I turn, relief crashing through me when I see Lady pushing through the crowd. Her hair is piled in glossy curls that bounce with every step. The bodysuit she’s wearing sparkles under the club lights like she’s halfway to a stage.
Carmen sees her coming and steps away like I’m on fire.
She smells like coconut oil and champagne when she reaches me.
“Lady,” I breathe.
Lady Nyx is my friend from high school. My only friend who ever looked at me and didn’t flinch away from what she saw. I haven’t seen her in years, but I’ve kept up with her career on social media. I never post myself. No one wants to hear about how broke or bruised you are. While I’ve stayed hidden, I’ve read about her fabulous life in tabloids. Our lives couldn’t have turned out more different.
Lady doesn’t walk into Vice Ink so much as shearrives, sunglasses on inside like rules don’t apply to her. She slides through the crowd with a star power that makes men move out of her way without realizing they’re obeying. All men. Even bikers.
The music shifts, and she laughs at something Magic says. That’s when Shady appears like he’s always been there, road captain calm, cut worn like skin, ice blue eyes scanning the room even while the beat keeps breathing.
Lady forgets me, looks him up and down, slow, like she’s reading a tracklist. “You always stand like you’re about to break up a fight,” she says.
Shady’s mouth barely twitches. “That’s ‘cause I usually am.”
“Tragic,” she replies, and then she holds a hand out like a dare. “Come on. Five seconds. Prove you can do something besides glare.”
For a second he doesn’t move, like he’s deciding if she’s worth the trouble. Then he takes her hand.
It isn’t sweet. It isn’t soft. It’s Shady pulling her in with quiet control, Lady going willingly, hips finding the rhythm like she was built for it. Her laugh flashes bright when his handsettles at her waist, and his gaze drops just once, quick and involuntary, like her body surprised him.
“You’re not terrible,” Lady says, breathless and smug.
Shady leans in close enough. “You talk too much.”
Lady grins like that’s a compliment. “And you don’t talk enough.”
He spins her once, clean and smooth, and when she lands back against him her smile slips into something smaller, something real. Shady’s hand stays at her waist like he forgot to let go.
I look away first, because it feels like catching someone in a moment they didn’t mean to show. But when I glance back, Lady’s fingers are still hooked in his, and Shady’s eyes are still on her.
It dawns on me. That’s why she’s here. She’s involved with a biker. One of the Saints Outlaws. We have more in common than I thought.
She throws her arms around me without hesitation, squeezing tight enough that my ribs protest. For a second the noise and heat fade under the simple comfort of someone holding me like I matter.
Then she pulls back.
Her gaze drops to my collarbone.
Her expression darkens instantly.
“Oh hell no,” she mutters.
Her fingers brush lightly over the bruise, careful but furious.
“Which bastard did this to you?”
I flinch before I can stop myself. The word bastard echoes strange in a room full of men who wear sin like a patch.
Lady notices the movement immediately. Her eyes narrow.
“Come with me,” she says, voice turning hard. Protective.
She grabs my hand before I can argue and pulls me through the crowd toward the hallway that leads away from the main floor. A prospect moves out of our way without being asked, eyes down, like he knows better than to get in between an upset woman and her mission.
Carmen watches us go from where she stands near the bar.
