CHAPTER 3 — THE PRESIDENT’S PATCH
937 Words
(Gina’s POV)
I woke up alone.
For a few disoriented seconds, I stared at the dark ceiling, trying to remember where I was.
The sheets beneath me were expensive.
Black silk. Still carrying the faint scent of leather, whiskey, and the man who had left me burning hours ago.
Then the memory of last night rushed back.
The nightclub. His eyes on me. The private suite. The way he had touched me with slow, devastating precision.
And then the emptiness after.
No arms around me. No body beside mine.
No lingering warmth.
Just cold sheets and silence.
I sat up slowly, the ache in my body making the memory even sharper.
He really had left.
A strange mix of annoyance and disappointment twisted in my stomach.
Of course he left.
A man like that didn’t seem like the type to stay.
Not after the way he had carried himself. Not after the control in every movement. Not after the darkness in his eyes that said softness wasn’t part of his world.
Still, I hated how much I noticed the emptiness.
I slid out of bed, pulling the sheet around my body as morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city below was waking up, Raven Hollow bathed in a gray-blue dawn.
That was when I saw it.
A black leather cut hanging over the armchair near the window.
Heavy. Perfectly placed. Impossible to ignore.
The sight pulled me toward it before I could think.
I crossed the room barefoot, every step making last night replay in fragments I couldn’t shut off.
His hands. His voice. The dangerous way he made waiting feel hotter than touch.
I reached for the leather.
The material was thick beneath my fingers, worn in the way expensive things only became after years of use.
The scent of him clung to it.
My breath slowed as I turned it over.
A black serpent curled around a silver dagger on the back patch.
The image alone looked dangerous.
Then I read the words stitched above it.
BLACK VIPERS MC
My stomach tightened.
A motorcycle club.
Not just bikers in a bar.
A real club.
The kind that ran towns from the shadows.
I had heard Tessa mention bikers before whenever she talked about Maddox, her overprotective boyfriend.
But this felt bigger.
Heavier.
Like power stitched into leather.
My eyes dropped to the lower patch.
And my breath stopped.
PRESIDENT
The room suddenly felt too still.
The whispers from last night crashed back into my head.
Reaper.
That name hadn’t just been a nickname.
It was authority. Respect. Fear.
The most dangerous man in the club had taken me upstairs like it meant nothing.
The suite door clicked open behind me.
I stiffened.
Then turned.
He stood there in the doorway, black jeans low on his hips, black fitted T-shirt stretching across broad shoulders, tattooed arms exposed like a warning.
In daylight, he somehow looked even more dangerous.
Harder.
More real.
His gaze dropped to the leather in my hands.
Then lifted to mine.
No guilt. No apology. No awkwardness about disappearing.
Just that same calm, merciless control.
“So,” he said, voice low and rough, “you know who I am now.”
I swallowed.
“You’re the president.”
A faint, unreadable expression crossed his face.
“Does that scare you?”
I stared at him.
The truth was—I didn’t know what I felt.
Shock. Curiosity. A pull that made no sense.
Maybe fear should’ve been there too.
But what I felt most was the dangerous memory of how he had touched me hours ago.
“You left,” I said instead.
His jaw tightened slightly.
That seemed to catch him off guard more than the patch.
“I had things to handle.”
The answer was cold. Practical.
Exactly what I should have expected.
Still, it irritated me.
“You could have said something.”
His eyes narrowed.
For the first time, a crack in that perfect control.
“You wanted promises?” he asked quietly.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because no.
I didn’t want promises.
I barely knew his real name.
But I hated that I had noticed his absence at all.
Before I could answer, heavy footsteps sounded outside the suite.
Then a knock.
Three sharp raps.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
His entire posture shifted.
The man from last night disappeared.
In his place stood the president.
Still. Cold. Untouchable.
“Boss,” a deep voice said from outside. “Chains is downstairs.”
My heart lurched.
Chains?
I knew that name.
Tessa’s boyfriend.
My cousin’s biker enforcer.
The realization hit like ice water.
My eyes flew to his.
He saw the recognition immediately.
Then the man outside added—
“Says Tessa’s cousin never came home.”
Silence crashed into the room.
His gaze locked on mine.
Dark. Sharp. Dangerously still.
The pieces clicked into place behind his eyes.
I saw it happen.
Tessa. Chains. Me.
His voice dropped into something colder.
“Your cousin is Tessa.”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded slowly.
The tension in the room thickened.
Because now this wasn’t just one reckless night.
Now it touched club business.
Touched loyalty. Hierarchy. Rules I didn’t even understand yet.
He moved closer, towering in front of me.
The patch still in my hands.
His eyes unreadable.
Then he said the one thing that made my pulse spike harder than anything else.
“That makes you a problem.”
The doorknob turned from outside.
And Chains’ voice thundered through the door.
“Boss, open the damn door.”
- Writer
