Damian’s Pov
The clubhouse sits behind a scrapyard nobody's bothered to zone in fifteen years, which is exactly why I bought the land under three different shell companies before I ever wore the patch. Nobody looks twice at rusted metal. That's the whole point of rust.
I go by Ghost here. Not Damian Kade, not the man who sits in a glass office fourteen floors above a woman I've spent three days trying not to think about in ways rule two expressly forbids. Ghost doesn't run a company. Ghost runs the part of my war Kade Holdings' lawyers could never survive knowing about.
Reyes was waiting at the door when I walked in, arms crossed, and I knew before he said a word that this wasn't going to be simple.
"You brought her into the building." He didn't raise his voice. Reyes never raises his
