Chapter One
SIN
Three Weeks Until New Year’s Eve
Background noise filters through the air like a constant hum, the kind of static you might hear from a television that’s just shit itself. My mind blocks it all out while thoughts run circles in my head. My trusty poker chip, the one with the red and white stripes and a faded casino logo in the center, moves smoothly between my fingers. The chip’s surface, once glossy, is worn just enough to feel comfortable, the edges rounded from use. Each ridge glides over my skin, a rhythm I barely notice anymore. I flick it from knuckle to knuckle, the plastic cool and familiar. There’s something satisfying about its controlled motion, that delicate balance of keeping it moving without dropping it. It grounds me, keeps me in the moment, while my thoughts circle everything else. The world seems more straightforward in that back-and-forth glide, like if I can keep the chip steady, maybe everything else will fall into place—it’s close to a nervous habit. The weight shifts as I pass it, the click a small, steady beat in the club Chapel. The movement is almost calming, something to keep my hands busy while my mind drifts.
If only it were that simple.
The tension in the room sits heavy, mirroring a storm ready to break. The air is charged, filled with anticipation and an edge of doubt. My brothers are loyal. There’s no question about that, but they’re not blind. They see the risks as clearly as I do, and it’s my job to steer us through this mess. One wrong move, one misstep, and everything we’ve worked for goes up in smoke.
The pressure of it claws at my insides, but I force myself to keep calm.
To not let it show.
“You sure you want to do this, Pres?” Ghost, the club secretary and tech genius, captures my attention, pulling me back into the conversation. His voice is steady, but the uncertainty in his eyes, that hint of worry he tries to mask, is clearly evident on his face.
Flicking my poker chip into the palm of my hand, I grip it tightly, drawing in a deep breath, then nod. “It’s already done,” I reply simply, the rest of my brothers around the Church table shifting with unease.
Ghost cranes his neck to the side, his brows drawing together as he continues to push. “I know you want to show us in a better light, but Pres, we’re not entirely aboveboard. What if—”
“We need a better rep,” I cut him off, my voice firmer this time. The frustration simmers beneath my skin, but I keep it in check. “The blue-blood leeches have been breathing down our fucking necks, and I need them to back the hell off. If we can get public opinion changed on who we are as a club, it might make all the difference in the world and get the intense burn from the motherfucking heat off us.”
Ghost’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighs my words. My brothers around the table exchange glances, unease etched on their faces.
They know exactly what I’m talking about. The fact that we had a shootout in the middle of the fucking Vegas Strip with the Hidden Hand Alliance involving civilians was not the best look for us.
It was chaos.
Pure and simple.
And we are still paying the price for it.
Ghost rolls his shoulders, chewing on the toothpick that always seems to be in his goddamn mouth. “All right, I did the appropriate checks… everything looks good from what I can see, but she’s fresh meat, Pres. A brand-new reporter forNeon LightsExposé Magazine. Who knows which way she’ll lean on her views toward the club?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips, and I begin to flick my poker chip through my fingers again. “That’s exactlywhywe need her. Elizabeth Hale hasn’t been tainted by mainstream media yet. We’ll show her the decent side of the club and get her to report whatwewant. Not how a seasoned professional would spin it and make us out to be the villains, no matter what the true story is.”
Nitro, my VP, shifts in his seat beside me, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His expression is skeptical, a frown pulling at his features. “You better be sure about this, Pres, because if she goes searching in the wrong places…” He takes a deep breath and sighs before continuing, “She couldabsolutelypaint us as the villains you’re so desperately trying to avoid us looking like.”
His words hit home, the weight of them settling in my gut. I know the risks—hell, I probably know them better than anyone here. The only reason I wear this president patch is because the man who wore it before me was put in the same goddamn predicament—he was painted as the villain. The Feds came after him, and now he’s rotting away in a cell while I wearhispatch, trying to make sure the club doesn’t fall victim to the same assholes who came after us when he was in power.
But I also know what’s at stake if we do nothing.
The club ismyfamily.
The club ismyresponsibility.
And I’ll be damned if I let us go down without a fight.
Exhaling as I run my fingers through my hair, I sit back in my chair, a slow grin forming across my face. I need to project confidence, to let them see that I’ve got this under control, even if the doubts are clawing at the back of my mind. “You leave Elizabeth to me… I willpersonallyhandle her the entire timeshe’s at the clubhouse. I promise you, she won’t leave my fucking sight.”
Ghost moves to stand, his eyes still searching my face for any sign of hesitation. “Well then, we’d better get out there because she’s due to arrive at any moment, and we want to make our‘special guest’feel welcome.”
I force myself up from my chair, the poker chip slipping into my pocket as I do.
The weight of the moment settles over me, but I push it aside.
I can’t afford to doubt myself,not now.
