Page 8 of Heat (The Royal HArlots MC, Quebec City-Canada #1)

Chapter Seven

Diamond stood on the second-floor landing, watching Teller and the other member of the Royal Bastards walk back toward the event. She caught the sleight of hand from Teller’s boy. He’d pretended to slip the asshole’s ID back into his wallet, but pocketed it instead.

“Domino, find out his name for me.”

Domino glanced down at Teller and his friend. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Don’t get tangled up with Teller. Not in bed or out of it. Got me, Domino?”

“I got you, boss.” She wouldn’t cross the line, at least not in a way that mattered. But a little temptation never hurt anyone.

Diamond glanced down at her ruined dress and sighed. She needed to change and get back to the event. As one of the faces of Haven House, people expected all of them to be present—no exceptions.

Turning from the view, she headed for her suite, already thinking about her backup black dress. But as she stole one last glance over her shoulder, she caught Teller’s boy watching her.

He winked.

A slow smirk played on her lips, but she didn’t let it linger. Let him wonder if she’d noticed at all.

Still, her gaze flicked over him—tall, broad shoulders, steel-gray eyes that were too pretty for a man like him, dark blonde hair that looked just long enough to tug.

And that tuxedo… sleek, tailored, annoyingly perfect.

She wondered, just for a moment, what he’d look like beneath it.

Then she shook the thought off and kept walking.

She took her time redressing, touching up her makeup and hair as she stared at herself in the mirror. She had come a long way since meeting the ladies who formed the Royal Harlots Quebec City Chapter.

For a twenty-year-old kid, being in WITSEC had felt like being trapped in limbo—stuck between who she was and who she was supposed to be. Except she never got a say in either.

At that age, she should have been figuring herself out—making mistakes, experiencing life, maybe even screwing up a little. Instead, she had a new name, a fabricated backstory, and a town she’d never heard of that she was supposed to call home.

The government gave her the essentials: an apartment, a stipend, help lining up a job, but none of it filled the gaping hole left by what she’d lost. Family? Friends? Dreams? All gone.

Every interaction became a careful balancing act.

Did she know her fake past well enough to make it believable?

Had she almost slipped and used her real last name?

Could she ever let anyone get close without endangering them—or herself?

Paranoia crept in constantly, turning even innocent questions from strangers into knots in her stomach.

The isolation was the worst part. Social media? A thing of the past. She couldn’t text her best friend or check in on her family. There was no “miss you” message to an old flame, not even from a burner phone—because if she slipped up, she might not get another second chance.

Dating? Impossible. How could she explain she couldn’t introduce them to her family because, legally, her family didn’t exist anymore? How could she brush off the way she avoided cameras or flinched when someone casually asked where she was from?

Maybe, with time, she’d start to settle. She memorized her new identity. She learned to answer to her new name without hesitation. Maybe she’d even let someone in—just a little. But deep down, the fear never faded—the knowledge that if her past caught up to her, she’d disappear again.

And next time, she might not be so lucky.

That was how she felt for years until she walked away from WITSEC.

She’d done the best she could with what the government had given her, taking the stipend and putting it toward a business degree.

She bought her first Harley, a symbol of freedom in a life that had never really been her own.

Then fate intervened, leading her to a bike night at a local bar.

That’s where she met Domino, Nova, and Vale.

Three years later, she told them her story.

It wasn’t long after they decided to build something bigger—something for women like them.

What started as a small riding group quickly grew, and before they knew it, they were petitioning to become an official chapter of the Royal Harlots.

Quebec City became their home. But what helped them get their chapter was Obsidian, the woman was part of the Harlots mother chapter and vouched for them.

Being under the Harlots protection gave them another layer of protection for their businesses. God, that had been a long time ago.

Smoothing a hand down her dress, she smiled at her reflection. Her past was where it needed to be—in the past. When she opened the door, the last thing she expected to find was mister winky. “Can I help you… what’s your name?” she asked, slightly annoyed the guy was standing outside her door.

Sayer smirked. “You mean your girl didn’t give it to you yet?”

Diamond smiled—rare for her. She didn’t have time for smiles, and she definitely didn’t have time for flirty men. Instead, she waited. Let him tell her himself.

“I’m Sayer. And you are?”

His question caught her off guard. He didn’t know who she was. She’d assumed Teller had filled his chapter brothers in on all of them.

“I’m Diamond.”

Sayer rocked back on his heels, something unreadable flickering across his face. He had no idea he’d been chasing the Harlot’s Prez’s ass. Now that he did, he had to be on his best behavior. The last thing he needed was to stir up problems between the Bastards and the Harlots.

“I wanted to make sure you got back downstairs without incident,” he said, his voice smooth but more measured now.

Diamond arched a brow. “How thoughtful.”

Holding out his arm, he asked,“May I?”

For a moment, Diamond just looked at him, as if weighing the offer. Then, finally, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

Sayer gave her another wink. This time, it earned him a smile. Something told him she didn’t give those away for free.

When Diamond walked back into the event, arm-in-arm with Sayer, the weight of a hundred eyes landed on her.

The air in the room seemed to shift—subtle but charged.

She could feel the stares of her chapter, the Royal Harlots, as if they were branding her on the spot.

The unspoken rule was clear: the Harlots and the Royal Bastards ran in parallel worlds, never to fully collided.

And yet, here she was, pressed against one of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears, but she kept her chin high, shoulders squared, refusing to let them see even a flicker of hesitation.

Sayer’s warmth at her side grounded her, the steady press of his arm a silent reassurance.

Then, just as she expected, she caught Domino flashing her a shit-eating grin from across the room.

Diamond just shrugged, pretending she wasn’t fighting back a smile of her own.

Sayer slipped his arm from Diamond’s, letting his hand fall to the small of her back as he guided her toward the bar. The warmth of her against his side felt natural—too natural.

As they moved through the room, he caught Teller’s eye. The knowing look on his brother’s face was unmistakable, amusement flickering behind it. Sayer didn’t need to hear a word to know Teller was laughing at him on the inside.

Hell, it was Teller’s fault he was even in this position—escorting the president of the Harlots. But if Sayer was being honest, he didn’t mind one damn bit being saddled up next to Diamond.

Not one bit.

Sayer scanned the room, the hum of low conversations and clinking glasses filling the air. The sharp scent of expensive cologne and whiskey mingled with the faint aroma of smoke. “Are we going to talk about the asshole that was hassling you earlier?”

Diamond didn’t break stride, her heels clicking on the polished floor. She tilted her chin slightly, catching the chill of the air-conditioned breeze against her skin. “I’d rather grab a drink and play a couple of hands of blackjack.”

Sayer’s voice was smooth, a low hum against the murmur of the crowd. “Tell you what, Diamond, you tell me who he was, and I’ll cover your buy-in.”

Diamond’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it was cool, guarded. “Sweetheart, I can cover my own buy-in. And no, we won’t be discussing the guy.”

The bartender’s station was close, the ice clinking as she quickly poured a drink for someone else. Sayer raised a hand, his fingers brushing the cold rim of his beer bottle before he looked back at Diamond. “I’ll take a beer and the lady will have…?”

“Toasted marshmallow martini,” she said, her voice like velvet, as if savoring the words.

Sayer gave her a look, the corners of his lips quirking. “Lady’s fancy.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow at his comment. Her smile smooth as she poured the martini. The sugary scent of marshmallow filling the air, making Diamond’s mouth water just a little. She handed it over with a knowing smile, the glass cold and damp with condensation.

Sayer tucked his tongue into his cheek, keeping his smile in check as the bartender moved away. The moment felt soft, the tension still humming beneath the surface, but wrapped in the warmth of the dimmed lights and the steady buzz of the room.