Chapter Twenty-Two
NITRO
The Next Day
The clubhouse pulses with eighties rock energy. Def Leppard blares from the speakers, and everywhere I look, there’s leather, spandex, and costume chaos that somehow works.
I catch my reflection behind the bar. Guns N’ Roses tee. Torn jeans, sleeveless denim vest, enough jewelry to make Slash proud. On my massive frame, it’s absurd. But for Marley’s thirtieth birthday, I’ll wear anything.
“Brother, you look ridiculous,” Sin says, grinning in his Bon Jovi costume, tight leather pants, headband, sleeveless shirt showing his ink.
Victoria appears beside him as Joan Jett. Black leather, smudged eyeliner, teased hair. She’s absolutely perfect. “Says the guy wearing a blond wig that looks like a bird’s nest.”
Sin grins with a shrug. “It’s cool, babe. I’m “Livin’ on a Prayer”.”
Victoria snorts out a laugh as I glance around the clubhouse. It’s completely transformed, records hanging from the ceiling, neon lights pulsing, a photo booth stuffed with props. Beck orchestrated everything with surgical precision, just like I knew he would.
Ro stands near the stage while Slash tunes her guitar. We’ve practiced for days, a rock version of Marley’s favorites that works with flute accompaniment.
“Nervous?” Ghost appears with a beer, dressed in some amalgamation of eighties leather.
“About playing? No.” I take the beer. “About everything else? Yeah.”
He studies me. “You’re claiming her tonight.” It’s not a question. He already knows the answer.
“Yeah.” The word feels heavy. “Making it official.”
The weight of what I’m not telling her sits like lead in my gut. Damon Blackwell. The name I’ve kept hidden from her for weeks now. The fact that I’m the one who hired her, who created that position at Blackwell Entertainment Group specifically for her.
I should tell her tonight.
Before I claim her.
But the thought of losing her, of watching her walk away because I’ve been lying by omission this entire time, makes my chest constrict in a goddamn painful way.
I’m a coward.
A selfish fucking coward who’s about to trap her into being mine before she knows the whole truth.
But maybe if she’s my Old Lady first, and if the club, her family, and everyone who matters have already witnessed us becoming official, she won’t leave. Maybe the weight of that commitment will keep her with me long enough to forgive me.
I hope.
Christ, I hope.
Movement at the entrance draws my attention. Sage and Beck arrive with Marley between them. She’s in jeans and a vintage tee, looking confused as they steer her toward the back rooms.
“What on earth is happening in here?” she asks, laughing as she gawks at the transformed clubhouse.
“Trust us,” Sage urges.
I watch them disappear.
Sin claps my shoulder.
“They’re getting her into costume. Beck picked it himself,” Victoria says.
“Should I be worried?” I raise my brow.
