Blade exhales through his nose. “Yeah… Riot’s not loving what he’s seeing on this Whitacker fuck. Some real questionable stuff. He has some shady shit in his background and possible ties to the Russians.”
Bri shakes her head. “We need to let Brooke have her night.”
Blade looks like he’s about to argue, but she keeps going.
“It’s been almost a year since she’s even let herself go on a real date. She’s spent so much time taking care of everyone else, holding everything together, making sure we’re okay. I just… I want her to get the chance to want something for herself for once. To meet someone the way we did.” Her eyes flick to Blade, then back to the group. “And yeah, you think everybody’s tied to the Russians. I get why. That mess is still hanging over all of us. Trust me, I fucking get it.”
She exhales and softens just a notch. “But until we actually meet the guy and know more, let’s give her this one night. Just one.”
Blade scrubs a hand over his face, jaw tight, then looks at Bri. “You’re not wrong,” he says quietly. “She deserves that.”
Bri’s shoulders relax a fraction.
His gaze drops to her stomach automatically. “You okay?”
She gives him a look. “I’m pregnant, Blade, not fragile.”
“I know,” he says. “Still checking.”
None of us are comfortable with this, and it shows. Brooke Calloway is beautiful and way too damn good for a grease-stained bastard like me. She’s prissy, yeah. She loves her designer clothes, good wine, clean lines, and perfect hair. She’s cultured and classy. Not the kind of woman who’s supposed to fall for a biker who comes home smelling like oil and smoke.
But she’ll still show up at Perdition, sit at our sticky tables, laugh at our dumb shit, and steal fries off my plate like she belongs there too. And she loves her sisters like it’s breathing, like it’s the most natural damn thing in the world.
She stepped up when their parents died and put her own life on hold to make sure Bella and Bri were okay. I’ve known her for over two years, and yeah, she likes nice things, but there’s more to her than that. She’s smart. Funny. Sharp as hell. Sassy when she’s comfortable. And I’ve pictured what it’d be like to finally have her the way I want her more times than I’d ever say out loud.
It ain’t ever gonna happen though. I’m not the kind of man that fits into her perfect, polished life. I ain’t rich, ain’t respectable, ain’t somebody you take to fancy restaurants and introduce to business friends. I’m just Rev. Biker. Mechanic when needed. Muscle when things get ugly. Not exactly Brooke material.
Ansley studies me over her cup. “You good, Rev?”
“I’m fine,” I say, voice coming out darker than I mean it to.
Nobody buys that.
Switch mutters, “You look like you wanna flip the damn board.”
I glare at him. “Shut up. It’s your turn.”
He rolls, lands on my property, and groans. “This game is rigged.”
“Pay up,” I tell him. “The house always wins.”
The game drags on. Trash talk, fake money getting tossed around, Switch getting wiped out and accusing Blade of conspiracy. Blade is stealing brownies when he thinks no one’s looking and then immediately handing one to Bri when she gives him a look. Ansley sneaks Bella cheesecake like bribes to stay alive in the game.
Everything feels right on the surface. Loud. Warm. Familiar. But underneath it all something’s wrong, because my Princess isn’t here, and I don’t like that some guy named Grant Whitaker is the reason.
Bri lands on Boardwalk and groans. “No. No, absolutely not.”
Blade grins slow and dangerous. “That’ll be two grand, sweetheart.”
“You are a menace,” She grumbles.
He leans in and kisses her temple. “Your menace.”
Switch laughs. “That’s what you get for trusting him.”
Bella claps her hands. “Okay, timeout. Everybody breathe before someone flips the table and wakes the baby. I swear to all that is holy if that happens, I will not be the one getting him back to sleep!”
Ansley stretches. “Snack break.”
