Page 15 of Hidden

“She can prove to be more useful,” his VP answered. “She’s already proven there are no holds barred when it comes to spying. Isn’t that right, Princess?” he grinned at me.

I remembered him well. He had been there that night. He knew what had been forced upon me.

“We’ll see…” Nico murmured. “If she’s needed, she can be used to bring Vienna down. But for now, she stays where she is.”

A few of the men nodded, satisfied with that answer, already moving on.

But I felt the weight of it settle over me like chains.

Bring Vienna down…

I lowered my gaze further, forcing my expression to remain empty, my breathing steady, even as something inside me tightened painfully in my chest.

The meeting continued, voices rising and falling around me, plans being made, lines being drawn, but I wasn’t really hearing it anymore. Not properly. The words blurred together, background noise to the steady thud of my heartbeat in my ears.

War was coming.

And this time, there would be nothing holding either side back.

My fingers tightened again, nails pressing into my palms hard enough to sting, grounding me, keeping me present.

A memory flickered at the edges of my mind, faint but persistent, tugging at something deep in my chest.

I swallowed slowly, my gaze fixed firmly on the floor as the past began to bleed into the present.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been used like this.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been sent to bring down the Devils.

My chest rose and fell with a steady breath as the memory sharpened, pulling me under, dragging me back to a time when things had been simpler.

When the lines hadn’t felt quite so suffocating.

When the choice hadn’t felt quite so impossible.

I gave in to the memory, letting it wash over me. Letting it comfort me. Because there was a time I hadn’t betrayed him. When I had seen beyond the patches and the club, and I had seen a boy who needed help.

My help.

And that had changed everything.

Chapter 7

Gabriella

Before

12 Years Old

I could be at home right now. Not that home was any more interesting, but at the very least I could be in my bed.

But no. That would be too easy.

Instead, I was standing outside the clubhouse of the Devil’s Disciples, whilst my father had a meeting with Crash and Warrior—the current president and vice president of this godforsaken club.

Rumours had been flying around that Warrior was ill. Maybe even retiring soon. Something about arthritis in his hands stopping him from riding. And you can’t lead a biker club if you can’t ride. Weekly bike rides were compulsory, not something you could opt into.

Apparently, it was a way to strengthen the brotherhood.