Chapter Seven
With shaking hands, Lena yanked her duffel bag out of the small room she’d been using in the clubhouse. The zipper caught, and she cursed under her breath, tugging harder until it gave way with a metallic scrape.
She stuffed her clothes inside without folding, without care, her chest aching with every motion. The slam of the office door still echoed in her ears. King’s hard, unreadable, and scarred face burned in her mind.
His words cut deep, and though she told herself she was done with him, that she wouldn’t cry over a man who’d shut her out, her throat still felt raw, her eyes hot.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. Not King. Not any man.
The clubhouse hummed outside her door, the low roar of laughter, the crack of pool balls, the clinking of beer bottles.
The Devil’s Crown carried on like nothing had happened, like the president hadn’t just taken her body, her heart, and then tried to shove her out as though none of it mattered.
She refused to let them watch her fall apart.
Her boots thudded against the floorboards as she hauled her bag onto her shoulder and stepped out. A few brothers glanced her way, eyes curious, some pitying, but no one dared say a word.
Good. If anyone tried to stop her, she wasn’t sure if she’d scream or crumble.
Viper was at the bar, his tattooed arms crossed as he scanned the room. His sharp eyes caught hers, narrowing when he spotted the duffel. He straightened, ready to intercept, but Lena lifted her chin.
“Don’t,” she warned, her voice steady even though her stomach was twisting.
For a moment, he looked like he might argue, then something in her expression made him step back. Viper gave her a small nod, respect or maybe pity in his gaze.
“Take care, Lena,” Viper told her.
She swallowed hard and pushed past him, not daring to look back.
The night air hit her as she stepped outside, cool and heavy with the smell of oil and cigarette smoke. The parking lot was half full, rows of bikes gleaming under the security lights.
She’d come here thinking she might be safe, that maybe King meant it when he said she was under the Devil’s Crown’s protection. For a heartbeat, she’d believed she wasn’t alone anymore and then last night happened.
Something in her chest tightened. She could still feel his hands on her, the way he’d touched her like she was something breakable and sacred even as his body trembled with hunger.
She could still taste the rough edge of whiskey on his mouth, still hear the way he’d whispered her name like a prayer he wasn’t supposed to say.
She clenched her jaw and headed toward the beat-up sedan parked at the edge of the lot. King had sent a prospect to retrieve it.
Lena didn’t have much, but she still had her apartment. It wasn’t much more than four walls and a leaky faucet, but it was hers.
Freedom, even if it came with loneliness.
Her boots crunched gravel as she walked, but every step away from the clubhouse felt heavier, harder. Her chest kept pulling backward, toward the man she swore she wasn’t going to think about anymore.
Toward the one who’d shoved her away with his words but had already branded her with his touch. No. Enough.
She threw her bag into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. The engine coughed before it finally turned over. Lena gripped the steering wheel hard, her knuckles white.
She told herself she was making the right decision. She couldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted. She couldn’t tie herself to a man who thought loving her or wanting her was a mistake.
However, her eyes burned anyway as she drove, the clubhouse lights shrinking in her rearview mirror.
By the time she reached her apartment, exhaustion had set in. The old building loomed, paint peeling and lights flickering in the hallway. She hauled her duffel up the stairs, every step echoing in the silence.
Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and let out a shaky breath. The small space smelled faintly of dust and stale coffee. It wasn’t much. It held a couch, a tiny kitchenette, and a bedroom barely big enough for her bed, but it was home.
Dropping her bag on the couch, Lena sank down beside it. For the first time since storming out, she let herself feel the full weight of everything. Anger, hurt and longing.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willing the tears back. Lena wouldn’t cry over him. She couldn’t, but her heart didn’t listen.
Images of her mother in the hospital bed flashed through her mind. King had paid the bills. He hadn’t asked for thanks, hadn’t even admitted it, but she knew. The man who claimed he was nothing but a monster had given her mother another month of life, of treatment.
How could the same man who held her so reverently, who saved her without hesitation, who took care of her mom behind the scenes be the same man who told her she was a mistake?
It didn’t make sense and maybe that was what scared her most of all. Because despite everything, despite her fury and her pride, she wanted him.
She wanted him in ways she couldn’t afford to.
Lena drew a sharp breath, standing and moving to the small window that overlooked the street. The town moved on outside, oblivious to the storm twisting inside her.
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding tight.
Fine. If King thought she was a mistake, she’d prove she could survive without him. She’d take care of herself, take care of her mom, and keep her head down. Heck, Lena had done it before, and she could do it again.
Deep down, though, Lena couldn’t shake the truth she didn’t want to admit. She already belonged to him, whether he wanted her or not.
****
King noticed the silence first.
The Devil’s Crown clubhouse always had a pulse. Engines rumbling, brothers laughing, women shrieking with tipsy joy. However, this morning, it was different. Quieter somehow, like the air had shifted and left something hollow in its wake.
He felt it in his bones before he even opened the office door.
Lena’s scent lingered faintly. Soap, coffee, something soft that didn’t belong in a den of wolves like this. But the room itself was empty. The blanket they’d tangled themselves in was folded on the couch, her bag gone, no trace of her except the ghost of heat on his skin.
She was gone.
King stood there a long time, staring at the space she’d filled, the crack she’d left behind. He told himself it was for the best. She wasn’t cut out for this world, and he’d never been cut out for hers.
He’d warned himself last night was dangerous. A weakness. And sure enough, come morning, she’d walked.
Good. He should be relieved, except deep down, he really wasn’t. The clubhouse felt colder than it had in years.
By noon, King was nearly drowning in regret. King was in the garage, sleeves rolled up, grease under his nails. The steady work of tearing down an engine was usually enough to clear his head, but not today. He heard her voice in every turn of the wrench, saw her eyes in every reflection of chrome.
“You’re scared.”
Her words haunted him. She’d said them like a challenge, like a truth he couldn’t outrun.
Hell, maybe she was right. He wasn’t scared of blood or bullets, but her? Lena had the power to strip him bare, to make him remember he was more than the monster people saw. That was more dangerous than any enemy.
The sound of heavy boots interrupted his thoughts. Viper leaned against the doorframe, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
“She’s gone,” King said without looking up.
Viper raised a brow. King grunted and told Viper what happened.
“You expected her to stick around after the way you bit her head off?” Viper asked.
King’s jaw tightened. “She’s better off out of here,” King grumbled.
“Maybe.” Viper crossed his arms. “Or maybe you just pushed away the only person who’s managed to get under your skin in a decade.”
King shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Viper just smirked faintly, like he’d expected the reaction. He pushed off the frame.
“Thought you’d want to know,” Viper said, his voice losing its edge. “Word came in. Serpents hit The Pit Stop again last night. This time they didn’t just tag it. Place went up in flames.”
The wrench slipped from King’s hand, clattering to the floor. He stood, shoulders stiff.
“What?” King demanded.
“Torched it. Total loss. Rick’s a mess. Cops’ll write it off as an accident, same as always. Everyone knows whose hand was on the match,” Viper explained.
King’s pulse pounded in his ears. Fury boiled hot and fast, but beneath it, something colder settled in his gut.
The Pit Stop had been Lena’s place. Her second home. He could still see her behind the bar, chin up, eyes blazing when the Serpents leaned too close. She’d fought for that place, for every scrap of independence it gave her.
And now it was gone because of the Serpents and because of him. Because he hadn’t been there.
By the time he hit the clubhouse war room, his men were already gathering, murmuring in tight knots. The news had traveled fast.
“Those bastards think they can light up what’s ours and walk away?” Rage growled, his voice booming. “We can’t let this slide, King.”
King dropped into the head chair, elbows braced on the scarred wood table. He wanted blood. Every instinct screamed to saddle up, to burn the Serpents to ash for daring to touch what was his.
But through the roar of fury, the hollow ache gnawed deeper. Lena.
She’d already lost enough. Her mom’s health, her peace, the bar that paid their bills, and now him. He’d given her nothing but reasons to hate him.
Yet the thought of her out there, alone, trying to hold it together while everything crumbled. Christ, it gutted him. He was supposed to protect her. Instead, he’d failed her twice over.
“King?” Viper’s voice cut through the haze.
King looked up, scanning the faces of his brothers. They were waiting for orders. For fire, for war.
However, all he could see was Lena’s eyes, stormy and proud, the way she’d told him he didn’t get to decide for her. She was right. King hadn’t protected her by pushing her away. He’d just left her vulnerable.
King shoved back his chair and stood, towering over the table.
“The Serpents think they can torch The Pit Stop, scare people into silence? Not on my watch. We’ll answer them, and when we do, it’ll be something they don’t come back from,” King said.
The brothers roared their approval, fists pounding the table. King barely heard them. His gaze drifted to the door, to the empty hallway beyond. Because even as the Devil’s Crown prepared for war, all he could think about was the woman who wasn’t there and the hole she’d left behind.