5. Roman “Ro” Zore #2
Lightning split the sky above us, white flash spilling across her wet face, streaking her cheeks with light and rain that looked too much like tears.
I stepped in closer, voice hoarse. “I didn’t come back for peace. I came back for war if that’s what it takes. War with the Crest, war with Trigger, war with myself. And I came back for you, Nova Rae. You. My Nova Star.”
Her lips parted, breath hitching, scripture barely audible as she whispered under it, ‘Be still, and know that I am God…’ But her eyes? They weren’t still at all. They blazed, searching me for truth I wasn’t sure I could prove anymore.
She shook her head slow, drops falling from her curls like shattered glass.
“No, Ro. You came back because Lyon Crest called your name. But I’m not the same girl you left standing on that porch.
I’m a mother now. I’m a woman who don’t bend easy.
So, if you plan on standing in front of me again—you better come correct. Or don’t come at all.
For a heartbeat, it was just us—the rain, the ghosts, the vow still burning under our skin.
Then she stepped back, shaking her head, water flying from her curls. “You want war, Ro? Fine. But don’t mistake me for the prize. I’m the battlefield, Roman. And if you’re not ready to bleed here, you better ride back out that gate and never look back.”
The rain didn’t warn us—just split open.
The kind of Lyon Crest rain that comes down hard enough to wash secrets out of alleyways.
A low rumble crawled up the block, deep as thunder but sharper, meaner.
Headlights cut through the mist one by one until the sound became a chorus of pipes—chrome and muscle crawling toward us like wolves closing in.
They came slow, two by two. Black leather slicked from the downpour, patches dark but visible, engines snarling at idle. The first bike stopped so close its front tire brushed the curb water, steam hissing from the pipes.
Trigger wasn’t there, but his shadow was—Prospects and patched brothers flanking, scanning like hawks. A shotgun swung low off one rider’s back, not hidden, just there. Nobody spoke. The sound of dripping rain and that wall of exhaust filled the street like warning bells.
Nova didn’t flinch. She squared her shoulders and gripped her chain like armor. I stepped in front of her out of instinct, my body screaming protection even as guilt coiled in my gut.
“Welcome home party?” she spat, eyes slicing the line of bikes.
One rider killed his engine. The quiet was deafening. “Word travels fast,” he muttered, visor down, voice muffled.
Another bike backfired sharp, echoing off the storefronts. A few pedestrians ducked back under awnings, knowing better than to linger.
I knew this was no greeting. It was a message. And every rumble in those pipes said: We see you. We see her.
My eyes never left Tigger’s as he attempted to intimidate me, but my stance wasn’t wavering. The Crest may not be big enough for both of us, but he would soon know that I wasn’t leaving.
Nova’s presence brought be back to reality.
Her words hung like smoke in the wet night, and before I could answer She back away slowly, leaving the words she’d just spit to linger in front of me.
I watched the sway of her hips… they weren’t because of me anymore—it was because of her fire, her independence, her warning.
I watched as she continued backing away like she was scared to turn her back to me.
She didn’t trust me. She watched all of us.
That shit hurt watching in real time. She pushed past the door of Cruz’s Soul Food, and the bell clanged again, not like a welcome—but like a gun cocked.
And just like that, I knew—the Crest wasn’t just testing me with enemies. It was testing me with the one woman who could still burn me down to ash.
Trigger let out a sinister chuckle, “You’ve out done yourself this time, Saint less. Saint gone get your wife right. Trust it.” His ego could be smelled a mile away, but I wasn’t taking the bait. Not right here… not now.
Trigger turned cranking his bike back up, and they all peeled out two by two. Perfect formation. That was one of those things that you never forget.
Tarnesha’s arms stayed crossed tight, braids plastered to her cheeks from the rain, but I caught the flicker of the hurt in her eyes.
She wasn’t built for Crest politics; she didn’t understand how heavy history sat on every sidewalk crack.
She’d followed me across state lines, trusted my lead, and now I’d dragged her into ghosts she didn’t sign up to fight.
I felt her judgment, but worse than that, I felt her confusion—and I had no words to give her.
Nova’s fire still lingered in the air, thick as the rain sliding down the glass of Cruz’s Soul Food. The bell over the door clanged behind her.
She didn’t just leave—she backed away, curls soaked, chain flashing under the streetlight every time her hand gripped it like she needed that vow to hold her steady. The rain caught her leather jacket, tracing every curve like the city itself couldn’t resist her.
Tarnesha climbed back onto the bike seat, eyes lingering where Nova’s retreating figure once was. Her face held a look I couldn’t read—half curiosity, half understanding she’d just stepped into a game she’d never been invited to play.
“She’s your wife for real?” Tarnesha murmured.
“Yeah,” I admitted, voice hoarse, throat raw from words I didn’t say.
Nova stopped in front of the closed diner door, glanced back once through the window—not at Tarnesha, not at the bike, just me.
Her eyes cut through the rain like bullets, hazel burning with betrayal and history I couldn’t rewrite.
Then she turned, disappearing into the night, boots splashing through puddles like war drums.
Tarnesha scoffed softly, shook her head, and hopped off the bike. “Figures,” she whispered, adjusting her braids, voice low but sharp enough to sting. “You should’ve told me, Ro.”
I didn’t answer. Just kept my eyes on the corner where Nova vanished. Crest rain always carried ghosts, but tonight? Tonight, it dragged my sins into the open and made sure Tarnesha got front-row seats.
She climbed back on, silent now, arms crossed tight, not touching me. She didn’t need to yell—her quiet said enough. And me? My chest burned with guilt, regret, and a hunger I couldn’t shake.
Nova’s fire still burned in my head, branding me in a way no rain could wash clean.
I swung my leg over the R1, the seat slick under my jeans from the downpour. My gloves were damp, leather sticking as I gripped the bars. Tarnesha hands sliding around my waist, light and hesitant like she could feel the storm running off me.
The rain fell harder now. It hammered the pavement, hissed off the exhaust, streaked down my visor until the world was nothing but smeared streetlights and familiar ghosts. I fired the engine—deep growl rumbling through my chest—and the bike kicked forward like it was angry too.
We shot out onto the boulevard, puddles exploding under the tires, the Crest sliding past in flashes. The storefronts neon lights buzzed red, graffiti tags blurred on brick walls, and every block we passed whispered memories I’d tried to bury.
Tarnesha leaned in close, her chin brushing my shoulder. “Where we going, Ro?” she shouted over the wind.
“Nowhere,” I muttered, twisting the throttle. “Just ride.”
She didn’t argue. Her arms tightened around me, but it didn’t bring warmth. The cold was in my bones now—Nova’s eyes burned there, her voice still sharp in my ears.
The rain felt heavier the faster we went, smacking against my jacket, dripping from my lashes. My jaw clenched as I leaned into the next curve, the bike humming steady beneath me, the engine’s roar the only sound that could drown out the guilt screaming louder than the storm.
We flew past the city’s edge, streetlights thinning, road slick like black glass. I should’ve felt free, but the grip on my chest said otherwise. Every mile we put between us and Cruz’s spot felt like running, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t run again.
We chewed up miles like it had something to prove, tires humming against slick pavement, rain carving streaks down my visor until everything blurred—lights, buildings, the reflection of a man I didn’t recognize anymore.
I didn’t have a destination. Couldn’t sit still, couldn’t face four walls. So, I rode out past the corner stores and liquor spots, past the cracked basketball courts and boarded-up homes, until Lyon Crest thinned out into empty roads hugging the hills.
I killed the engine near an overlook where the city sprawled below.
The rain wasn’t just wet—it was heavy, cold enough to sting, dripping from my lashes until every blink burned.
The smell of wet asphalt and cigarette smoke stuck to my throat like guilt.
My gloves squeaked every time I clenched the bars, leather slick under my palms. My chest ached with something that wasn’t just regret—it was weight.
The kind that bends your shoulders and makes you wonder if you’ll ever breathe light again.
I ripped the helmet off, ran a hand over my face. My jaw locked tight, pulse hammering, thoughts louder than the storm.
Her eyes. Hazel fire cutting through me like I was a stranger.
The chain at her chest, the way her hand clutched it like a lifeline while she threw my sins back in my face.
I’d thought I’d prepared for it—for her anger, her pain—but standing there, I’d felt like a kid again. Small. Guilty. Unworthy.
I lit a cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind, and dragged in deep. Smoke curled up, mixing with the mist off the Crest.
The guilt sat heavy. Every breath tasted like regret. I thought of the baby we’d buried without a name, of Nova’s sobs muffled in the crook of my arm, of the moment I decided she’d be better off without me. Like leaving was some noble act instead of straight-up cowardice.
And Tarnesha… she didn’t even know she was playing a part in a story that started before she met me. She was safety. A bandage I slapped over a bullet wound. She didn’t deserve the storm I carried, the ghost I’d never let go of.
I flicked ash off the edge of the overlook, watched the glowing ember fall and vanish. My reflection stared back at me in the bike’s wet chrome—hard eyes, wet hair stuck to my forehead, jaw tight enough to crack.
Sal’s death left a hole in this block, and holes don’t stay empty.
Trigger’s name was already floating in whispers, and I knew he was circling like a vulture, waiting for me to slip.
They all wanted to see if Saint less Ro would come back as a leader or a ghost. And the truth? I wasn’t sure which one I was yet.
I thought of Sal in that box, of Trigger’s smirk, of Saint standing next to Nova like he belonged there. I thought of how everything in this city felt like it was circling me, waiting to see if I’d break again.
I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t face her yet. So I just stood there, rain soaking me to the bone, smoke burning my throat, Lyon Crest spread below me like a reminder of every ghost I’d left behind.
And for the first time in years, I felt it—that edge. That line between holding it together and letting the darkness swallow me whole.
Tarnesha swung her leg over and climbed off the bike, boots crunching gravel. She adjusted her braids with one hand, her lip gloss catching the faint glow of the streetlights. “You gon’ just stand here, Ro?” she asked softly, voice laced with irritation she was trying to swallow.
I didn’t answer. She stepped closer, tugging on my sleeve. “Talk to me, baby. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Her words bounced around me. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a chain around it.
“Don’t do that silent shit,” she pressed, folding her arms. “We rode all the way out here, and you ain’t said a damn thing. What’s wrong?”
I dragged a hand over my face, rain dripping from my lashes. “Ain’t nothing to say,” I muttered, voice hoarse.
She scoffed, stepping in front of me. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You pulled outta Cruz’s spot like a bat outta hell.”
My jaw flexed. “Drop it, T.”
“Drop it?” Her voice rose, sharp. “You think I’m blind? I see how she looked at you. I see how you looked back.”
I exhaled slow, cigarette shaking between my fingers. “You don’t know the history.”
“Then tell me!” she snapped, stepping closer until her breath mixed with mine. “Because right now, I feel like I’m riding shotgun to a woman I can’t compete with nor did I know about.”
The wind whipped around us, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and smoke. I met her eyes—warm, worried, but frustrated. She deserved better than this storm I dragged her into.
“She’s not a ghost,” I muttered, voice cracking. “She’s my wife.”
The words hit her harder than I meant them to. Tarnesha froze, lips parting, breath hitching. “Yeah, I know. She’s your wife,” she whispered.
I nodded once, throat tight. Rain pelted us harder, like even the sky knew this was ugly. Tarnesha stepped back, hands on her hips, head shaking slow. “You got me out here… risking my neck for a man who never left the woman he loves,” she murmured, hurt curling her tone.
I flicked the cigarette, sparks dying in the wet gravel. “I never stopped loving her. That’s the problem.”
She laughed bitterly, wiping rain off her cheek. “Then why am I here, Ro? Why’d you bring me back to this?”
I didn’t have an answer. The silence between us screamed louder than any fight could. She shook her head again, then turned toward the bike, voice trembling with anger. “You’re a damn fool, Ro. Take me to your spot. I’m out.”
I let her words hang, heavy in the storm, as I leaned against the bike—soaked, haunted, and more lost than when I first rolled back into the Crest.
Something had to give. And when it did, it wouldn’t be clean. The Crest was calling for blood, for order, for a king to wear a crown carved out of bone. If peace wouldn’t come easy, I’d take it by force—even if it burned everything, I loved to ash first.