Chapter 54
The backseat of Matteo Vittorio’s car is too clean.
That’s the first thing my mind latches onto because everything else is too big, too impossible, too fragile to hold all at once.
The leather is smooth beneath my hands. The air smells faintly of cedar and something expensive, something sharp and masculine that doesn’t belong to Cobra.
The windows are tinted so dark the world outside looks like it’s passing through smoke.
I’m dressed now. A plain shirt. Soft pants. Socks. Shoes.
Matteo had them brought to me before we left, and I put them on with hands that shook so badly I could barely work the fabric over my skin. Covered should mean better. Covered should mean safe.
It doesn’t. I still feel exposed. Like the lights from that room are still on me. Like the cameras are still watching. Like every inch of my body remembers being turned into something for strangers to assess.
Matteo sits beside me, not touching, not crowding.
One ankle crossed over his knee, hand resting loosely near his phone, posture calm in a way that makes the entire car feel like it belongs to him.
It does, I guess. Everything seems to. He hasn’t said much since we left his house.
His men are in the front. Another car follows behind us.
Or maybe two. I caught headlights in the mirror once before the tint swallowed them again.
I don’t ask. I don’t know which questions are safe yet. I don’t know if safe is even the right word for a man like him. But he removed the collar. He told me I was going home. And now the car is moving through the dark toward the only place I can think about without feeling like I’ll come apart.
Home.
The word comes before I’m ready for it. Not my apartment. Not the salon. Not the life I had before all of this started.
The clubhouse. Cobra’s room. His arms. His heartbeat under my ear. The chaos. The women. The kids. The men who terrify the world and somehow became the people I trust to stand between me and it.
Home is where he is.
My throat tightens, and I turn my face toward the window so Matteo doesn’t see. Or maybe he does. Men like him probably see everything.
“You’re quiet,” he says. His voice is smooth, calm, almost conversational.
I keep my eyes on the dark glass. “Should I be talking?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing fine.”
A faint sound leaves him. Almost a laugh. “You’ve got a spine,” he says. “I see why he tore himself apart.”
I look at him then. “He did?”
Matteo’s gaze meets mine, unreadable but not cruel. “Men like that don’t lose control quietly.”
My chest aches. “I need to see him.”
“You will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
I look back at the window, fingers twisting in the hem of the shirt. Soon feels too far away. Soon feels like a lie even when I want to believe it.
Then the gates come into view. My breath catches.
The Deathstalkers emblem is barely visible in the low light, but I know it.
I know the fence, the guard post, the shape of the lot beyond it.
The car slows, and Connor steps into view, one hand already near his waist. Then he sees the vehicle.
His face changes. Shock first. Then action.
He opens the gate without question. No hesitation. The car rolls through.
This is it.
My heart slams against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
The clubhouse appears ahead, lights glowing through the windows, familiar and impossible. I don’t realize I’m leaning forward until Matteo’s voice pulls me back. “It’s a shame he wanted you back.”
I turn to him slowly.
His expression is calm. Not mocking. Not threatening. Not flirtatious exactly. Just stating something as if it’s fact. “I would’ve taken very good care of you.”
The words settle between us, strange and dangerous.
Cobra would hate them.
Every single one.
My voice comes out quieter than I expect. “I don’t want to be taken care of by you.”
Matteo studies me for a second. Then his mouth curves slightly. “No. I didn’t think you would.”
The car stops.
One of his men gets out first. Then the other. Matteo opens his door and steps out with the ease of a man who expects the world to wait for him. I sit frozen for one extra heartbeat, staring at the clubhouse doors.
I’m here.
I’m actually here.
The door beside me opens.
Matteo looks down at me. “Follow me.”
I step out. My legs nearly fail. Not because I’m weak. Because my body understands before my mind catches up that the worst thing is over for the moment, and sometimes relief is as hard to stand under as fear.
I force myself upright. One step. Then another. I walk behind Matteo and his men, but my eyes are already searching through the windows, through the light, through the shadowed movement inside.
The door opens. Warm air hits me. Voices stop.
I step into the main room. Everyone is there.
Mac. Kya. Brooke. Emma. Bella. Raven. Shaina. Allie. Ana. The brothers. Prospects. Faces I know. Faces that look wrecked and furious and relieved all at once. But I barely see them. Because then I see him.
Cobra.
Everything else disappears.
He stands near the center of the room, blood on his hands, violence in every line of his body, and for one terrible second he doesn’t move. Neither do I. Then whatever was holding me upright breaks.
I run.
No thought. No hesitation. No pride.
I cross the room like the space between us is the only thing left in the world that can hurt me, and then I hit him.
He catches me. His arms come around me, hard and immediate, lifting me clear off my feet as I collapse into him. My hands claw at his cut, his shirt, anything I can hold. My face buries against his neck, and the first sound that leaves me isn’t a word. It’s broken. Shaking. Alive.
His arms tighten until there is no space between us. Still not enough. Never enough. “I’ve got you,” he says, voice low and rough against my ear. “I’ve got you, angel.” That’s what breaks me. Not the fear. Not the relief. His voice.
I shake so hard I can’t control it. My breathing stutters, catches, fails, and his hand slides up the back of my head, holding me to him while the other arm bands around my waist.
“You’re here,” he says. “You’re with me.”
I nod against him, but I can’t speak. I don’t need to.
He knows.
For a minute, maybe longer, the room doesn’t exist. There is only his chest, his heat, the feel of his body wrapped around mine like he can put the world back where it belongs by holding hard enough. Then the silence shifts. Every eye moves away from us.
To Matteo.
I feel Cobra change before I look. The arms around me stay firm, but the rest of him goes sharp.
Carter steps forward first. “Why the fuck are you here?” His voice is deadly.
Matteo stands near the door, hands relaxed at his sides, one of his men behind him, the other closer to the entrance. He looks around the room like he’s mildly interested in the architecture instead of surrounded by armed bikers who all look ready to tear him apart. “Curiosity,” he says.
Carter’s jaw tightens. “Try again.”
Matteo’s gaze moves. Lands on Brooke.
Carter moves instantly, putting himself between them, his body a wall, one arm slightly back like he’s making sure she stays behind him.
Matteo laughs softly. “What is this?” he asks. “A clubhouse or a pound full of barking dogs?”
No one laughs. Not one person.
Blaze mutters, “Yeah, he’s getting less charming by the second.”
Hammer grunts. “Wasn’t charming first.”
Matteo’s smile doesn’t fade. “Sensitive crowd.”
Cobra’s chest rumbles beneath my hands. “Careful.” One word. Low. Dangerous.
Matteo’s eyes come to him, and for the first time since he walked in, something like true interest flickers over his face. “There he is.”
Cobra shifts like he might move, and I tighten my grip on him without thinking. He stops. Barely. But he stops. That matters.
I turn my head, still held against Cobra’s body, and look at Matteo. “Thank you,” I say. My voice is hoarse. Small. But clear.
The room stills in a different way.
Cobra’s body goes rigid against mine.
I feel the possessive spike in him immediately, the rejection of gratitude aimed at another man. But Matteo brought me back. That truth exists, even if it’s complicated and ugly and wrapped in a debt no one wanted. “For bringing me back,” I add.
Matteo inclines his head slightly. “You’re welcome, Olivia.”
Cobra’s arm tightens around me. His use of my name doesn’t go unnoticed.
I feel that too. Then a thought cuts through the relief so sharply I straighten as much as Cobra’s hold allows.
Nina.
I look at him fully. “Is Nina going home too?”
Matteo’s expression doesn’t change. But something in the room does. Silence. Complete. Every man freezes.
Cobra’s head dips slightly toward mine. “Who’s Nina?”
I swallow. “The other girl in the van.”
The room detonates without anyone moving. Not sound. Realization.
Carter’s gaze snaps to Matteo. “There was another girl?”
Blaze steps forward. “You bought more than one?”
Cain’s voice turns lethal. “Where is she?”
Matteo doesn’t blink. “Mind your business.” That does not go over well.
Cobra’s hand slides to my hip, guiding me slightly behind him without fully letting me go.
Shadow shifts.
Joker smiles like he’s been waiting for an excuse.
Hammer mutters, “Wrong fucking answer.”
Logan limps forward from near the hallway, one hand braced slightly against the wall, knee clearly hurting even though he’s pretending it isn’t. His voice cuts through the room. “You brought one woman back and kept another?”
Matteo looks at him. “I delivered the woman I was asked to return.”
“That’s not what he asked,” Mac snaps from behind him. Her voice shakes, but it doesn’t break.
Matteo’s eyes flick to her, then back to Logan. “No, it isn’t.”
Carter moves another step forward. “You expect us to stand here while you keep a woman you bought?”
Matteo’s attention shifts again. To Brooke.
Carter immediately angles his body, blocking harder.
Matteo smiles faintly. “Cucciola,” he says, voice softer now, “would you like to put their minds at ease?”
Brooke goes still.
Carter’s entire body locks. “Don’t,” he says.
Brooke steps around him anyway. He catches her wrist gently.
Not stopping her hard. Begging without words.
She looks at him, and whatever passes between them is old and layered and not mine to understand.
Then she shakes him off. Not angry. Firm.
Carter lets her go, but he stays close enough to become violent if he needs to.
Brooke faces the room first, not Matteo. “He wasn’t cruel,” she says. No one speaks. Her voice stays calm, but I see the cost of the words in the way her hands curl at her sides. “He could have been,” she continues. “He had chances to be. He wasn’t.”
Carter’s face looks carved from stone.
Matteo watches her with a trace of amusement now.
Brooke turns slightly toward him. “That doesn’t make you good.”
His mouth curves. “No.”
“But it matters,” she says.
“Yes,” Matteo answers. “It does.”
The room doesn’t relax. If anything, it gets more complicated. Nina is still somewhere with him. Another girl. Another survivor. Another person trapped inside the same nightmare I barely escaped.
I look at Matteo. “Is she safe?”
His eyes return to mine. “Yes.”
“Can she go home?”
“No.”
Cobra growls low. “Wrong answer.”
Matteo looks at him. “No. Honest one.”
Logan steps forward again, the limp more visible now. “Explain.”
“No.”
The room shifts again.
Matteo lifts a hand slightly, not surrender, not fear. A command for space he has no right to expect and somehow gets anyway. “Stay out of my business, gentlemen,” he says.
Blaze scoffs. “That’s rich coming from the guy standing in our fucking clubhouse.”
Matteo looks around slowly, his smile returning in a thinner, colder form. “I’ll call when I’m ready to collect my favor.” The reminder hits like a threat because it is one. Not immediate. Not loud. Worse. Future. Owed. He turns toward the door. His men move with him.
Before he steps out, he looks back once. At Carter. At Brooke. Then at Cobra. “Take care of her,” he says.
Cobra’s voice is low. “Don’t tell me how to care for what’s mine.”
Matteo’s eyes flick to me. Something unreadable passes through them. Then he leaves.
The door closes behind him. For a second, no one moves. No one speaks. The room still holds his presence like smoke.
Then Cobra turns me back into him. The entire world narrows again.
His hands move over me, not in a way that feels invasive, but like he needs to confirm I’m real.
My arms. My back. My face. His thumbs brush under my jaw, avoiding the raw skin where the collar sat, and his eyes darken when he sees it.
I cover his wrist with my hand. “I’m here,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “You’re here.” The words sound like he’s forcing himself to believe them.
I press closer.
The room around us is still tense. Still full of questions. Nina. Matteo. The favor. The ring. The men downstairs. Eli.
God.
Eli.
A sob threatens, but I swallow it for now because if I start, I might not stop.
Cobra sees that too. His hand slides to the back of my neck, careful, grounding. “We’ll deal with everything,” he says, voice so low only I might hear it.
I nod. Because I believe him. Because I have to. Because I’m back.
But this isn’t finished.
Not even close.