He lowers the flute, quiet for a moment before speaking, “You let Ghost in on it.”
I don’t pretend not to know what he means. “Yeah.”
“I’m your right-hand man.” There’s no heat in his voice, just hurt. “And you kept me in the dark about Elizabeth being Victoria. About her being a cop.”
“Nitro—”
“I get it was delicate, Sin.I do.But that’s what stings, you know? I’m supposed to be the one you trust with the delicate shit.” He turns to look at me. “Instead, I’m standing there at church like everyone else, finding out our reporter’s been a cop this whole damn time.”
The guilt I’ve been carrying twists deeper. “You’re right. And I felt like shit about it the entire time.”
“Then why?”
“Because ithadto be real.” I lean forward, with my elbows on my knees. “She needed to genuinely believe she was infiltrating us. That the club had no idea who she was. If anyone,anyone, gave her even the slightest cause to think we were onto her, the whole thing unravels. We don’t get her on our side, we don’t take down Rourke, and the Alliance keeps fucking us in the ass.”
Nitro’s quiet, processing everything I’ve said.
“I kept Ghost in the loop because he was already involved. He’d scrubbed her files for me, so I had to fill him in.But you?”I meet his eyes. “I needed you doingexactlywhat you do best.Running the club, keeping shit together, being genuine. If you’d known and had to pretend around her, she might have picked up on it. She’s a cop, brother. She’s trained to spot tells.”
“So, you sacrificed my trust to sell the con.”
“I did.” I don’t look away. “And I hated every second of keeping you out, but I couldn’t risk the whole play. We needed her to believe, to choose us, to help us flip this whole thing on Rourke.”
Nitro exhales slowly, turning the flute over in his hands. “You could’ve told me after. Before Church.”
“You’re right. I should have.” I stand, facing him squarely. “Look, I fucked up keeping you out that long. But I swear to you, Nitro, youaremy right-hand man. I depend on you more than you know. And I willneverleave you out of club decisions again.Never!”
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods slowly.
“We good?”
A smile touches his lips. “Yeah, Pres. We’re good.”
The tightness in my chest eases. “Heavy thoughts for a Wednesday night.”
Nitro stands, stretching. “Think I’m gonna go for a drive. Clear my head.”
“Uber shift?”
“Yeah.” He pockets the flute. “Helps me process, you know? The road, even in a car, it centers me. Hearing other people’s stories, socializing with civilians who aren’t trying to murder us or put us behind bars. Just everyday people who don’t look at me for the cut I wear, you know?”
I let out a long exhale, gripping his shoulder. “I get it. The leather cut brings unwanted attention, and whether you like to admit it or not, Nitro… you’re a fucking people person. You like being in the company of people. So, I don’t care if you need to fillyour cup by picking up Uber shifts. It’s all good with me, brother. Whatever keeps your brain clear.”
“Thanks, Pres… but you know I’m locked in, my focusisthe club.” His eyes narrow on me like he’s concerned that I am questioning his loyalty.
“Was never any doubt. All right, brother, check in with me when you get back.”
He simply nods, then takes off into the parking lot for his car. I stand watching him leave, then when I turn for the clubhouse doors, Victoria is standing there, arms crossed, patiently waiting for me. “How much of that did you hear?”
“All of it,” she states, striding out to meet me. “But it’s okay… I know I put a fracture through the clubhouse. I came in under false pretenses, and it was a fucking shitty thing to do. But, I am your Old Lady now, not a cop, in any way, shape, or form, and my first duty as your Old Lady is to win over every single brother in this club and make them adore me.”
I slide my arm around her waist and pull her close to me, pressing a light kiss to her temple. “Don’t worry, wildcat. It won’t take them long to love you.”
VICTORIA
Four Months Later
The classroom at UNLV is bright with afternoon sun streaming through the windows. My notebook is open, filled with notes about subcultures, about the stories that exist beneath the surface of society. About the truth that people are afraid to tell.
