Chapter 14 Kelly
Fourteen
Kelly
Pieces of my life are returning in flashes and every one of the good ones leads back to him.
Riot moves through the safe house with a quiet, terrifying intensity. The same kind of stillness found in predatory animals right before they strike. He checks the windows. The locks. The cameras. The hallways.
Twice.
His jaw is set, his shoulders tight, and his hand hovers near the gun holstered at his hip with a familiarity that somehow doesn’t scare me.
Nothing about him scares me.
That might be the scariest part.
“We’re movin’ again,” he states, voice rough, eyes locked on the window as if the shadows might answer back.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling in my fingers. “Mellow said they saw someone near the highway?” I ask quietly.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
“Following us?”
“Maybe.” His jaw flexes. “Or maybe just trackin’ anyone connected to the club. Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking chances.”
His words settle in my stomach like heavy stones.
My whole world is shifting too fast. My memories returning too slow.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.
“To the compound,” Riot explains. “The deep one. Not the clubhouse.”
I blink. “There’s another?”
“Several,” he deadpans. “Chux likes options.”
His tone is dry, but the tension around his eyes gives him away. He’s choosing his tone carefully not to scare me. He’s trying to be gentle.
A big, tattooed, brooding biker man trying to be gentle.
Something flutters in my chest, confusing and warm.
He turns to me finally, stepping closer, scanning me for what? Injuries? Fear? Weakness?
“You hurt anywhere?” he murmurs.
“No. Just overwhelmed.”
He nods slowly. “Makes sense.”
His voice is barely above a whisper now. “You been through a hell of a lot in a matter of days.”
He moves another step closer, and suddenly he’s there right in front of me heat rolling off his body, presence filling every corner of my awareness.
I tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. And something flickers. A flash.
His mouth on mine. His hand on my hip.
His forehead pressed to mine in the dark, breathing hard—I gasp.
Riot freezes.
“What?” he demands softly.
“I remembered something.”
Our faces are inches apart. His breath catches.
“What did you see?” he asks. Not desperate, but close.
“It was a kiss,” I whisper. “You and me.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We did that a lot.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
But the memory is hazy heat, warmth, want more sensation than detail.
I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. “Riot, I’m scared.”
He steps closer, so close I can feel the brush of his shirt against my sweater.
“Of what?” he asks gently.
“Of remembering everything,” I whisper. “And of not remembering anything at all. Or not getting the chance.”
His eyes soften, losing all their hardness. “You ain’t gonna lose yourself,” he says quietly. “Not on my watch.”
He lifts a hand, hesitates, then cups the side of my face so gently it breaks something open inside me.
Warmth.
Safety.
Trust.
Pull.
My heart dives into a faster rhythm.
“You ready?” he asks, thumb brushing lightly across my cheek.
I nod. “Yes.”
He steps back slowly, like he has to physically force himself to.
I feel the loss of his touch immediately, a cold ache in my chest that makes no sense and all the sense in the world.
Packing takes seconds. There’s not much to grab as we hadn’t unpacked the bag Ally brought from my house. I had a sweater Riot tossed at me earlier, and a bottle of water.
Riot watches the door during the entire process, silent, alert, shoulders tense.
“Do you ever relax?” I ask, trying for lightness.
He huffs. Just a breath. “Not lately.”
“Because of me?”
He turns slightly, jaw tightening.
He doesn’t answer.
Which is the answer.
The drive out into the back roads is tense and quiet. He doesn’t turn on the radio. He taps the steering wheel once every few seconds in a rhythm I don’t recognize but find calming anyway.
As trees blur by, flashes spark in my mind again.
Me in his truck.
Nighttime.
His hand on my thigh — warm, protective.
My head leaning against his shoulder.
Then laughter. Mine. Loud. Unrestrained.
Then a softer moment me touching his jaw, whispering something I can’t make out.
His eyes warm.
His lips brushing my forehead.
I gasp again.
Riot’s head snaps toward me. “What happened?”
“I remembered something,” I whisper, hand trembling.
He slows down immediately. “Talk to me.”
“It was just images. Glimpses. Not enough to make sense. But I was happy. With you.”
He goes still.
An awe crosses his expression, a softness so rare on him it makes something in my chest ache.
“That’s real,” he says quietly. “You were.”
“And you?” I ask.
His knuckles whiten on the wheel. “Yeah, sunshine. Me too.”
The nickname sends a jolt through me.
I whisper, “I like when you call me that.”
He shuts his eyes for half a second, as if steadying himself. “You always did.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
We turn down a private gravel road that winds deep into forest. Riot slows near a heavy steel gate. Two men, Kings cuts on, both armed, both nodding at Riot. He rolls the window down.
“She’s with me,” he states the obvious.
They nod again, open the gate, and we drive through. The compound is small but fortified — a large workshop, two storage buildings, and a small house perched at the center with reinforced siding and windows with glass so thick everything is blurred.
Riot parks behind one of the garages and steps out, coming around to my side before I can open my door.
He helps me down, hands steady, strong, warm around my waist.
My breath hitches.
He hears it. I see it in his eyes. He ignores it anyway. He’s being painfully careful with me, too careful.
“Ledger?” I ask softly.
“Yeah?”
“What were we, before all this? Really?”
He stiffens.
“You said earlier we were ‘something.’ What does that mean?”
His mouth works like he’s fighting the answer.
“You want the truth?” he asks.
I nod.
He stares at me, long, unblinking, and for a second, I feel everything he’s holding back. “It means I was an idiot,” he says quietly.
I blink. “What?”
He exhales roughly, hands dragging through his hair.
“It means I had you in my life and didn’t give you what you deserved.
Means you were right in front of me wantin’ more, I knew it even when you wouldn’t admit it, and I pushed you away.
Means I thought I was protectin’ you by keepin’ things simple.
When all I was really doin’ was bein’ a coward. ”
My throat tightens. “Ledger.”
He shakes his head tightly. “Not done.”
I fall silent.
“It means I lost you before the accident,” he states on a tight breath. “And now I gotta live with the fact that you don’t remember any of it, the good or the bad.”
His voice cracks just the smallest fracture, but I notice.
“And I gotta earn you all over again.”
My breath leaves my lungs.
Earn me. Earn me. Not win me. Not keep me.
Earn me.
I stare at him, heart pounding in a frantic rhythm.
“Riot,” I whisper.
He steps closer, but not too close. Close enough that heat rolls off him, not close enough to touch.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything.”
Something inside me bends, a soft, fragile place I didn’t know I still had. Then a noise cuts through the air.
A branch snapping.
Riot goes rigid every muscle, every nerve firing at once. His hand grips my wrist.
“Inside. Now.”
My heart jumps. “What?”
“Inside,” he growls, already pushing me toward the small house.
We rush in and he slams the door, locking it in one fluid motion. Then he drags a chair up under the handle and reaches for his gun.
“I saw someone,” he mutters. “Edge of the fence. Too close.”
A tremor races through me. “Again?”
He nods, scanning the windows. “They’re getting bold. Or desperate.”
I wrap my arms around myself, breath shaking.
He turns, sees me trembling, and in two strides he’s in front of me again.
“Come here,” he whispers.
I don’t think. I move. He pulls me into his chest, arms wrapping around me with a gentleness he doesn’t use on anyone else. I melt against him, breath syncing with his, fear dissolving under the weight of his warmth.
My cheek rests over his heart. It’s racing.
“Riot,” I whisper. “What if they come inside?”
His grip tightens.
“They won’t touch you,” he murmurs. “Not while I’m breathing.”
His voice vibrates through me, low, rough, vow-carved.
And something clicks inside my head a flash so strong my knees buckle.
Him.
Holding me like this.
Not here, but somewhere else.
My face in his neck.
His hands on my back.
His voice in my ear whispering the same words.
I’ve got you, sunshine. Always.
I gasp sharply.
He pulls back just enough to see my face. “What is it?”
“A memory,” I breathe. “I—I remember you holding me. Like this. And saying something.”
His eyes soften. “Yeah?”
“You said you’d keep me safe,” I whisper. “I didn’t hear the whole sentence but the feeling—”
Emotion cracks across his face not relief, not joy, but something deeper.
Hope.
Fear.
Regret.
And buried under all of it…
Love.
He doesn’t say it.
I don’t remember it.
But I feel it in him.
“You’re remembering the right things,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard. “Why, why does it hurt so much?”
“Because we weren’t done,” he answers. “And now we gotta start from scratch.”
My heart lurches.
He lifts a hand and brushes a thumb across my cheek. Not a kiss. Not a claim.
A promise.
Thunder rolls outside, distant but echoing.
The storm’s coming. Why does the rain have to come now?
Inside me, another storm brews softer but just as destructive.
“Riot,” I whisper, “if I remember everything what then?”
His breath shudders.
“Then we finish what we should’ve started,” he says.
“And if I don’t?”
He cups my face fully now, his forehead almost touching mine.
“Then I’ll make damn sure you never feel alone in your head again.”
My chest aches.
My eyes sting.
But before I can say anything more, before I can ask what he means or why it feels like my heart is on a tightrope between two cliffs—His phone buzzes.
He stiffens. Checks it.
His eyes go lethal.
“What?” I whisper.
He looks up, jaw clenched.
“They found somethin’,” he says.
My pulse spikes. “What?”
“A message,” he says softly. “Left at the scene of your crash.”
A chill tears through me.
“A message for who?”
Riot’s gaze locks on mine.
“For me.”