Page 11 of Nitro (Redline Kings MC #3)

“Fuckin’ Skulls,” Piston muttered. “After everything those bastards pulled with Kane’s races, we’re just letting one of theirs waltz in here?”

Jax, perched on an armrest with a tablet balanced on denim, spoke before I could respond.

“I can confirm she hasn’t had contact with either of them in over a year.

Even longer for her father. Her phone, her bank, her socials—they’re clean.

There’s no traffic to them. Period. No burner mentions, no coded yapping, no money moving funny. Whatever ties existed, she cut ’em.”

“Does that make you sleep better?” Fury shot back, gaze on me, not Jax. “Because it doesn’t touch the name on her blood.”

Edge let the knife clap shut and pointed it at him like punctuation. “You got skulls rattling around in your head, brother? Or you forget how family gets made in this room? Blood gave us problems. Choice fixed ’em.”

“Fury’s not wrong to be pissed,” Raze put in, voice rougher than usual. “Skulls have taken shots at us before. It’s not paranoia if the bastards really are that dirty.”

“And none of that is on her.” Axle’s voice was calm and steady, the kind of cool water that put out certain fires and boiled others. “She’s here to race. She’s earning. That’s the metric.”

“You sure you’re not letting your dick make policy?” Piston asked me, his tone light, but it was clear he wasn’t entirely joking.

“You asking if I’d throw her to the curb if she was dirty?” I stared at him until the question died. “I’d handle it. But she isn’t.”

Gauge finally shifted, stepping off the wall, voice even. “I’ve been listening. Watching her. She’s here for speed, not for the Skulls. Only one question matters—” His dark eyes met mine. “Is she Redline family?”

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate.

Gauge nodded once. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

Kane’s eyes cut around the room. “Blood doesn’t make a family. You all know that. Every single man in this room is here because of choice, not accident. Anyone who wants to pretend otherwise can hand me their patch right now.”

Silence.

Edge smirked, but his voice was pure steel. “And if I hear one of you so much as breathe sideways at her over this, Nitro’ll beat your ass black and blue. And then Kane will decide whether you’re worth the leather you wear.”

That quiet held again, thicker and heavier.

Then Blitz, the club secretary, flicked his pen closed. “The ledger’s settled.”

Subject changed. Moving on.

Tyre, our treasurer, tapped the table. “The budget for new shocks is still a mess, but that’s a fight for later.”

Kane leaned back, decision settling in his bones.

“We’re done. Keep your heads on a swivel.

If the Skulls sniff around for any reason, I want eyes up and hands ready.

If they find out about Jana’s connection to us, they might decide to try to use her.

I don’t want her dragged into the middle of shit she has nothing to do with.

Drift, you coordinate tails if we need ’em fast.”

Drift tipped two fingers. “Copy.”

“Dismissed,” Kane finished, and the room stood as one, chairs scraping and boots beating a steady exit.

Edge caught my arm as I turned, voice pitched low enough to be private. “You break, you tell us before the pieces hit the floor.”

I snorted. “I’m not the one who breaks.”

“Fair,” he conceded, mouth twitching. “Just remember—if you need to put a hole in a man, I call first shot.”

“Get in line,” Axle murmured as he passed, deadpan, and the three of us almost smiled—dark, thin, the kind you share with men who’ve bled with you and might again by dinnertime.

Kane’s voice followed me to the door. “Nitro.”

I looked back.

He didn’t stand or change his expression. “Keep her close. And if anything smells like Skull, you bring it in-house before you blow it in the field.”

I nodded. We both knew he wasn’t talking about explosives.

The women were sitting with coffee cups on the table, and a plate of something sweet half eaten lay between them. Jana sat cross-legged, her hands wrapped around a mug as if it could anchor her. The second I shadowed the doorway, she looked up, her green orbs searching my face.

“You’re good.”

Her shoulders lowered a full inch.

Savannah smiled, and Ashlynn lifted her cup in a toast. “Welcome to the circus.”

Jana’s mouth tipped at one corner. “Thanks for not making me juggle.”

“We only let Nitro play with fire,” Savannah said, her tone as dry as the desert. “Union rules.”

That pulled a short, honest laugh out of Jana—small but real. Music to my ears.

I touched her shoulder. When she slid her hand into mine and stood, I gave the women a nod, then guided mine to the front door.

On the porch, the heat hit like a welcome punch. Bikes winked in the sun as we walked to my truck. I helped her up, then jogged around to the driver’s side and got in.

As we drove out of the compound, I mentally drew a circle around us that I dared the whole world to cross.

If the Broken Skulls so much as breathed in our direction, I’d answer with something louder than breath.

And if anyone in our orbit tried to make Jana pay for a patch she never wore, they’d find out fast why my brothers didn’t argue with me when I said I’d handle it.

Jana had chosen us. And I’d choose her—over and over, without blinking. The kind of choice you built a future on. One created by refusing to let the past write your next lap.

I’d erase anyone who tried to rewrite hers.

With interest.