Chapter 12
Roman
The Inferno’s clubhouse sits like a fortress in an industrial district of Billings.
A warehouse complex surrounded by a tall metal fence; the kind of place most people would drive right past without a second glance, which is exactly the point.
I sit astride my bike, glaring into the security camera mounted above the gate, repeating my request to speak with Dragon.
Minutes tick by. I’m being watched; I can feel it.
The security camera above the gate remains motionless, its black eye fixed on me.
Finally, the camera swivels slightly, adjusting its angle. They’re definitely watching me now. I straighten my shoulders and look directly into the lens.
“I need to speak with Dragon,” I call out, my voice rougher than I’d intended. “It’s urgent.”
More silence. The wind picks up, carrying the various scents from the surrounding factories. I wait, counting my heartbeats, fighting the urge to shout again, to demand entrance. Patience was never my strong suit, and right now, with Kayla’s life hanging in the balance, it’s almost impossible.
Just as I’m about to try again, there’s a mechanical clunk and the gates begin to slide open with a grinding metallic shriek. Relief washes through me.
I kick my bike back to life, and roll through the gates and into the compound. The asphalt is cracked but clean, and rows of motorcycles gleam in the late afternoon sun.
The warehouse itself is massive, converted into what must be their clubhouse.
Metal sheeting covers most of the original structure, giving it a patchwork appearance.
The main doors are reinforced steel, thick enough to stop a battering ram.
As I approach, I realize just how vulnerable I am.
I’m walking into the heart of another MC’s territory, alone, with only my reputation and a desperate plea to protect me.
Before I reach the doors, they swing open slowly, the hinges protesting with a long, low creak.
A man steps out; he’s tall and lean with thick black hair and cold gray eyes.
Unlike most bikers, he’s cleanshaven and doesn’t seem to be covered in tattoos.
His cut is adorned with patches I don’t recognize, but the vice president rocker is unmistakable.
“You Viper?” he asks, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.
I nod once, holding his gaze. “I need to speak with Dragon.”
The VP looks me over, taking in every detail from my boots to the circles under my eyes. “Heard you might be coming. Dragon says he’ll give you a few minutes.” He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. “But just so we’re clear; you cause any trouble, and you leave in pieces.”
The threat slides off me like water. I’ve been threatened by better men than him. Right now, all I care about is finding Kayla. Everything else is secondary.
I follow him into the clubhouse, hit immediately by the familiar scent of leather, cigarette smoke, and stale beer that seems to permeate every MC headquarters I’ve ever been in.
The common room is spacious, with high ceilings and exposed metal beams. Groups of men in cuts lounge on worn couches and around pool tables.
Every conversation halts as I walk in, every head turning to stare at the Devil’s Rejects VP in their midst. They don’t rise, don’t reach for weapons, but their eyes follow me with a wary assessment that’s not quite hostility but definitely not welcome.
I’m led to a corner of the room where a worn leather sectional creates a semi-private space. Seated in the middle of it is Dragon, and the sight of him stops me dead in my tracks.
It’s like looking at Demon’s ghost.
The same golden hair, though Dragon’s is longer, pulled back in a small knot at the nape of his neck.
The same perfectly symmetrical features, like something carved by a master sculptor.
The same piercing green-gold eyes that seem to look through you rather than at you.
The only differences are the short, neat beard covering Dragon’s jaw and the absence of Demon’s jagged scar.
“Jesus,” I breathe before I can stop myself.
Dragon’s mouth curves in a humorless smile. “Not quite,” he says, his voice eerily similar to Demon’s pleasant tone. “Sit.” He gestures to the section of couch opposite him.
I lower myself onto the worn leather, hyperaware of the men watching from around the room. Dragon doesn’t look happy to see me. In fact, he looks rather annoyed, as if I’m an unexpected bill he has to deal with.
I cross the remaining distance and lower myself onto the couch, never taking my eyes off him. The resemblance to Demon is uncanny, unsettling. How did I not know about this? How did none of us know?
“What do you want, Viper?” Dragon asks, getting straight to the point.
“I need to talk to you about Demon,” I say, not bothering with pleasantries.
The energy in the room shifts instantly, a collective tension rippling through the men scattered around us. Dragon’s expression darkens further, his eyes growing cold.
“Clear the room,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur.
Yet every man immediately stands and begins filing toward various exits.
No questions, no hesitation. Within thirty seconds, the vast space is empty except for Dragon, myself, and the VP who led me in here, and one other man who I assume is a trusted officer.
Dragon waits until the last footsteps fade before speaking again. “What’s your business with Demon?”
“I need to find him.” I meet those unsettling eyes directly, refusing to look away.
“And why would you think I’d know where he is?” Dragon asks, tilting his head slightly in a gesture so similar to Demon’s it makes my skin crawl.
I don’t answer, just give him a long look.
After a moment, Dragon chuckles, a sound without humor. “I guess there’s a family resemblance, huh?” He leans back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. “Not something I go out of my way to advertise.”
“I need to find him,” I repeat, leaning forward. “It’s urgent.”
Dragon shakes his head. “Whatever beef you’ve got with my brother is your business, not mine. I don’t get involved in Kit’s dealings any more than necessary.”
“He kidnapped my wife.”
Dragon’s eyebrows rise fractionally, surprise flashing across his face before he masks it.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks carefully. “Sure she didn’t go with him willingly?”
My hands clench into fists on my knees. “I have proof.”
Dragon tilts his head, considering me. “Kit has never kidnapped anyone before,” he says. “That would be a first.”
“Well, he’s branching out,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. I pull out my phone, navigating to the video. “See for yourself.”
I pass him the phone, and Dragon takes it, eyes never leaving mine until he finally looks down at the screen. I watch as he plays the video. When it finishes, he plays it again, this time paying closer attention to the details.
“What did you do to piss Kit off?” he asks finally, handing the phone back to me.
I start to explain about Naomi, about how Demon had pursued her, tried to turn her against the club, about the ambush where Naomi shot him. But Dragon holds up a hand, cutting me off.
“My brother wouldn’t do something like this over a turf war or a club squabble,” he says, his voice harder now. “If you don’t know why he’s gunning for you specifically, you better figure it out quick. Kit is not an enemy you want to have.”
“I don’t give a shit about the why,” I say, my voice rising despite my best efforts to stay calm. “The only thing I care about is finding my wife.”
Dragon watches me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s reassessing me. Finally, he nods, almost to himself.
“I don’t know where Kit is,” he says. “We haven’t been in contact for some time.”
My heart sinks, the brief flare of hope extinguished. I start to stand, furious at having wasted precious time, but Dragon continues.
“But I know some people who might have an idea where he’s hiding,” he says. “I’ll contact them.”
I sink back onto the couch. “How long will that take?”
Dragon shrugs. “As long as it takes.”
I want to grab him by the collar, to demand he move faster, make calls now, do something, anything, that will lead me to Kayla sooner. But I force myself to stay seated, to nod as if this is a reasonable answer. I need his help more than I need to vent my frustration.
“I’ll contact you if I find anything,” Dragon adds, and it’s clearly a dismissal.
One of the men from the door steps forward, ready to escort me out. I stand slowly, fighting back the urge to beg Dragon to hurry, to tell him that every second Kayla is with his psychotic twin brother is a second too long.
Instead, I simply nod. “I’ll be waiting.”
Outside, the sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the compound.
I stride toward my bike, each step feeling heavier than the last. What do I do now?
Where do I go? Back to Redbird to shake down my own contacts?
Back to the clubhouse to face Atlas’s wrath and plead for the club’s help after all?
As I swing my leg over my bike, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, hoping it might be Dragon already with information. Instead, I see a notification for an email from an unknown sender.
The subject line makes my blood run cold: “she’s very cheerful today”
With shaking fingers, I open the email. There’s no text, just a video attachment. I tap it, dread building in my chest as it loads.
Kayla’s face appears on the screen. She’s sitting in a chair, her dress torn and dirty, her face pale but defiant. My heart lurches painfully at the sight of her. She looks tired, afraid, but still so beautiful it hurts.
“I think,” she says, her voice catching slightly before she continues, “I think that if you really wanted to hurt Roman, you should have skipped me and kidnapped Naomi. Or done something else to harm the Devil’s Rejects. Me? I’m just… an afterthought.”
The video ends abruptly, freezing on Kayla’s face, her eyes downcast, defeated.
I stare at the screen, unable to breathe. Afterthought. The word slices through me like a blade, cutting deeper than any knife ever could. Is that what she thinks? That she doesn’t matter to me? That I wouldn’t tear apart heaven and earth to find her?
But haven’t my actions proven her right? I missed our date. I ignored her calls. I chose the club over her time and again. And now she’s paying the price for my failures.
My phone buzzes again. A text message from an unknown number: “doesn’t seem like she‘s much use to me then, is she?”
Panic surges through me, white-hot and blinding. My fingers fly across the screen as I reply:
“You can have me. Let her go and you can have me.”
I stare at the screen, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. Seconds tick by, stretching into minutes. Nothing. The silence is worse than any threat could be.
I force myself to take a deep breath, then another. I need to think clearly. Need to focus. Falling apart won’t help Kayla.
What kills me most is knowing she believes what she said; that she’s just an afterthought.
That I don’t value her above everything else.
I‘ve failed her in so many ways, but I swear to whatever god might be listening that I’ll make it right.
I’ll find her, save her, and spend the rest of my life proving how wrong she is.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and kick my bike to life. I may not know exactly where Kayla is, but I do know where to start looking. I have my own connections in Redbird, people who specialize in finding things that don’t want to be found.
As I roar out of the Drago’s Inferno compound, a cold resolve settles in my chest. I will find Kayla. I will get her back. And if that means selling my soul to the devil himself, then so be it.
I’m coming, Sunshine. Just hold on a little longer.