23. Ballerina
Temper
I don't even make it out of my goddamn driveway before my eyes lock on that big, bald mass of muscle planted right in my path. Like a statue, unmoving, blocking my car from leaving the property. The audacity makes my blood heat.
I kill the engine and step out, adrenaline already flaring, temper ticked up. "What are you doing here, Tank?"
He stands there, shifting on his feet like a guilty kid. "Are you okay, T? I saw Luca Romano leaving and... I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
I cross my arms, refusing to let him see one shred of uncertainty. "That's a conversation I'll be having with your boss. Now cut the crap and tell me why you're really here."
He scratches the back of his head, gaze darting everywhere but me. Bullshit is coming. "I was just... riding around, you know... saw that guy, thought I'd stop by, make sure you were okay?"
My laugh comes out suddenly, surprising me. "Are you asking me or telling me? Because you're lying through your teeth. Did Bones order you to watch me? Is he sending his underlings to keep an eye on my every move?" My voice grows razor-sharp.
He raises both hands in surrender. "Uhhh... uhhh... no, not really... well... only when he has to do stuff..." He grimaces, already knowing he fucked up. His head hangs, words trailing off to a whisper. "He just wants to be sure you're safe, T."
My fury hits hard. Hot. "When he has to do stuff... Is. HE. Watching me?!" My voice rises, echoing off the silent yard.
Tank squeezes his eyes shut. "Maybe? I don't know what he does in his free time," he stammers. "Look, he's on his way here now. You can ask him yourself."
He glances around, looking awkward as hell. And it surprisingly stings. Because once upon a time, Tank and I could talk forever without running out of words. Now it's this. Pathetic, forced, painful.
"I'm so sorry, T," he whispers. "I'm so fucking sorry for what I did. That night... I shut down my mind. I wish I had more courage. I wish..." He clears his throat, eyes darting up to meet mine. "Do you want me to leave before Bones gets here? I can make myself scarce."
For a moment, I just look at him. This man who once called me "family," who once teased me about drinking too many fruity cocktails, who held me down in that chair without a word of protest.
No matter how much blood I've already spilled, some part of me remains hollow. The wound is still raw, scab ripped off every time I see his damn face. There's a beast hiding inside that wound that demands more. It's whispering right now, but it will start screaming soon. I can already feel it. Maybe it's time for a different approach. Maybe it's time I speak instead of slash. And get some answers.
"Come inside, Tank." My tone isn't warm. But it's not the open scorn it was moments ago.
He blinks, wide-eyed, but doesn't argue. He follows me into the house, quiet as a grave.
We settle in my kitchen, me across from him. I don't offer him a drink, don't even fake hospitality. He's here for the answers I need, not comfort.
I fold my arms, pinning him with a stare and I begin with the question that has been bugging me for more than four years. The question I didn't ask back then because everything was too painful.
"How did you find me that night, Tank? When you took me to the hospital?"
His face twists. He looks away, swallowing hard. Finally, words spill out. "I was following Ghost. He went after you, waiting for a chance to break into the Riders' clubhouse, get you out. But that monster was always on you. I stuck to Ghost's trail, ready to help when he made his move. That night... I saw Jinx dragging you to a van, so I followed."
The memory claws at me, fresh pain. "Did Bones know what you were doing?" I force myself to hold his gaze. "Because we both know Bones didn't come to save me, didn't even check on me in the hospital. He handed me right to my tormentor. So if you and Ghost had some covert plan, how the hell does that factor in?"
Tank exhales, the words cracking out like broken glass. "He sent me to make sure Ghost wouldn't do anything stupid... or get himself killed. To have his back. But that's bullshit because, if there's anyone on earth who wouldn't be caught dead spying, it's Ghost." He waves a frustrated hand through the air.
"Why would Ghost come after me, though?" My voice is ice, eyes narrowed. "He said nothing the night I was dragged down to that basement. Didn't even look at me."
Tank shrugs, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "I don't know the details, T. Just that Ghost didn't believe Tisha's story. Not entirely. He didn't stop digging for answers. And he didn't agree with Bones... he strongly didn't agree. So strongly that he stopped talking to everyone after that. For months, he barely interacted, just did the bare minimum. It wasn't that different from before, because Ghost always kept to himself. But at least back then, he talked to Bones. Something... died between those two that night. They never got back to how they were."
I feel something tighten in my chest, a swirl of confusion and bitter regret. "If you didn't agree, if Ghost didn't agree, then why the hell didn't any of you speak up? You all just followed orders, like mindless puppets?"
Tank's shoulders slump, shame etched into every line of his face. "We never doubted Bones before, T. We did what he said, and everything always worked out. All his decisions were good for the club. Good for us. Until that night. That night broke the illusion, but it was too late. Until then, there was always this unspoken rule that if Bones said something, it was right. That he could do no wrong. That we always had to follow the orders of our President without protest."
He exhales a bitter laugh. "Obviously, that was bullshit."
His voice turns rough, like he's swallowing glass. "No man makes the right call every time. And blindly following someone is stupid. We see that now. It's why we changed the club rules."
Before I can demand more, the front door swings open. No courtesy knock. No hesitation. Of course not. I know who it is. The only asshole around who has the audacity to just enter my home unannounced.
Bones.
I inhale slowly, trying to keep from using the gun under my table on him. "Go, Tank. I need to have a word with your asshole-in-chief."
Tank looks at me, then at Bones, then trudges toward the door. "I'll see you around, T."
He passes Bones, but he doesn't even glance at him. All his attention is fixed on me.
He strides my way, face burning with some kind of hungry urgency, like he's about to wrap me up in his arms.
I stand abruptly, arm raised, stopping him cold. "Don't."
He halts, panting, eyes feral as they roam over me, like he's checking for wounds or new scars.
His fists are clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling as if he's restraining himself from grabbing me, shaking me, pulling me in like he has any right. He doesn't.
He lost that the night he threw me to the wolves. But apparently, it doesn't stop him from trying.
His voice is a low, lethal growl, his entire body coiled tight. "What the fuck did Luca Romano want? Are you okay? Did he threaten you? Touch you? Tell me everything he said so I know if his death is swift or if I have to fucking torture him before I end his life."
I raise a brow, unimpressed. "He didn't touch me. Or threaten me... directly." I tilt my head, thinking back. "I mean, you know him. He's probably threatening something or someone even when he's brushing his teeth. But he did imply that your stupid ass killed the deal with them because of me and that I should make you reconsider." I fold my arms, keeping my voice calm and detached, just to piss him off. "So tell me, Bones. Why the hell did you kill the deal, knowing they'd be angry?"
He rolls his neck, muscles flexing, and that goddamn TRAITOR tattoo stretches across his throat like a brand from hell.
I hate that I notice it.
I hate that it lingers in my mind, always there in the background, an afterthought I can't shake.
He exhales sharply, like he's gearing up for a fight. "I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking that the deal was more important than you, Temper. And they're not angry. I know that for a fact. They're not happy either, but definitely not angry. I made sure of it when I discussed it with Arcangelo. I wouldn't have made this decision if there was any chance of blowback, especially on you. This... this is Luca's game." His jaw tightens. "And I'm going to make him fucking regret ever coming to you."
I sigh. "Fine. Just... fix it. I don't really care about the deal you have with them. Not now. It's four years too late. Have the deal, don't have the deal, it doesn't matter to me." I tilt my head. "Actually, I'd prefer you get it back. That will guarantee that Luca Romano never bothers me again. That smug Italian prick deserves a kick in the nuts. If I'd been sure his brother wouldn't come for me, I would've just shot him."
Bones gives me that infuriating, knowing smirk. "With the gun under your kitchen table?"
I blink. My blood runs cold for half a second before my hackles rise. "How do you know about that?"
He doesn't answer. Just keeps watching me with that smug, 'I know everything about you' look that makes me want to reach for said gun right fucking now.
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. "You've become really creepy over the years, you know that? Actually, don't answer. I don't care. But since you're here, I do have a request for you. I want you to tell me the plan. About Jinx. I want to know. It's been driving me crazy."
His answer is immediate, final. "No."
I feel my nostrils flare. "Why the fuck not? I deserve to know!"
"Temper," he exhales, his voice tired, like he's barely holding onto his patience. "I know your protection officially ended almost three years ago. Of course, your new identity remained, but the U.S. Marshals have been gone for a long time. You dismissed them. But with the new trial, someone might contact you. They may want new testimony, more details. If they call you, I need you to be credible. To not raise any suspicion. That's why you can't know the details. If they call, just say yes to anything they want. By the time they're ready to arrange something, it will be too late."
I grit my teeth. He makes sense.
I hate that he makes sense.
Good for him that he now believes I can't fucking act to save my life. It would've been really fucking helpful if he thought that four years ago.
I'm tangled in my own thoughts, my rage simmering under the surface, and I don't see him move. Not until his big hand cups my cheek, fingers brushing lightly, reverently.
My breath catches.
"I thought he was going to hurt you," he whispers, his voice raw, broken in a way I don't recognize. "When Tank called to tell me Luca came to you... I thought I was going to lose you, my fiery Temper. Again."
His forehead touches mine, and for a single second, I almost let myself sink into it. Into the warmth, the familiarity, the ache in his voice that tugs at something deep inside me.
But the past slams into me with the power of a thousand suns.
I step back fast, and his hand drops from my face like dead weight. "I'm not yours to lose, Bones." My voice is quiet but firm. Final.
His face twists into something that looks too much like grief, and I hate it. He has no right to look at me like that. He lost me. He fucking broke me. He doesn't get to mourn that.
He swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face before speaking again. "You need some security here." He looks around, eyes scanning the perimeter like he's already strategizing. "Cameras, alarms. For a woman on the run, it's actually disturbing how little security you have in place."
I deadpan. "I have guns all over the house."
"Good. But it's not enough. I'll call someone. And until the Jinx problem is settled, someone will be watching you constantly."
My lip curls. "Oh, just like someone has been watching me constantly up until now? Apparently, you really have gone beyond creepy stalker. You've gone completely insane."
His expression doesn't change. "I'm not insane... yet." He folds his arms across his chest, unapologetic. "I do what I can to keep my sanity. And being near you, even at a distance, is helping. Now, you really do need security measures in place. Please don't argue with me on that."
I sigh. "I'm not going to argue. I'm not stupid. I'll ask Griffin to help me choose a company to install cameras and all that shit."
His entire body tenses. "Griffin?" His voice is sharp, lethal. "Why the hell would you ask that fucker?"
"Because I trust him."
I don't say it to be cruel. I say it because it's the truth. But I watch the devastation flicker through his expression before he masks it.
He breathes heavily for a few moments, then takes a deep, shuddering breath, like he's holding back a wild beast. I raise my brows.
I've never seen him try this hard to rein in his rage. Like a bucket trying to contain a hurricane.
It's almost impressive.
"I understand," he finally says, his voice quiet, wounded. "I do want to pay for the security system, though. I'm the one who brought Luca to your door. And someone will keep watch on you, at least until everything is settled."
I shake my head. "First of all, I'm paying for my own security. I don't need your money. Second of all, this isn't just about Luca. With the new Jinx development, I'll feel safer with security in place. But I don't accept your little stalkers following me around." I narrow my eyes. "What would they even do? Luca was inside my house, and Tank was nowhere."
Bones smirks and points at my kitchen window. "Actually, Tank was under your window the whole time Luca was here. Listening for trouble. He was ready to jump in at any moment."
I blink. Well... shit.
"Fine. Your minions can keep watch," I say begrudgingly. "At a distance. A far fucking distance."
He exhales, resigned. "Whatever you need, Temper. You make the rules."
I smirk. "I sure do."
He takes a step to leave, but then he stops short. Frozen. He looks at me like he's trying to memorize this exact moment, the faint curl of my stupid smirk, the way I hold my chin high in defiance. Something in his eyes flickers. Maybe regret, maybe bitterness. Maybe an ancient sadness so heavy it weighs down every breath he takes. I don't care. I won't let myself care. Not again.
"I'll be gone for a couple of days. Deal with Luca," he finally says, his voice low and thick. As if every syllable is a lead weight dropping between us.
He scans the room one last time, gaze lingering on the battered side door that leads to my half-wild backyard.
"Tank'll be close by," he adds, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. "But if you need anything, if something happens, call me. Promise me, Temper."
I scoff, rolling my shoulders back, feeling the tension in my spine protest at the memory of all the times I let my guard down for him.
"I don't promise you anything, Bones. I have people I can call. True friends. You're not on that list. You're not even near that list."
He gives the slightest nod, as if he expected that. A self-loathing acceptance. He turns to leave, his steps quiet. I can sense the quiet fury in him, like a caged beast scratching at steel bars.
He hesitates near the doorway, turning to look at me over his shoulder. For a heartbeat, our eyes lock again — blue-grey storm meeting the wildfire in mine — and I can practically feel the words he wants to say. Apologies, pleas, regrets. Or confessions that he's still in love with the ghost of who I used to be. That he's chained himself to the memory of a woman he destroyed. But I don't give him the chance. I just arch a brow, daring him to speak, daring him to dig his hole any deeper.
He swallows that moment. He knows I won't accept his bullshit words.
Bones
"She's beautiful. Like a true ballerina on ice," I murmur, lowering myself into the seat next to Luca. My voice is almost reverent, but it's not about admiration. It's about calculation. Control. Every move deliberate. Every word a sharpened knife waiting to be used.
I watch the woman twirl on the ice, her movements sharp and fluid, the blades on her feet cutting clean lines into the frozen surface. She's a contradiction. Delicate and deadly.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" Luca grits out, not even looking at me yet.
"It's simple." I keep my voice level, almost bored. "You come after my woman, I come after yours." I lean back in my chair, stretching out, making myself comfortable. Like a king overseeing the battlefield. "This is the only warning you'll ever get, Romano. I put a bullet through her head while you watch, then I put one between your eyes and burn your body to ash."
He stills. A tightness ripples through his shoulders, his hands flexing into fists. That's the thing about men like us. We don't fear death, we expect it. But there's a difference between expecting death for yourself and seeing it meet someone you love.
His breathing is rough when he finally speaks. "I know I was wrong to go to Elyna," he admits, voice low, controlled. Like he's forcing the words through barbed wire. "But I need that deal to keep going, Bones," he whispers, like he's confessing a sin to a priest.
I study him, really look at him. The fine Italian suit is flawless, not a single crease, not a single hair out of place. But underneath? The man is unraveling. Fracturing from the inside out.
And then, he drops the fucking bomb.
"Just so you know I'm serious — because I would never fucking admit this to anyone — I'm getting desperate pretty fucking fast. I need out of the Famiglia." He exhales sharply, jaw clenched, eyes darker than I've ever seen them. Raw. Hollow. "And the MC — your MC — is my only shot."
I blink. Slowly. Processing.
Then I sigh. Because this is the stupidest fucking plan I've ever heard.
"You may want that," I say, voice edged with amusement, "but Arcangelo will never agree to it. And you fucking know it. You can't just transfer to the MC like a fucking exchange student. It's a brainless plan, Romano."
His jaw locks, but he doesn't back down. Desperation makes men fearless.
"He would agree," he insists. "For the chance at bigger deals. With you. It was the whole point of Francesca's marriage. To strengthen the ties between us. He wanted to expand our operations, but you were whining too much about not finding your woman and weren't interested in anything else." His tone sharpens, accusing. "He accepted your request to break the original deal because he thinks he can make you reconsider eventually."
I let out a dark chuckle. That arrogant bastard.
"Giving up info on your own brother just like that, huh?" I tilt my head, watching him like a predator sizing up his prey. "Are you turning into a fucking snitch?"
His nostrils flare. His fingers twitch, curling into the edge of the table. Yeah, that touched a nerve.
"I. Need. Out. Bones." His voice drops lower. "What do you want in return for your help? If you agree to take me in, to strengthen the ties with the famiglia, that's already half the battle won. I'll be able to negotiate easier with Arcangelo. He'll agree to let me go."
I recognize that look in his eyes.
The hunger. The torment.
It's the same look that haunts me every time I look in the mirror.
I exhale, glancing toward the ice rink where his woman glides like a ghost, oblivious to the war being waged over her in this very moment. "Does she even want you back?"
Luca's entire body goes rigid. That's answer enough.
"She will," he says, voice like a fucking death sentence. "Does Elyna want you back? Is that stopping you right now?"
My jaw tics. Touché, motherfucker.
"Her name is Temperance now," I correct coldly. Because the Elyna he's referring to? She doesn't exist anymore.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I'll think about your situation, but I can't promise anything. You fucked up big time by going to Temper. You could have just talked to me. I would've fucking helped. I already owe you for finding her, and you know I always pay my debts." I smirk, letting the darkness in my chest spread through my grin. "But make no mistake. If I ever take you in, it'll come with obligations. Ropes. Chains. Shackles." My smile widens, all teeth. "It'll be fun. For everyone but you, of course."
He knows what that means.
He bows his head slightly, the flicker of something like defeat shadowing his features. "I understand."
Before I stand, before I walk away from this meeting that should never have happened in the first place, he speaks.
"Bones, how did you know? About Theresa?"
His woman.
I tilt my head slightly. This fucker.
I don't answer. I don't need to.
I just stand, straighten my cut, and walk the fuck away.
I don't look back as I leave the ice rink. The frigid air stings my face the second I step into the night. My boots echo against the pavement, each step a reminder of just how twisted this whole situation has become. The taste of Luca's desperation still lingers in my mouth. Acrid. Bitter.
I shove my hands into my pockets, the wind nipping at the edges of my temper. My thoughts churn inside my skull.
I'm the same as him.
It's almost laughable how men like us think we can outrun the devils we've made. I let out a low, humorless chuckle, my breath steaming in the cold. I should pity him. I don't.
Because no matter how deep he thinks he's sunk, I know he can sink deeper. I'm living it, drowning in it. I'm wearing it like a second skin.
The adrenaline still pulses in my veins, every muscle tensed. It's that old familiar burn that reminds me how badly I want to bury myself in Temper's world. Fix her nightmares, kill her monsters. Love her.
But each day that goes by, I realize more and more that I am just another devil in her eyes. Another threat she can't shake off. Because I fucking made myself one.
The brand on my neck — my personal scarlet letter — throbs beneath my collar. A constant reminder of how I destroyed the one person I loved most.
The empty stretch of road calls to me, tempting me to ride until I leave these thoughts behind. But there's no outrunning this. No outlasting it. The madness swirling around me is going nowhere.
I grit my teeth, my jaw aching from the pressure. I yank out my phone, scrolling through messages I already know by heart. Tank. Ghost. Joker. Mindfuck. All waiting for orders. But the name I long for is missing.
I slip the phone back into my pocket without calling anyone. I need to calm the storm inside my head first.
My bike waits where I left it. Sliding onto the seat, I close my eyes for just a heartbeat, breathing in the smell of asphalt and cold steel. Then I fire up the engine, the roar rattling through my bones. I peel out from the curb and I speed off into the darkness.
I don't know where I'm going tonight, and I don't care. The world outside blurs, headlights and neon smears painting the night. But none of it touches me. None of it matters. Not until I can find a way to reach Temper again. Make her see me again. Me. Not the monster I created that night.
Maybe I'm a fool to think I can ever convince her to open her heart to me again. But I'm a fool who would burn this entire world to the ground if it meant I'd get just one more chance with her.
One.