s locked. Of course, it is. I scoff. Locked doors are never a problem. Not for a girl like me.

My hand goes to the bag at my side. I take my tools out and do what I do.

To know me is to understand why I am prepared for this moment.

I smile at the fact that I am always ready, na?ve , my ass.

You never know when things like lock picking will come in handy.

You know… for things like breaking into your boyfriend’s bedroom.

As I get the lock disengaged, a hand grabs my shoulder.

I don’t flinch. I don’t pause, and I don’t acknowledge that hand or the person it belongs to.

Flick. Good old Uncle Flick.

I push the door open harder than I meant to—it slams against the wall with a loud crack. I don’t flinch. Just shrug and step inside.

And there he is.

The man I’ve loved for two years. The man I thought I’d spend forever with.

Naked. Buried inside some girl without a care in the world.

A girl who isn’t me. A girl I recognize from parties—one who always lurked in the shadows, watching Brian too closely, eyeing me like I’d stolen her favorite lip gloss or some shit.

I thought I’d be more shocked. Thought it would hurt more.

Maybe I’m still numb. Maybe the pain just hasn’t landed yet.

I feel someone behind me. Flick. His presence is obvious, heavy.

I don’t turn. He’s either debating what to do or standing there to witness the crash.

Hell, maybe he wants to have something juicy to share with the rest of the club.

Even the so-called OGs act like gossiping old biddies.

And this? This will be prime clubhouse talk if I lose my shit.

But I won’t. My mama raised me better than that.

“Hey, Bri-Bri,” I say, my voice flat, emotionless.

And then… it hits.

The pain I thought I’d outrun uncoils in my gut. My chest tightens, like my heart is shredding from the inside out. My palms sweat. My vision blurs at the edges. I breathe—short, sharp, then slow, dragging it out. I keep my eyes locked on him. On them.

Flick knew. He had to. Why else follow me up here?

These men and their precious MC brother code. Always protecting each other, always covering shit with a crooked smile. Loyalty, they call it. They wear it like a badge of honor. But loyalty to who? To what? Because it sure as hell isn’t to the women who love them.

Neither Brian nor the girl stops. He pauses—just briefly—but doesn’t acknowledge me. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even flinch. He keeps going, chasing his release like my heart isn’t breaking three feet away.

Being caught doesn’t matter to him.

I don’t matter.

And that’s fine.

Fool me once, right?

To keep from snapping, I glance down at my wrist like I’ve got somewhere else to be—like I’m checking a watch I’m not wearing. Petty, I know. But it helps. Keeps my hands from reaching into my purse for the knife I always carry. Keeps me from acting on the rage simmering just beneath my skin.

She finally looks at me. And something in her eyes shifts. Recognition. Triumph. She thinks she’s won, and maybe she has. What she thinks or feels doesn’t matter.

Brian climbs off the bed, his back to me like I’ve never mattered.

I watch his shoulders tense, his body alert.

He grabs his jeans, slides them on, still not looking at me.

Then comes the shirt. Still no acknowledgment.

Instead, he turns to her , kisses her on the cheek, pats her thigh like she’s earned a damn prize.

A show. That’s what this is. A performance. But I won’t give them the satisfaction. I hold back the whisper of pain that crawls up my throat. I bury it so deep that neither of them will ever see what this is doing to me.

Finally, Brian turns. His face is blank. Cold. And when his eyes flick over my shoulder, catching Flick’s gaze, he shakes his head. Like I’m the problem. Like I’m the inconvenience. I stiffen when a hand lands gently on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Flick whispers, low and quiet. Then he’s gone. His boots retreat down the hall, and I’m left staring at a man I no longer recognize.

Brian meets my gaze again. And in that moment, he knows. The game’s over. What he doesn’t know—what none of them know—is that this little betrayal could cost him more than just me. It could’ve burned down his club and everything attached to it.

I could be petty.

I should be petty.

He deserves that and so much more.

But I give him nothing.

No rage.

No tears.

No words.

Just a cold, unreadable stare.

He gets nothing from me now—not my love, loyalty, or even anger. Never again. Fuck hope and loving a man who was never worthy of it.

Brian—or Talon , as he’s known around here—finally breaks the stare and turns to the girl beside him. “You were great, babe, but you gotta go,” he says through clenched teeth. Trying to hold on to that king-of-the-room persona. But my presence rattles him more than he expected.

Good.

He turns back to me, eyes locking onto mine, reigniting our silent standoff. I know what he’s doing—posturing for her, trying not to look weak. Fine by me. Let him play whatever game he wants. This is his last chance to try me.

He narrows his eyes, lifts a brow like he’s daring me to react. He wants the show. He’s not getting one. He’s not worth it. No tears. No rage. Nothing. And that will cut deeper than any meltdown ever could.

Talon has always underestimated me. Thinks I’m weak because I don’t scream. Because I don’t party every weekend. Because I don’t press for answers. He acts like I’m clueless. He doesn’t know I’ve heard what he says about me to his brothers.

While we keep our eyes locked, the girl scrambles for her clothes, glancing between us like she’s waiting for someone to explode.

I ignore her. I’ve seen her at a few parties—never an official club girl, but close enough.

Something’s always felt off about her, but I’ve always brushed it off. Not anymore.