Chapter 9
Roman
A pounding on the door jolts me awake. I bolt upright, hand automatically reaching for my gun before my brain catches up with my surroundings.
Clubhouse. My old room. I blink at the sunlight streaming through the blinds, momentarily disoriented.
How long have I been out? The pounding comes again, followed by a hesitant voice.
“Viper? You in there?” Whoever it is outside my door is speaking in a low but urgent tone.
“What?” My voice comes out as a growl, rough with sleep.
“Atlas needs you downstairs. Now.” There’s a pause. “There’s a cop here. Something about your wife.”
The words take a moment to penetrate the fog of exhaustion. Cops. My wife. Kayla.
“What about her?” I’m already on my feet. Crossing to the dresser I grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and pull them on.
“Dunno, man. They just asked for you, and Atlas said to get you down there.”
Adrenaline sweeps away the last cobwebs of sleep as I yank on my boots. I glance at the window, full daylight. Must be afternoon. I’ve been out for hours.
I grab my cut from where I’d tossed it on the chair and shrug it on as I head for the door. The prospect, a skinny kid named Reed, practically jumps out of my way as I emerge.
“Who’s down there?” I demand, striding toward the stairs.
“Sheriff’s deputy,” Reed says, jogging to keep up with my longer steps. “Been here about ten minutes. Atlas is keeping him company.”
I nod, taking the stairs two at a time. My mind races with possibilities, none of them good.
The main room of the clubhouse falls silent as I enter. Atlas sits at a table with a uniformed deputy; Colton, I recognize him. Mid-thirties, one of the sheriff’s favorites, always looking to make a name for himself by busting bikers.
“Sullivan,” Colton says, standing as I approach. “Roman Sullivan?”
“That’s me,” I confirm, not offering my hand. “What’s this about?”
Colton’s eyes flick to my cut, taking in the VP patch and Devil’s Rejects insignia before returning to my face. “Mind if we sit?”
I lower myself into a chair across from him, noticing that Atlas has positioned himself at the head of the table. Making it clear who’s in charge here. Typical.
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Colton says, pulling out a small notebook. “And I’d appreciate straightforward answers.”
I say nothing, just stare at him. The chatter around the clubhouse has resumed, but at a lower volume. Everyone’s listening.
“Where were you last night?” Colton asks, pen poised above his notebook.
“Here,” I say, maintaining eye contact. “All night.”
“All night?” Colton repeats, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“And I suppose it’ll be all these upstanding citizens here that will vouch for it?” Colton gestures around the clubhouse, his tone making it clear what he thinks of my brothers.
“They will,” I say evenly. “Now, you want to tell me what this is about?”
He studies me, and I can see him trying to decide how much to reveal. “Where’s your wife, Mr. Sullivan?”
The question takes me by surprise. “At home, I assume.” Even as I say it, a cold feeling settles in my gut. Something’s wrong.
Colton snorts, a sound of pure disbelief. “When did you last speak to your wife?”
I hesitate, the cold feeling spreading. “Last evening. I let her know I’d be staying at the clubhouse.” The lie comes easily. Better than admitting I stood her up on our date night.
“And you haven’t spoken to her since?” Colton presses. “No calls, no texts?”
“My phone died,” I say, the excuse sounding weak even to my ears. “What’s going on? Why are you asking about my wife?”
Colton leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.
“This morning, a tow truck driver called us about an abandoned vehicle on County Road 16. Car registered to Kayla Sullivan. Passenger window smashed. Door wide open.” He pauses, watching my face.
“Driver’s purse, cell phone, and shoes scattered on the ground. Signs of a struggle.”
The blood drains from my face. “What?”
“We also received a 911 call last night,” Colton continues. “Female caller said someone was trying to get into her car. The call was cut off before she could give her exact location, but the cell tower ping puts it in the same general area where your wife’s car was found.”
I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved. “You’re telling me my wife is missing?”
“I was hoping you could tell me where she is,” Colton replies, remaining seated. “Funny timing, isn’t it? You don’t come home and your phone dies the same night your wife disappears?”
The accusation in his tone registers through my shock. He thinks I did something to Kayla. The absurdity of it would be laughable if the situation weren’t so serious.
“If you have any more questions, I want to have my lawyer present,” I snap, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
Colton rises slowly, tucking his notebook away. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Sullivan. Don’t go far.” He looks around the clubhouse, his gaze lingering on a few faces. “We’ll be talking to everyone who can vouch for your whereabouts last night.”
I don’t respond, just stare him down until he turns and walks toward the door. Atlas follows, escorting him out like the gracious host he pretends to be when authority comes knocking.
The moment the door closes behind them, I sprint for the stairs, taking them three at a time back to my room. My phone. I need my fucking phone. It’s lying on the bedside table where I left it, dead to the world. I snatch it up and power it on, pacing as I wait for it to boot.
When it finally does, the notifications flood in. Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts. All from Kayla. Dozens of them, starting around 7 PM last night and continuing until after 10 PM. The last one was sent almost fifteen hours ago.
My hands shake as I press play on the first voicemail.
“Roman, where are you? I’ve ordered wine and appetizers. You promised you’d be here…” Her voice is strained, hurt.
Next message. “I’ve been waiting here for over an hour, Roman….”
Next. “My car broke down on County Road 16. I… I could really use some help. Please call me.”
The last message makes my blood run cold. “Roman,” she whispers, her voice thick with fear. “Roman, please. Someone’s here. I’m scared. Please call me back. Please—” The message cuts off abruptly.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the wall, not even feeling the pain as drywall cracks under the impact. Kayla was in trouble. She needed me. And I was out chasing shadows while she was being—
I can’t even finish the thought. I can’t bear imagining what might have happened to her.
I barrel back downstairs, phone clutched in my hand. Atlas is standing near the bar, his face thunderous.
“What the hell, Viper? Now we’re gonna have cops sniffing around—”
“Somebody took my wife,” I cut him off, my voice deadly quiet. The room falls silent again, all eyes turning to us. “She called me last night. Left messages. Her car broke down, and someone attacked her while she was waiting for help.”
Atlas’s expression shifts, but not to concern. Annoyance. “Fuck. You know they’re gonna try to pin this on you, right?”
Before I can respond, I hear a prospect at the bar asking, “Didn’t she call here last night looking for Viper?”
My head whips around. The brother behind the bar, Digger, nods carelessly. “Yep. Too dumb to call a tow truck, apparently.”
Something snaps inside me. I’m across the room in three strides, my fist connecting with Digger’s face before he can even register I’m moving. He goes down hard, but I follow, landing on top of him, fists flying.
“You piece of shit!” I roar, landing blow after blow. “She called for help and you fucking ignored her?”
Strong hands grab me from behind, trying to pull me off. I fight against them, blind with rage.
“Enough!” Atlas’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Get him off now!”
It takes him and two others to drag me away from Digger, who’s curled on the floor, blood streaming from his nose.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Atlas demands, shoving me back. “You trying to kill him?”
“She called here!” I yell, struggling against the hands holding me. “My old lady called here for help, and you assholes did nothing!”
“You were on a mission,” Reed, the prospect, reminds me tentatively. “We had to protect Naomi.”
“There were plenty of you around last night. She would still have been protected if one of you fuckers had taken an hour to make sure my old lady got home safe.” I spit, looking around at their faces.
What I see there sickens me. Indifference.
Mild annoyance. Not one of them gives a shit about Kayla.
Atlas steps into my line of sight, his face hard. “Your priority is finding Demon so the threat against my daughter is gone. Everything else is secondary.”
I lunge at him, but the brothers holding me tighten their grip. “My wife is missing, you heartless son of a bitch! She could be dead because none of you would help her!”
A notification sound from my phone cuts through my rage. Email. I glance down at the screen, still in my hand. No subject, no text. Just an attachment. Video.
My blood runs cold as I tap to open it, the brothers releasing me as they sense the change in my demeanor.
The video loads, and there he is. Demon.
His face marred by the scar that runs from temple to jaw, courtesy of Naomi’s bullet.
And beside him, sitting in a metal folding chair, her face pale with fear but chin lifted defiantly, is Kayla.
“Hello, Viper,” Demon says, his voice pleasant, conversational. “As you can see, I have your wife. We had a little bet going, she and I, about how long it would take you to notice she was gone. Quite a while, it seems.” He smiles, and it’s like watching a shark bare its teeth. “Looks like I win.”
The camera shifts, focusing more on Kayla.
Her dress, the one she wore for our date, is torn at the shoulder, and there’s a bruise forming on her cheek.
But her eyes… God, her eyes are what gut me.
Not just fear there, but despair. Like she already believes I won’t come for her. That I’ll let her down again.
“Did you really think you’d get away with it, Viper?
” Demon continues, his face filling the screen once again.
“Did you really think I’d let any of you get away with it?
But you especially, after what you took from me?
No, Viper, my friend. It’s my turn now to take everything from you.
Starting with your rather lovely wife. And lest any of you feel neglected…
don’t worry. When I’m finished with Viper, I’ll be coming for the rest of you. I’m going to end the Devil’s Rejects.”
The video ends.
The clubhouse has gone completely silent. I look up to find every eye on me.
“He has my wife,” I say, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. “Demon has Kayla.”
Atlas steps forward, his face solemn now. “Viper—”
I cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m getting her back. I don’t care what it takes, who I have to kill, or what rules I have to break.” I look around at my brothers, my family for most of my life. “Anyone who gets in my way is dead to me. Are we clear?”
For a minute, nobody speaks. Then some unfortunate idiot mutters, “ I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Dumb bitch was never truly one of us—”
It was at that moment that the last control I had over my temper snapped. With a roar I picked up the nearest chair and threw it.
And that’s when all hell really broke loose.