Chapter Forty-Three
I SHOULD HAVE told him the truth the minute we got back to the clubhouse last night, but confusion has a way of making silence feel safer than honesty, at least for a little while.
I climbed off the back of Chain’s bike in front of High Voltage, my legs steady even though my chest felt tight enough to ache.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Chain said, pulling me close, his hand warm and firm at my lower back. “Devil called a meeting. Gotta be there.”
“Okay,” I replied, leaning up to kiss him, breathing him in like I didn’t already feel something slipping out of reach.
I stood there and watched him ride away, the sound of the bike fading into the city until it became just another hum in the distance.
I’d made the decision on the ride here, sitting behind him with my arms around his waist, knowing I couldn’t keep carrying this secret without it tearing me apart.
I would go meet Zach while Chain was at his meeting, tell him I couldn’t lie anymore, tell him whatever this was couldn’t live in shadows.
Inside the bar, Ruby was getting ready for the evening rush, wiping down the counter and stacking glasses.
I told her I had to take care of something and would be back before it got busy, and she gave me that look that said she knew there was more but respected my silence enough not to ask.
I slipped back outside and started walking.
The Day’s Inn was only a block away, but every step felt heavier than the last. The sidewalks were cracked and uneven, the air thick with exhaust and heat, my thoughts looping through everything I meant to say and everything I was afraid to hear. I told myself this would be quick. Clean. Honest.
The motel crouched at the edge of the street like it had given up on being anything permanent a long time ago, its faded sign flickering weakly, curtains drawn tight across most of the windows.
Room 214 sat at the top of the narrow staircase, and when I knocked, the door opened almost immediately, like he’d been standing there waiting.
“Lark,” Zach said softly, relief washing over his face as he stepped back to let me in.
The room was small and dim, smelling faintly of stale coffee and cleaner that couldn’t quite mask what lingered beneath it.
Seeing him again in that space unsettled me more than it had that morning.
He looked tired, worn down in ways the boy I remembered never had, but there was something else too. An intensity that made my skin prickle.
“I can’t stay long,” I said as the door shut behind me, the click sounding too loud in the quiet.
His smile faltered, just a fraction. “You always were like that. In motion. Afraid if you stood still, someone would take something from you.”
“That’s not fair,” I said quietly. “We were kids. We were trapped.”
“We loved each other,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t pretend that didn’t mean something.”
“I’m not pretending,” I said. “It meant everything. But my life isn’t that anymore.”
“Because of him,” he said flatly.
I didn’t answer.
That was enough.
“You with him?” he asked. “Really with him?”
“Yes.”
The word surprised me with how solid it felt.
He turned away, pacing the length of the room, running a hand through his hair. “Men like that don’t change, Lark. They take. They leave. They hurt.”
“You don’t know him,” I said, heat creeping into my voice.
“I know the world you ran into,” he shot back. Then his tone softened, dangerous in its familiarity. “You remember us, don’t you? Before everything burned. You trusted me. You needed me.”
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel his breath.
“I remember,” I said carefully. “But remembering doesn’t mean I want to go back.”
His hands came to my waist before I could react, fingers firm, possessive in a way that didn’t feel like comfort.
“What if you don’t have to go back?” he murmured, pulling me close. “What if we just keep going? Pick up where we were cut off?”
“Zach,” I said, my pulse jumping. “Stop.”
He smiled, but there was something off in it now. “You always needed someone to tell you what was safe. I’m the only one who understands where you came from.”
That was when the warning went off.
Sharp. Clear.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said, pushing against his chest. “And you don’t get to touch me like that.”
I stepped back, reaching for the door.
“I didn’t come here for this,” I said. “I came to tell you I can’t keep secrets. I won’t lie to the man I’m with.”
His expression tightened. “You’re choosing him,” he said.
“Yes, and I won’t lie to him another day,” I replied.
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I turned the handle—
And he moved.
Too fast.
His arm hooked around my waist, pulling me back against him, his mouth covering mine, just as the door swung open.
Light from the outside flooded the room, harsh and unforgiving, and Chain stood there, close enough that I could see the way his shoulders locked and his jaw set hard. His eyes turned feral at seeing us embracing.
“What the fuck is this?” Chain demanded, his voice low and lethal.
He crossed the room in seconds and slammed Zach into the wall, forearm crushing across his throat, the sound of bone hitting drywall cracking through the air.
I screamed his name, grabbing at his cut, his arm, his shoulder, trying desperately to pull him back, but Chain was already gone to that place where instinct took over.
“Who the hell are you?” Chain snarled, leaning in close. “You got three seconds to tell me why your hands are on her before I end you.”
“Chain, stop!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “Please—stop!”
Zach gasped, eyes wild, and when he tried to speak my name, Chain’s grip tightened until I screamed again.
“It’s Zach!” I cried. “Chain, it’s Zach. Don’t hurt him.”
The name hit the room like a sudden drop in temperature. Chain froze, his breath coming hard as his eyes flicked to mine, filled with disbelief.
“Zach?” he repeated slowly.
I nodded, tears spilling freely now. Chain loosened his hold just enough for Zach to breathe, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he studied Zach’s face like he was trying to reconcile a ghost with flesh and blood.
“This man’s supposed to be dead,” Chain said quietly.
“They lied,” Zach rasped.
Chain stared at him for a long moment before his gaze shifted back to me, and something in his expression changed. Recognition. Understanding. The kind that hollowed him out instead of setting him on fire.
He stepped back slowly, his hands dropping to his sides like they’d suddenly grown too heavy. When he spoke again, his voice was calm in a way that scared me more than his rage had.
“Now it makes sense,” he said.
I reached for him, desperate. I tried to explain, to tell him Zach had grabbed me, that I was leaving, that it wasn’t what it looked like, but Chain shook his head once, small and final.
“You’ve been lyin’ to me,” he said quietly. “Sneakin’ behind my back.”
Then he walked out.
The door closed behind him with a sound that echoed through the room like the end of something I would never get back.
I slid down the wall, my sob breaking free as everything I’d been holding back crashed down on me at once, while Zach stood there in silence, watching the space Chain had left behind.
The worst part wasn’t the violence.
It was the way Chain had let go.
And deep down, I knew it might be for good.