Page 10 of Nitro (Redline Kings MC #3)

NITRO

I opened my eyes and blinked, trying to clear away the sleep.

One corner of my mouth kicked up when I spotted the trail of clothes we’d shed in a rush, messy sheets tangled around us, and memories of the night before flooded my brain.

The B&B’s A/C groaned like it hated its job, stirring air that still smelled like salt and the faint citrus of Jana’s shampoo that clung to my skin from where she’d slept pressed into my chest.

She was awake already. Lying on her side, she had her head propped on one hand and green eyes fixed on me like she was waiting for me to wake.

The expression on her face wasn’t soft, though.

It wasn’t the blissed-out haze I’d put her in the night before, or the defiance she wore like armor most days.

This one had a pinch at the corners, the kind of look people get when they were trying to decide whether it was safer to run or confess.

Guilt.

I caught it instantly—etched in the downturn of her mouth, the way her fingers twitched at the hem of the sheet she clutched to her chest. My gut tightened. But since the two days Kane had given me were up, I hoped she was about to finally open up to me.

I rolled toward her, forearm under my head, and my voice rough with sleep. “Spit it out, firecracker. Whatever’s chewing your insides, give it to me straight.”

She looked at the thin sheet fisted in her hand like it might offer backup. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Then she swallowed, freckles darker against the flush on her cheeks, and finally whispered, “You won’t understand.”

“Try me,” I cut in, eyes narrowing.

She took a steadying breath and let it all go.

The words poured out of her in stilted starts and ragged stops.

About the single mom who did her best, and a father in a cut who showed up late to the party just long enough to swagger in and upend her life.

The once-a-month visits where a little girl was paraded through a clubhouse for a man’s ego, not because anybody wanted to know her favorite cereal or how she’d done on a spelling test. The training she’d learned too young: don’t make eye contact, don’t show weakness, always have an exit.

Her voice shook when she spoke about her brother, five years older, once her shield, her anchor, the only good part of those forced weekends.

How he’d been her hero until she turned eighteen and finally walked away.

Until he patched into the Broken Skulls, the second she was free of them.

A twisted kind of love that left her gutted.

She stared at her fingers when she said that. Like the lines in her palm might explain how a person could be a shield one year and a stranger in colors the next.

“I haven’t spoken to him in a year,” she finished, voice barely above the grind of the A/C.

“My father, not since I was eighteen. Honestly, it didn’t even cross my mind to say anything about them because I never thought it mattered.

I wasn’t born into that life. I ran from it.

But then I heard something about the Broken Skulls and the Redline Kings.

I didn’t want to lose—I didn’t want to ruin… I mean…”

I didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. When she finally met my gaze, braced for judgment, I pulled her into my lap like she weighed nothing. She settled there awkwardly, eyes searching mine. Her pulse beat hard where her throat brushed my mouth.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” she murmured.

I nodded.

“You… don’t care?” Disbelief made her voice wobble.

I kissed her—nothing like the rough I usually put on her, but deep and steady, until I felt the fight bleed out of her shoulders.

When I lifted my head, my thumb traced the freckles on her cheekbone one by one, as though I could memorize them by touch.

“You didn’t choose blood. You chose speed. Us. That’s enough for me.”

The change in her was audible—a small sound in her chest, relief loosening something I hadn’t realized was wound that tight. She melted against me, tucking herself into my chest like she finally believed she had a place there. My hand splayed over her back, my fingers tracing the line of her spine.

We sat like that for a beat, breaths syncing, the clock ticking from the dresser like it had all the time in the world.

But honesty was a blade, and the truth was jagged. “I can’t keep this from my brothers.”

She stilled. Her relief threatened to snap back into panic as she pulled back just enough to see my face. Fear flashed in her eyes, raw and sharp. “If Kane hears, he’ll kick me off the team. I—” She cut herself off, jaw working. “I can’t lose the track.”

“I won’t let that happen,” I promised. “And he already knows.”

Jana’s expression crumpled. I knew she respected Kane and was worried he was disappointed in her.

“Trust me, baby.” My palm flattened at the base of her spine. “You’re not losing this. Not to him. Not to anyone.”

Then I let my mouth tip into the crooked smile that made prospects rethink their life choices but made her pulse race. “And if the prez becomes a problem, I’ll go through Savannah to get my way.”

Her brows lifted at that, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. She didn’t know Savannah well yet, but she’d seen the way Kane bent when his old lady had an opinion. Her voice could move mountains that Kane would otherwise make a man climb alone.

Jana took a deep breath, long and shaky, then gave me a short nod that said she was borrowing my certainty until hers came back.

I kissed her again, then slid out of bed and grabbed my jeans. “Come on. I’ll drop you with Savannah and Ashlynn. I need to call a meeting.”

“Club business?”

“Club business,” I confirmed with a wink.

Instead of being upset by my secrecy, like a lot of women were with their old men, Jana’s mouth quirked because she knew exactly what that meant this time.

We’d talked about what I could and couldn’t tell her about the club.

But she knew I would never lie to her or keep shit to myself if it concerned her, which was why she got to know about the “club business” today.

“Then hurry up,” she shot back, brave again because she’d decided to be. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“That’s my girl.” The way her eyes lit at the phrase put jet fuel straight in my veins and down to my cock that I had to ignore for now.

The clubhouse was humming when we arrived—coffee and leather, the low rumble of laughter layered over a blues guitar line bleeding out of the bar speakers.

Savannah and Ashlynn were curled up on one of the couches in the lounge.

Savannah spotted us first and stood, her blond hair in a loose braid, her eyes warming when she saw Jana.

“Hey, you.” Savannah pulled her in for a hug like they’d known each other for years. “I was just saying that Ashlynn and I needed a partner for the sacred art of telling our men when they’re being idiots.”

Ashlynn grinned, one hand sliding absently to her very large belly like she couldn’t stop checking she was still whole. “A tradition. We take turns, but sometimes it’s a team sport.”

Jana’s shoulders unclenched another notch under that welcome. Some things blood couldn’t buy, and women who decided you belonged were one of them.

“We’re borrowing her,” Savannah told me, mock stern, hand on hip. “And I will feed her, so don’t start.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I deadpanned, getting an eye roll that meant Savannah knew I absolutely would.

I squeezed Jana’s hip, low and possessive as I murmured. “Back soon.”

“Good.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll be here.”

With Jana safe and out of the way, I headed for Kane’s office. The walk through the clubhouse halls was familiar, the smell of leather and faint smoke clinging to every surface.

When I pushed into the office, most of the officers were already there.

The room carried the same calm weight it always did.

Kane sat behind his custom walnut desk, his sleeves shoved to his forearms. Edge sprawled in a chair sideways, Axle leaned against the bookcase near him, arms folded, expression quiet but engaged in his conversation with Edge.

Rev had parked near the map wall with a coffee he hadn’t touched.

Blitz and Tyre shared the end of the conference table, ledger open between them.

Drift and Shifter took up the back like a twin set of shadows.

Our enforcers—Jax, Raze, Piston, Fury, Wrench, and Gauge—were scattered where they could see and be seen.

The hum of voices cut when I entered.

“About time,” Edge drawled, taking a knife from his pocket and spinning it lazily in his fingers. “We placed bets on whether you’d show or send flowers and an apology note.”

“Shut up,” Raze muttered, though the corner of his mouth kicked up.

“Maybe he stopped to braid Jana’s hair,” Drift added with a smirk.

I ignored them, shut the door, and crossed my arms over my chest, taking my usual spot leaning against the wall. Granite. That’s what I wanted to project. I was unshakable.

“Take a seat or don’t.” Kane cut the air with a voice that never needed volume to command attention. “Let’s get to it.” Then his gaze locked on me. “Nitro.”

“It’s about Jana.” I didn’t bother with a warm-up.

The room sharpened immediately, attention snapping my way.

I decided not to beat around the bush. “Her old man’s Broken Skulls.

Her brother, too. She cut both off. Years ago.

” I used the shocked silence to give them a bare-bones summary of what Jana had told me this morning. They didn’t need the whole damn story.

When I finished, a ripple went through the room—quiet curses and a scrape of chair legs.

Fury’s jaw flexed, and Piston’s knuckles cracked one at a time, a metronome for temper.

Tyre swore softly in Spanish and went silent again.

Wrench stared at a knot in the table, tracing the lines like it would lower his blood pressure.