My Fiancé Ran, So I Took His Father Instead

Harlow POV:

The air in the Serpents of Chaos clubhouse was thick with the smell of stale beer, sweat, and leather. It churned in my stomach, a nauseating cocktail of everything I was supposed to be joining.

Low whistles and laughter cut through the din of rock music. They weren't laughing with me. They were laughing at me.

My fiancé, Colby Carlisle, the Vice President of this godforsaken club, was supposed to be standing beside me. His spot had been empty for ten minutes.

Ten minutes that felt like a lifetime under the glare of a hundred pairs of eyes.

The officiant, a nervous-looking Prospect with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, stammered into the microphone. "Uh, we seem to be experiencing a slight... technical difficulty."

I clenched my fists. The sharp bite of my nails into my palms was a welcome distraction, a small, controllable pain that kept the smile plastered on my face. Don't let them see you break. Don't give them the satisfaction.

My gaze flickered to the front row. Vivian Carlisle, Colby's grandmother and the club's matriarch, her face a mask of thunderous disapproval, was whispering furiously to the man beside her.

Then, a flash of movement. A Sweetbutt—a club girl—in a top that was little more than a suggestion, scurried out from the back. She leaned down, her painted lips moving quickly against Vivian's ear.

Vivian's face went from stormy to sheet-white.

The girl's panicked eyes met mine for a split second. It was a look of pity, mingled with a sickening kind of triumph.

My heart didn't just sink. It plummeted.

He wasn't late.

He had run.

"Colby has been taken suddenly ill," the Prospect announced, his voice cracking. A wave of knowing, derisive laughter rolled through the hall.

The sound was like a physical blow. Every eye was on me, a specimen pinned to a board. Pity. Scorn. Amusement. I was the biggest joke in the Phoenix biker scene.

My family was a ghost, its name and fortune faded to dust. This alliance was my only escape. A path Colby had just torched, leaving me stranded in the flames.

Despair was a cold tide, rising fast. The thought of returning to my father's house, to my stepmother's triumphant sneer, was worse than death.

My phone vibrated in the tiny pocket of the dress. An anonymous number. A picture.

The background was a grimy storeroom in the back of the clubhouse. Colby, my Colby, had his hands buried in the hair of the same Sweetbutt who had whispered to Vivian. His mouth was crushed against hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

The text below it was simple.

"He chose her. You're out, poor thing."

A roar filled my ears, hot and furious. The despair vanished, incinerated by a rage so pure it was almost cleansing.

I would not be the poor thing.

I took a deep breath, the foul air filling my lungs, and pushed past the stammering Prospect. I ripped the microphone from his hand.

The screech of feedback silenced the room instantly. Every head snapped in my direction.

"Colby isn't sick," I said. My voice, amplified, was steady and cold as ice. "He's just chosen a cheaper form of entertainment. One that humiliates me, and humiliates the Serpents of Chaos."

The room erupted. Vivian was on her feet, her face a mixture of horror and shock.

I ignored the noise. "According to club rules, a betrayal during an alliance ceremony is an insult to the entire club."

My eyes swept the crowd, lingering on a few of the patched members who had shown interest in me before. "I, Harlow Parker, came here today for an alliance. I will not leave empty-handed."

I couldn't go home. I couldn't accept being cast aside. I had to carve out a new place for myself, right here, right now.

My gaze landed on the man in the center of the front row. The one man who had been silent through the entire fiasco.

Frederick 'Prez' Carlisle.

The club President. Colby's adoptive father. He wore a simple black t-shirt that did nothing to hide the coiled muscle beneath, the intricate tattoos that snaked up his arms. Even sitting, he radiated a power that was suffocating.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, watched the chaos unfold without a flicker of emotion.

Him.

My heart hammered against my ribs. It was a mad gamble, a shot in the dark. But it was the only shot I had.

"Since the Vice President's promise has proven worthless," I announced, my voice ringing with a conviction I didn't feel, "then I will seek the President's protection."

"I refuse to return to my broken home. I will choose a new partner from within the Serpents of Chaos."

I locked eyes with him, with those bottomless, terrifying eyes. I drew in one last, shuddering breath and threw my last die.

"And my choice is you."