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As the night bled on, it was all hushed plans and shared confidences, the air around us crackling with a fire that burned hotter than the looming threats. We were like two forces crashing together, dead set on setting things straight for Viper, ready to lay it all on the line.
In the shadows of my place, with the distant roar of the club below, Brat and I built something solid, unbreakable. It was more than just an alliance. It was a pact, hammered out in defiance, fueled by a joint resolve to fix what was broken, whatever the hell it took. And as the first light of dawn sneaked in, it hit me. We were way past the point of no return, too tangled up in each other and this fight to let any club rule or rivalry hold us back.
That night, the heat between us went off like a dynamite, blowing up the world around me as we patched up scars we didn’t even know we carried. It felt like an unspoken promise, too, a silent pact that we’d ride out whatever shitstorm was coming, side by side. Drifting off, tangled up together, the mess waiting for us didn’t feel so heavy. For a few hours, we’d found a slice of calm in the chaos.
Come morning, though, Brat threw me a curveball. There she was, gearing up to split.
“Where you off to?” I mumbled, still half in the dream world. “Stick around. Gonna clear things with my crew today.”
“I need to head back to the Roost,” she said, jamming her feet into her boots.
I tried to protest, but she silenced me with a gentle touch. “It’s gotta be this way for now. Keep it under wraps. Just say we’re on the Viper case.”
“But—” I reached for her, not ready to let go.
“Listen,” she cut in, “we can’t go public with us, not while this whole mess is still unfolding. No solid proof against Marco, no clue who really offed Viper or who’s stirring the pot between our clubs.”
Her logic hit hard. “Alright,” I conceded, “we keep digging, keep us quiet.”
She turned to leave, every inch the badass biker queen, leaving me bare and feeling the chill of her absence. My mind spun, replaying the old games I played with her, leading her on, then pulling away. Was she now flipping the script on me?
Chapter 16
Brat
Months of clandestine meetings with Riptide weaved a complex tapestry of lies and stolen moments. Our quest to find Viper’s killer and the puppet master behind Cowgirl’s threats served as the perfect cover, cloaking our burgeoning relationship in the shadows of necessity. Yet, with each secret rendezvous, our connection deepened, threading through the very fabric of our lives, binding us closer in silent, unspoken complicity.
At my usual table in the Roost, I was surrounded by the typical rowdy energy, but tonight, I caught snippets of conversations, sidelong glances, and knowing smiles that seemed to hover just on the edge of revelation.
Pixie leaned in, her voice low and tinged with mischief. “You know, Brat, you’re not as sneaky as you think.” Her eyes twinkled with unspoken knowledge, a hint of sisterly concern beneath the playful tease. “You’ve barely been around. Out with Riptide night after night looking for Viper’s killer.”
Razor, ever the blunt instrument of our sisterhood, didn’t bother with subtlety. “Come on, we know about you and Riptide bumping uglies,” she said, her statement cutting through the pretense like a knife. “You two have been dancing around each other for months. He comes in here like he owns the place, and you follow him out like a lovesick puppy dog.”
Tank, her arms crossed, gave me a look that managed to convey both disappointment and support. “We’re your family, Brat. You don’t have to carry this alone,” she said, her voice a mix of sternness and warmth. “But you need to be straight with Rage. She’s not blind, and the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be for you and potentially all of us, your friends who know.”
My sisters, my fierce, loyal family, had seen through the facade. They were keeping my secret, protecting me, but the strain of the unspoken and the unsaid was beginning to show.
“I didn’t want to drag you all into this mess,” I admitted, feeling the walls I had built around my secret life with Riptide begin to crumble. “Riptide and I, we started this to find the truth, to bring justice for Viper. But it’s turned into something… more.”
Pixie reached out, her hand warm on mine. “We get it, Brat. Love doesn’t check club colors. But this is bigger than just you and Riptide now. If this blows up, it affects all of us.”
Razor nodded, her gaze steady and serious. “You two might be playing with fire, but we’re the ones who’ll get burned. It’s time to face the music and bring this out in the open before it’s decided for us.”
Their words echoed my own fears, the risk of our secret love spilling out and igniting a war between our clubs. The truth was a ticking time bomb, and my sisters were right. It was time to come clean, to stand before Rage and the Hell on Heelz MC and reveal the depth of my duplicity, my desire to be with one of the enemies.
The Roost, with its laughter and camaraderie, suddenly became like a gilded cage, a public stage for a drama that had played out in the darkness for too long. My relationship with Riptide, once hidden, now felt like an open secret, its revelation inevitable.
I approached her, ready to lay bare the secret that had been burning inside me, but I got a shock. I saw Riptide standing with Rage in the dark corner of the clubhouse. His presence rocked me. I wasn’t supposed to see him until tomorrow. His posture was relaxed, but I could sense the undercurrent of stress as he spoke with her, his tone hushed and serious. The sight of them together, discussing the investigation as they had countless times before, momentarily rooted me to the spot.
My heart pounding, I listened in.
“There’s something I’ve been hiding,” he began, his tone firmer than I had ever heard it.
The words I needed to say were on the tip of my tongue when Riptide suddenly turned, his eyes locking onto mine. There was a resolve in his gaze, a determination that I hadn’t seen before. It struck me then, the depth of his feelings. I realized what he was doing. Riptide’s jaw tightened, his resolve clear.
Before I could speak, Riptide took my hand, his voice breaking through the ambient noise of the clubhouse. “There’s something I need to confess.”
Rage looked between us, her sharp instincts picking up on him holding my hand. “What’s going on, Riptide?” she asked, and she waved to our bartender, Sugar, who cut the music.
