Chapter 21
Hayden
“Closer- Nine Inch Nails”
Ophelia’s been texting me nonstop. I refuse to answer her. I’ve been too busy doing something for her that now I don’t know why I’m even bothering.
But, as usual, I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to her.
Could I stop and answer her? Yes.
But I’m just too fucking busy to deal with her shit right now.
I know what she wants. I know what she heard, but I’m not doing that shit over the phone. I’ll talk to her when I see her, until then she can fucking stew.
By the time I leave the Dungeon, I’m mentally exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones after too much violence, too many secrets, and one too many girls who look at you like they could ruin your entire fucking life.
Spoiler alert. Ophelia absolutely could.
The parking lot is mostly empty when I climb onto my bike. The cold night air brushes against my face while I shove my helmet on and start the engine.
For a brief second, it's peaceful but then my phone rings through the Bluetooth. Ryker.
I answer immediately, because he never calls this late unless something’s wrong.
“What?”
His breathing sounds rough. Angry.
“Kayla got jumped,” he growls.
“What?” I repeat, and his voice turns murderous.
“Beaten and raped,” he spits as ice floods my veins. I may not like the girl but she’s a woman and I don’t play that shit.
My grip tightens violently on the handle bars.
Jesus Christ.
“What the fuck happened?”
“The Morozov twins.” His voice shakes with fury now. “Or at least that’s who we think did it.”
My stomach twists hard. The Pahkan’s sons. Fuck! They really are deep in this shit. Kayla might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but nobody deserves that. Nobody.
Ryker exhales sharply into the phone. “If you see those motherfuckers, call me immediately.”
“Ry—”
“I want them dead.” The rage in his voice goes quiet after that. Which honestly scares me more.
“Okay,” I answer carefully. “I got you.”
After a long stretch of silence, Ryker suddenly barks out a dark laugh. “On another note…” I already hate where this is going. “Jade shot Jameson.”
“Excuse me, what?” I say, shocked but not shocked.
“She fucking shot him,” he says, sounding way too entertained by this. “Pulled out a gun and popped his ass in the neck.”
“What the hell for?” I ask.
“No clue.” Ryker laughs harder. “The crazy bitch completely lost it afterward and we had to sedate her.”
Jesus Christ.
“And now?” I ask.
“Now she’s on the outs with Dario and Spade.” Ryker whistles. “That whole little psycho family dynamic finally imploded,” he says, and the thought alone gives me a headache. Every single one of them feels like walking gasoline waiting for a match.
“Call me if you hear anything. We will be on lockdown at the clubhouse for a bit,” he says.
“Yeah. You got it,” I tell him, and the line disconnects.
I sit there for a long moment staring out across Daggerspoint while my bike idles beneath me.
Then I call Flynn.
“Lad,” he says.
“Things are escalating,” I say, and that gets his attention. I fill him in quickly. Kayla. The Russians. Jade shooting Jameson. The sedation. Dario and Spade fall out.
He goes quiet for a long second afterward.
Then calmly says, “I’ll take care of it.” Which somehow sounds more threatening than yelling ever could.
“Stay outta the way tonight,” Flynn adds. “Storm’s a-brewin. I’ll be sending someone out there in a few weeks. I’ll keep you updated.” Then the call ends, and I finally head home.
The entire ride back to my apartment, one thought keeps circling my brain over and over.
Thank fuck I’m not part of that life.
Not really.
Sure, I work around criminals. Underground fights. Guns. Dirty money and violence.
But Jade and her guys? That’s something else entirely.
The club life. The cartel ties. The political families.
The blood feuds. That shit consumes people whole.
I’ve seen the way Dario looks at Jade. Like she’s both salvation and destruction wrapped into one tiny violent package.
Seen the way Jameson spirals every time she walks into a room.
I’ve even seen the Twins with Kayla… too willing to burn cities down for their girl.
No thanks. I don’t want any part of that chaos.
Not permanently.
I’ll stick to the Dungeon. The Cyprus brothers. My shitty apartment and barely legal paychecks.
At least that life still feels halfway survivable.
By the time I unlock my apartment door, dawn is threatening the skyline already. My body aches while I kick off my boots and collapse on the mattress face first.
The room feels too quiet.
Cold and empty.
My brain still drifts toward Ophelia despite everything.
My Firefly.
I picture her curled beside me beneath these sheets. Bare legs tangled with mine. Blonde hair spread across my pillow while she sleepily complains about me stealing blankets.
The thought punches me straight through my chest. Because somewhere along the way… that became a dream.
Not money. Not revenge. Not power. Her—just her.
Maybe one day I’ll get my shit together enough to deserve that kind of life.
Maybe one day I’ll stop sabotaging every good thing I touch long enough to keep my girl.
Maybe I’ll put babies in her and buy a little house somewhere far away from Brimstone where no one knows our names or our baggage.
A man can dream right?
Even dreams don’t survive long in this city.
My eyes finally close while sunrise bleeds through the blinds, and for the first time in weeks… I fall asleep thinking about a future instead of revenge.
The next morning, I’m sitting in the back of chemistry class with my hood up, pretending to listen, while the TV mounted in the corner flashes the tattooed guy's face.
Missing.
Not dead. Not murdered. Not brutally beaten into a bloody stain behind the warehouse because he touched something that belonged to me.
Just… missing.
“Authorities are asking anyone with information regarding the disappearance of twenty-five year old Marcus Valley to come forward…”
Twenty five? Twenty five.
“Married with a child on the way,” the reporter continues, and my eyes snap to the TV.
What the fuck was a twenty-five-year-old doing at a warehouse party?
Let alone a married man who fucked an eighteen year old girl?
What the fuck?
A girl near the front gasps softly.
“Isn’t that the guy from the warehouse parties?”
Another kid shrugs. “Probably OD’d somewhere.”
I stare out the window calmly while my pulse stays completely steady.
No guilt. None.
The only thing I feel is irritated that they keep showing his stupid face every ten minutes.
Because every time they do, all I can hear is him laughing about Ophelia. Saying her name. Touching her.
Mine.
By lunch, I need air and nicotine. Preferably both.
The boys’ bathroom near the gym stays mostly empty during this period, so I slip inside and lean against the sill in the far corner beside the sinks.
The cigarette burns hot in my lungs while I lean back against the tiled walls staring at the ceiling.
Everything feels too loud lately.
The Mill.
Jameson getting shot.
Ryker hunting Russians.
Ophelia pretending Brayden matters to her.
It's exhausting.
The bathroom door suddenly slams open hard enough to rattle the mirrors. I already know who it is before I even look up.
Firefly.
Ophelia storms inside looking furious. Blonde curls wild around flushed cheeks while those blue eyes lock onto me like she’s seconds away from either crying or committing a felony.
Probably both.
“Well,” I mutter around the cigarette, “this feels illegal.”
“Cut the shit, Hayden,”
Angry.
Definitely angry.
I flick the ash into the sink lazily.
“You usually sneak into the men’s bathroom for all your arguments or am I special?” I ask, and her eyes narrow.
“Why did you kill him?” she asks, getting straight to it.
Interesting.
I tilt my head slightly. “Who?”
“The guy from the warehouse.” Her voice shakes. “The one that’s missing.” I take another slow drag from the cigarette while watching her carefully.
“You accusing me of something, Firefly?” I ask, with a smirk.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. That shouldn’t turn me on.
Unfortunately… it absolutely does, because Ophelia looks prettier when she’s furious at me. All flushed skin. Trembling rage barely hiding heartbreak underneath and those tears that make her blue eyes so light it’s like looking into glass.
“What makes you think I killed him?” I ask softly. She steps closer instantly.
“Because you looked at him like you wanted to.”
Fair.
“And now he’s gone,” she whispers. “Hayden…”
Something about the fear in her voice twists low in my stomach.
Not disgust.
Not horror.
Fear for me.
Christ!
I stub the cigarette out slowly before pushing away from the wall completely.
“You shouldn’t come looking for me when you’re emotional,” I murmur.
“Answer the question.”
I step closer instead. Ophelia doesn’t move backward. She never does.
That’s the problem with us. Even when she should run… she walks directly into the fire every damn time.
“You care?” I ask quietly as her breathing catches slightly.
“Of course I care. What the fuck?” she growls.
“About him?”
“No!” she snaps. “About you!”
There she is.
My chest tightens and I take another step forward until she’s trapped between me and the sinks. Her eyes widen but she still doesn’t move away.
“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because I already make terrible decisions where you’re concerned,” I say as the air between us turns heavy instantly.
Her breathing grows uneven while my eyes drag slowly across her face. Mouth. Neck. Her pulse fluttering wildly beneath her skin.
“You’re insane,” she whispers, and I smile.
“Probably.”
“You can’t just kill people because you’re jealous,” she states, and I lean down slightly until my mouth hovers near her ear.
“He touched you.”
The words come out rough.
Possessive.
And she shivers.
Fuck! I feel it.
Every tiny reaction. Every shaky breath. Every heartbeat she tried hiding from me.
“You don’t own me,” she whispers.
I smirk slowly. “Then why are you shaking?”
Her glare could melt steel. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“Cocky asshole,” she spits, and I cage her fully against the sink as my hands brace on each side of her hips while tension crackles between us. Her breath catches hard enough I almost lose my composure completely.
God. I missed this. The push and pull. The anger. The way she looks at me like she wants to slap me and kiss me at the same time.
“Does Brayden make you shiver like I do?” I ask softly, and her eyes flash instantly.
“That’s none of your business,”
Cute answer.
So I lean closer.
“Does he?”
Silence.
Exactly.
My mouth brushes lightly beneath her ear, barely touching. Just enough to torture her a little. “Does he know you still say my name when you’re upset?”
“Hayden…” Her voice breaks slightly.
“Does he know you still wear my hoodies to sleep?”
“No, dickhead, why does that matter?”
I grin against her skin. “Because you smell like me half the time.” A soft sound escapes her before she can stop it.
Victory.
She shoves at my chest weakly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still mine.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Too honest.
Too real and for one dangerous second neither of us breathes.
Then I pull away first, because if I stay any longer, I’m gonna kiss her. And if I kiss her in this bathroom? School’s getting cancelled for property damage.
She looks wrecked when I step back. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Angry blue eyes drowning in tension.
Beautiful.
I grab another cigarette from my pocket while heading to the door.
“You're an asshole!” she yells after me, and I glance back once.
“Yeah,” I say with a smirk. “But I’m your asshole.”
Then I leave her standing there hot, furious, and trembling beside the sink.
Exactly where I wanted her.
Because no matter how hard she fights it… she still belongs to me.