Aurora put her hand on his arm, and he flinched as though it scorched his skin. “Sorry,” she breathed. “I was just going to say that you should cut yourself some slack. Sometimes, seeing the signs isn’t enough. You can’t hold yourself responsible for someone else’s fuck ups,” she insisted. He knew that she was right, but blaming himself was easier than facing the truth. He had failed at yet another relationship, and maybe that was his sign to take a break from women and dating for a while. At least until he could figure out what the hell was wrong with him.
AURORA
Aurora,for her part, didn’t miss the shadows in Nitro’s eyes, or the pain he was trying to drown with whiskey and beer. She wasn’t looking for attachments. Hell, she had spent a lifetime running from them, but there was something about this man, this broken Cupid sitting next to her, that tugged at the walls she’d built up around her heart.
Still, she knew better than to hope for happily ever after. People like her didn’t get happy endings—they just passed through other people’s stories, sometimes making mistakes that ended up ruining lives. But as Nitro looked at her over the rim of his glass, something unspoken sparked between them. It felt like a fire that could either heal them both or burn everything down around them.
Aurora had learned a long time ago how to read a room. It was a survival skill—one she’d honed in places far rougher than the Iron Vipers’ clubhouse. The way the air shifted when a fight was about to break out. The difference between a man who looked dangerous and one who actually was. And the subtle, almost invisible weight of grief that sat heavily on Nitro’s shoulders.
She took another sip of her beer, letting the quiet stretch between them without rushing to fill it. Men liked to fill the silence. They seemed nervous when things got too quiet. Most men filled the silence, trying to impress her. Nitro didn’t seem to feel the need to impress her or fill the quiet space between the two of them. He just watched her, eyes sharp but tired, like a man who’d been knocked down too many times and hadn’t decided yet whether to stand back up.
“So,” he said finally, tapping the rim of his glass against the bar, “you always rescue idiots dressed like Cupid, or am I special?”
Aurora smiled. “You’re special. But tonight you looked like you needed someone to sit next to you and not ask too many questions.”
His mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. “Well, I appreciate you doing that for me.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she insisted. “I’m just someone who knows what it looks like when a night goes sideways,” she said. That was true—just not in the way he probably thought.
Aurora didn’t come to the club looking for anything tonight. She never did. Places like this were just stops along the road—loud, anonymous, easy to disappear from the rest of the world. She’d learned early on that staying too long anywhere was dangerous. People started asking questions that she didn’t want to answer. If she stayed too long in one place, she found herself caring for the people there, and that never ended well for her or for them.
She glanced around the bar, clocking exits out of habit. Old lessons she had been taught way too long ago. She was taken from her home when she was just a kid, and she had learned to survive on her own. The Iron Vipers watched her the way predators watched unfamiliar terrain—curious, cautious, butnot hostile. She could feel their eyes watching, but she’d dealt with worse.
“What about you?” Nitro asked. “You don’t exactly seem to be here looking for a Valentine’s date.”
Aurora snorted. “Absolutely not. In fact, until I saw you sitting here, dressed like Cupid, I had forgotten that it was even Valentine’s Day.” He laughed at that, really laughed, and the sound did something unexpected to her girl parts. It warmed her in places that she usually kept locked down tight.
“Guess we’re both dateless losers tonight,” he said.
She met his gaze, her smile fading just a touch. “Hey, watch who you call a loser,” she grumbled, causing him to chuckle again. Something passed between them as they sat there in silence. It was almost like recognition. The kind that came from shared heartache rather than shared stories.
She looked him over and decided to just say what she was thinking. She had already been in this town for too long, and she’d be taking off again soon, so what would it matter if she made a fool of herself? “How about if we skip the dateless loser’s part of tonight and you come back to my place. We can hang out, and—” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to offer him exactly, but she could come up with a few ideas on the fly.
Nitro drained his glass and set it down on the bar with a thud, his fingers lingering on it. “I should probably say this before the night goes any further,” he said. “I’m not exactly in the headspace for complications.”
Aurora tilted her head. “Good. Neither am I.” Their eyes held the other as the air between them seemed charged with sexual chemistry that she hadn’t felt in a damn long time.
Across the room, a couple of bikers started arguing, voices rising. Aurora barely flinched, but Nitro seemed to notice her slight agitation. “You okay?” he said quietly. “You look a little upset by them. They’re just blowing off steam.”
Her jaw tightened before she could stop it. “I’m fine. Looks can be deceiving.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed. “Sometimes they tell the whole damn story, and right now, I’d say that you’ve seen your fair share of bar fights. Am I wrong?” For a moment, Aurora considered lying. She was good at it—had made a career out of half-truths and clean exits. But something about Nitro made that feel harder than it should have.
“I’ve seen my fair share,” she admitted. “I grew up on the road, and I don’t stay places long. But I have seen my fair share of bar fights. I just try to stay out of them.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” His features softened, and she studied him. The scar cutting through his brow looked like it would have a story all its own. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased even with the whiskey, and for a moment, she realized that he was keeping his walls up just as she was.
“Dangerous combination,” she murmured. “A man who understands. I’m starting to believe that you understand a lot more than you’re letting on, Nitro.”
He stood, tossing some cash on the bar. “Let’s go,” he said, holding out his hand to her. Aurora hesitated. Every instinct she had warned her not to follow men like him—men with storms behind their eyes and loyalty etched into their bones. But she slid off the barstool anyway.
Outside, the night was cold and rainy. “We can take my bike,” he offered. She looked up at the sky and back at him as if he had lost his mind.
“Or we can take my car,” she offered, “and stay dry.” She tossed him her keys, “You good to drive?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said, opening her door for her. She slid into the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt. She didn’t know it yet, but secrets had a way of surfacing—especially when fire met gasoline. And Nitro Jackson was nothing if not combustible.
NITRO
