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Chapter one

Novo

I suppose it was as good a day as any to get married.

I’d spoken to Ricky and Calvin from the agency a couple of times and assured them I’d be here.

I’d never spoken to Matthew, or Matty as Calvin called him.

I didn’t want to. Let them think it was a business arrangement so Matthew could get his trust fund, and I could get the cool two million I’d been promised.

One million for each of the two years I had to stick this out.

We even had a lawyered-up contract. Not that I cared about the spoiled little rich kid or even my two mill. Thanks to my Portuguese great-grandfather I had enough cash as a cushion, and I’d worked for my club ever since I left active service.

“You sure about this?”

I glanced back at Cruise, my uncle’s road captain and my best friend.

My uncle Jono was the president of the Diamond Kings MC, and I had joined as a prospect fifteen years ago, much to my dad’s consternation.

Mom and Dad had never been in the life, but Dad and my uncle had never fallen out about it.

“No option,” I said. And there wasn’t. We’d tried everything to take out old man Coombes but like most with more money than morals, he’d gotten away with everything.

And they said bikers were dirty.

Then three months ago, Digger had found the emails between the boy and the dating agency, or Rent-a-Daddy , as it was called.

And the revenge plan was back on.

“Two years is a long time.”

“Not really.” It had been five since I buried my dad and four since Mom had followed him. Officially it was a stroke, but I knew better. She’d died of a broken heart.

The door to the small waiting room burst open in the Denver County Courthouse and Ricky bustled in followed by Calvin brandishing flowers to fix on my jacket.

“Oh my God,” Ricky squeaked. “Matty’s won the lottery.

” I sighed internally because I’d followed Ricky’s exact instructions and had to dress in a fucking kilt.

Why, I had no idea, as I didn’t have so much as a dram of Scottish blood in me, but this was my last chance to get the scumbag who had as good as murdered my mom and dad, so if I’d needed to wear a fucking tutu I would have.

Cruise and I thanked them, then followed them out. I saw Matthew before he noticed me and took in the way he was nervously twisting his hands, which surprised me. I had quite a few friends in the lifestyle and had reached out to the club in Charlotte, and apparently Matthew was a mean little shit.

Didn't look that way right now, though. If anything, he seemed terrified, which didn't fit with what I'd been told about him at all.

He was handsome enough, if you liked the pretty boy type.

Small and slender with brown hair and highlights that probably cost more than my first bike.

His face was carefully blank, but his eyes were darting around like a cornered animal's.

When he spotted me, they widened even more. Guess the kilt made an impression after all. Or maybe it was the tattoos. Or the beard. Or the fact that I was about a foot taller than him and twice as wide. I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

"Matthew," Calvin said, "this is Novo. Your... um... fiancé."

Matthew gave a tight nod but didn't speak. Up close, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles were white from gripping his own hands. Not at all what I expected from the spoiled brat I'd heard about. I watched the lump travel his throat as he swallowed.

"Hello," I said, keeping my voice neutral. No point in making this worse than it needed to be.

"Hi," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "Thank you for... doing this."

I raised an eyebrow. Gratitude wasn't what I'd expected either, considering this was a very well-paying gig. "Let's just get it done, Matthew."

His eyes widened slightly. "I— Novo ," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before clearing his throat and standing straighter. "I prefer Matty."

"Matty, then." According to what I knew, he should be calling me Sir, and I would be calling him Boy.

An awkward silence fell between us. I could feel Cruise's eyes boring into my back, probably wondering if I was going to bolt. For a split second, I considered it. This was a lot of commitment for revenge, even if Harold Edward Coombes deserved everything coming to him and more.

"Your kilt looks nice," Matty finally said, his voice still quiet but with a hint of something else—maybe amusement? "Ricky insisted, didn't he?"

I nodded, surprised he'd picked up on that. "Yeah. Said it was non-negotiable.”

“Are we all ready?” a man said, opening the door to the judge’s chambers. I stood back to let Matty go in first, but caught the flash of panic on his face so as naturally as breathing, my hand fell to the small of his back to guide him through.

I wasn't expecting the small, shy smile that curved his lips as he nodded his thanks and stepped through the doorway.

The courtroom was small, almost cramped, with wood paneling that had seen better days and fluorescent lighting that made everyone look sickly.

Not exactly a romantic wedding venue, but then again, this wasn't a real wedding.

The judge was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

She smiled at us as we arranged ourselves—Matty and me in front, Ricky, Calvin, and Cruise behind us like the world's most mismatched wedding party.

I knew Ricky and Calvin had brought muscle with them as well, because their husbands—Daddies, whatever—were insanely protective.

Not that I had a problem with that. I was just surprised pretty-boy didn't.

"Marriage is a sacred bond," the judge began, launching into the standard spiel about commitment and partnership.

I tuned her out, my eyes fixed on a point just above her head.

Two years. Two years of playing house with this stranger, all so I could finally get the info I needed to make Harold Edward Coombes pay for what he'd done.

My dad's face flashed in my mind—how he'd looked that last day, defeated and broken, the light gone from his eyes after Coombes had systematically destroyed everything he'd built.

"Mr. Sousa?" The judge's voice pulled me back to the present. "Your vows?"

I blinked, momentarily thrown. Vows? Nobody had mentioned vows. I glanced at Matty, who looked equally startled.

"We, uh, we didn't prepare anything specific," I said, trying to sound apologetic.

The ceremony was mercifully brief after that.

Calvin and Ricky stood as our witnesses, beaming like this was a real love match instead of what it actually was—a business transaction with a side of revenge.

Matty's hands trembled as we exchanged the simple bands I'd picked up at a jewelry store yesterday.

His skin was cool to the touch, and I couldn't help noticing how small his hand looked in mine.

When the judge pronounced us married, there was an awkward moment where Matty glanced up at me, uncertainty written across his face.

I gave him a brief nod and leaned down to press a quick, impersonal kiss to his lips.

It lasted half a second, but I felt him freeze completely at the contact.

We stepped away from each other quickly, both of us pretending that awkward moment hadn't happened.

The judge smiled at us, oblivious to the tension.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mr. Sousa-Coombes."

Matty's head jerked up at that, his eyes wide. We hadn't discussed names. Hell, we hadn't discussed much of anything beyond the basic terms of our arrangement. I should have asked more questions, I guessed, but the result was more important than how I got there.

"We're keeping our own names," I said smoothly. "For professional reasons."

The judge nodded, unfazed. "Of course. Well, congratulations regardless."

Cruise clapped me on the shoulder as we exited the judge's chambers. "Well, that's done," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "You good?"

I nodded, watching as Ricky enveloped Matty in a hug that seemed to swallow him even if he was probably half an inch taller than Ricky. Calvin stood beside them, practically bouncing with excitement.

"So," Ricky said, pulling away from Matty but keeping his hands on his shoulders. "Celebration dinner? I made reservations at Marcello's." He turned to Matty. “Daddy and Daddy Saul will be joining us.”

Matty glanced at me, uncertainty written across his features. "I, um, I don't know if—"

"We'll be there," I said, surprising myself. Cruise gave me a look, but I ignored him. This whole charade needed to be convincing, and ducking out of a wedding dinner would raise eyebrows.

Besides, Matty looked so relieved at my answer that I almost felt... something. Not sympathy exactly, but maybe a twinge of curiosity about this kid who was nothing like I was expecting.

"Fantastic." Ricky clapped his hands together. "Six o'clock. Don't be late."

Cruise gave me a significant look. "I'll catch you two later, then.

Congrats and all that." He nodded at Matty, who returned the gesture with a tentative smile, but then Ricky distracted Matty, and I stepped away with Cruise.

My uncle would want to know if I'd gone through with it.

If the first step of our plan was in motion.

"Tell him it's done. I'm officially married to Harold Coombes' godson. "

"You sure you can pull this off?" Cruise asked, his voice dropping even lower. "Like I said, two years is a long time to play house."

I nearly ground my jaw. "Two years is nothing compared to what that bastard took from my family."

Cruise gave me a long look. "Just... be careful, brother. Don't lose yourself in this."

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Not a chance."

Once Ricky and Calvin had bustled off, chattering excitedly about centerpieces and champagne, Matty and I were left standing awkwardly in the courthouse corridor. Alone together for the first time as... husbands. Jesus.

"So..." Matty fidgeted with the new ring on his finger. "What now? Um, home?"

Good fucking question. I hadn't thought this far ahead. The plan had been simple: get married, wait for Matty to get his trust fund, use my position as his husband to destroy his godfather. I hadn't considered the practical details of actually living as a married couple.

“Ricky said you have your own place.” Because there was no way I was living with Coombes, and my house was exactly that. Mine.

He nodded.

"Okay then.” I’d brought the truck. Even I wasn’t dumb enough to ride my bike in this fucking kilt. Or not drunk enough, whatever.

He followed me to my F250 and hesitated. Realizing the problem, I simply opened the door and grabbed his waist, practically throwing him onto the seat. “Shit, sorry,” I said, immediately contrite. I wasn’t a bully. “I expected you to weigh a little more.”

And then I had another unsettling thought.

In my head I’d expected someone into kink, maybe submissive play if I was lucky enough to get back into that, and who needed a lot of spoiling and looking after.

At least, that’s what I’d understood from what I’d seen Bolt, the Daddy I knew, do at the clubhouse.

I expected a boy who was very high-maintenance.

A spoiled brat looking for a spanking, but what if he wanted a Daddy/caregiver rather than a Daddy/Dom?

That was completely different. I tried to look at him unobtrusively.

He had skin-tight pants on, so he definitely wasn’t rocking a diaper.

But I should already know this. And a tinge of shame crept in.

I’d been so focused on finally getting my revenge that I hadn’t thought about the practicalities.

Matty's eyes widened, but then his lips quirked up in a slight smile. "It's okay. I'm used to people overestimating my size."

I nodded, shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side. The cab fell silent as I started the engine and pulled out of the courthouse parking lot.

"Where to?" I asked, realizing I didn't even know where Matty lived.

"Bayridge Apartments, off Thornton Parkway," he said, his voice soft. "Building C, but you can just drop me at the entrance if you want."

I frowned, glancing at him. "Drop you? We're supposed to be living together, remember? That was part of the deal."

Matty bit his lip, looking down at his hands. "Right. Sorry. I just... I didn't know if you'd want to stay tonight or if you needed to get your things first or..."

Jesus, this kid was nothing like I'd expected. Where was the entitled brat I'd heard about? The one who threw tantrums when he didn't get his way? This Matty seemed almost... afraid. Of me? Of the situation? I couldn't tell.

Unless he was the best actor I’d ever seen.

Yeah, that was probably it.

"I've got a go-bag in the truck," I said, keeping my eyes on the road. "We’re supposed to live together, so I can get the rest tomorrow." Ricky had told me Matty didn't have his own car, but I assumed with the cash he had access to he rode around in chauffeur driven limos or whatever.

"Okay." His voice was barely audible over the engine.

The silence stretched between us. I couldn't help stealing glances at my new husband. He sat rigidly in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap, staring straight ahead. Something wasn't adding up.

Bayridge Apartments turned out to be a mid-range complex—not the luxury high-rise I'd been expecting. The buildings were well-maintained but nothing special. I pulled into a visitor spot near Building C and killed the engine.

I hopped out, grabbing the duffel from behind the seat. When I came around to the passenger side, Matty was already out of the truck, fidgeting with his keys. I frowned. “Matty, you should wait for me to help you down. You could have hurt yourself.”

His lips parted but no sound came out at all, and for a moment he looked completely stunned. But that was what he was paying for, right? A Daddy?

We rode the elevator to the third floor in silence. The hallway was clean but bland, beige flooring and off-white walls. Matty stopped at Apartment 307, unlocking the door with slightly trembling hands.

"It's not much," he said as he pushed the door open.

I stepped inside, taking in the modest apartment. The living room was small but tidy, furnished with a comfortable-looking, if slightly worn, sofa and a coffee table stacked with books. A tiny kitchen opened off to the right, and a hallway presumably led to the bedrooms and bathroom.

It was nice. Homey. But nothing like what I'd expected from Harold Coombes' godson. Just what the fuck was actually going on?