Chapter 23
Roman
“Another night of stalking your ex-wife?”
Dragon’s voice startles me more than it should.
I’m in the park lot of the Inferno clubhouse, heading towards my bike.
Glancing around, I find Dragon leaning against the brick wall, arms folded across his chest, half his face hidden in shadow.
How long has he been standing there? The man moves like a damn ghost when he wants to.
“It’s not stalking,” I reply, continuing toward my bike. “It’s protection.” The cool night air carries the scent of coming rain, and I make a mental note to grab my waterproof gear from the saddlebag.
Dragon pushes off the wall, falling into step beside me. “Protection from what, exactly? Kit let her go. If he wanted to hurt her, don’t you think he would have when he had her in his power?”
I don’t answer right away, focusing instead on checking my saddlebags, making sure my gear is in order.
“How long are you going to do this, Roman?” Dragon asks, his voice softening slightly.
I straighten, meeting his gaze directly. “The rest of my life, if I have to.”
Dragon sighs, shaking his head. “You know she’s going to be pissed if she finds out, right? She’ll skin you alive if she discovers you’ve been lurking outside her apartment.”
I shrug, swinging my leg over my bike. “Maybe. But she won’t find out.”
“She might,” Dragon counters. “Billings isn’t that big. And you’re not exactly inconspicuous.”
“I’m careful.”
“You’re obsessed.”
I don‘t deny it. What would be the point? He’s not wrong.
“God save me from pining ex-husbands,” Dragon mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is why I’ll never take an old lady. Muddles your mind, keeps you from thinking straight.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “That’s very cold-blooded of you.”
“It’s practical,” he corrects me. “Besides, look what love’s done to you. The great Viper, reduced to sitting in the rain outside an apartment building, watching a woman who doesn’t want you anymore.”
“You don’t have to understand,” I tell him. “You just have to let me do what I need to do.”
Dragon’s expression shifts, growing more serious. “Do you really think Kit is still a threat to her? Truly?”
I look away, staring at the clubhouse wall as I consider my answer. The truth is, I don’t know. Demon is a wild card, unpredictable. But his behavior with Kayla never made sense to begin with. The way he took her, then just let her go… none of it makes any sense.
“He’s your brother,” I say finally, turning back to Dragon. “What do you think?”
Dragon’s eyes fix on some distant point beyond my shoulder. For a moment, he looks lost, uncertain in a way I rarely see him. Dragon is the steady one, the rock his club is built on. But when it comes to his brother, that foundation cracks.
“I wouldn’t have thought Kit was a threat to her in the first place,” he admits softly. “He’s done a lot of fucked-up things in his life, but kidnapping? Terrorizing women? That was never his style.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
I know Dragon has people looking for his brother, just as I do. So far, Demon has managed to stay off everyone’s radar, which only makes me more suspicious. Men like Demon don’t just go quietly away.
“Until we find Demon,” I say, “until I know for certain that the threat to Kayla is eliminated, I’m going to keep watching over her.” I start the engine, feeling the familiar rumble beneath me. “That’s non-negotiable.”
Dragon chuckles, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Let’s be honest. You won’t stop even then.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Probably not.”
“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch,” Dragon says, but there’s a grudging respect in his voice.
I don’t say anything to that. Just pull away from the curb and raise a hand in farewell as I head toward the gate. In my side mirror, I catch a glimpse of Dragon still standing there, watching me leave, his expression unreadable. Then he turns and walks back into the clubhouse.
I promised her I’d never leave her alone in the dark again. Even if she doesn’t know it, I’m keeping that promise.
* * *
Left hook. Right cross. Left again. The punching bag sways under my assault, leather splitting my knuckles despite the wraps.
Blood seeps through the white fabric, but I keep going.
Pain is good. Pain is better than thinking about Kayla sitting across from some smiling stranger, laughing at his jokes, maybe reaching for his hand across the table.
Left hook. Harder this time. The chain securing the bag to the ceiling creaks in protest. Seven months since the divorce became final, and somehow it still feels like someone’s taken a cheese grater to my insides.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Every hit sends a jolt up my arms, sweat stinging my eyes and dripping down my back.
My fist connects with the bag so hard that pain shoots up to my elbow.
Good. I welcome it. Another hit. And another.
Anything to drown out the images my brain keeps conjuring; Kayla smiling at someone else, Kayla touching someone else, Kayla…
“Jesus, Roman, what did that bag ever do to you?”
I don’t pause, don’t look up at the voice. It’s Mason, one of the newer prospects. Kid’s built like a linebacker but has the face of a twelve-year-old. He’s been hanging around me lately, probably hoping some of my reputation will rub off on him.
“Fuck off,” I grunt, landing another combination.
“Seriously, man, you okay?” Mason steps closer, hovering just at the edge of my peripheral vision.
“He’s fine,” comes another voice, deeper, with an edge of amusement. “Just working through some feelings.”
I glance over to see Gunner leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The Inferno’s sergeant-at-arms watches me with a knowing smirk that makes me want to redirect my punches to his face.
Behind him, a few more brothers file into the gym, probably drawn by the sounds of my one-sided battle with the bag.
“What’s up with Sullivan?” asks Wrench. “He’s been in here for hours.”
Gunner’s smirk widens. “His ex has a new boyfriend, and our boy here is taking it real well as you can see.”
“That right, Roman?” Wrench asks, his voice taking on a teasing tone that sets my teeth on edge. “The little lady’s moved on?”
I strip off my gloves, tossing them aside, refusing to engage. My hands are shaking, whether from exertion or rage, I’m not sure. Probably both. I reach for my water bottle, taking a long drink, trying to cool the fire building in my chest.
“Heard his name’s Kirby,” Timber calls from across the room, where he’s started loading weights onto a bar. “Some accountant or something, right? Real straight-laced type.”
The gym erupts in laughter, and I feel my face burning. Kirby. What the fuck kind of name is Kirby?
“I heard he’s a real smart guy,” someone else pipes up. “Wears glasses and has a bunch of fancy degrees and everything.”
“Sounds like a hell of an upgrade from our boy here,” Wrench says, grinning now, “No offense, Roman.”
I focus on unwrapping my hands, trying to tune them out. It shouldn’t matter. Kayla can date whoever she wants. We’re done. Finished. I signed those divorce papers. I watched her drive away. I have no claim on her anymore.
So why does it feel like I’m being gutted with a rusty knife?
“Hey, Roman,” Sledge calls from the weight bench, his voice carrying over the others. “How’s it feel to be replaced by a vacuum cleaner?”
The gym explodes in laughter again, and something in me snaps. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve crossed the room and grabbed Sledge by the throat, yanking him off the bench. His eyes widen in shock as I haul back my fist, blind rage coursing through my veins.
My punch never lands. A viselike grip catches my wrist mid-swing, and I’m yanked backward with enough force to make me stumble. I whip around, ready to take on whoever intervened, only to find myself face-to-face with Gray.
The VP’s expression is stone cold, and the look in his eyes would make most men back down. I’m not most men, especially not right now.
“Let go,” I snarl.
Gray doesn’t budge. “Outside. Now.”
“I said let go.” I try to wrench free, but his grip only tightens.
“And I said outside. Don’t make me ask again, Sullivan.”
For a moment, we stand locked in a silent battle of wills, the gym suddenly quiet around us. Then, slowly, I feel the red haze of rage beginning to recede. My breathing is still ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs, but the blind impulse to destroy is fading.
Gray must see the change, because he releases my wrist, though he doesn’t step back. “Move,” he says, jerking his head toward the door.
I throw one last glare at Sledge and then stalk out of the gym. Gray follows close behind, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. We make it to the empty hallway before he grabs my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.
“Calm the hell down,” he says, his voice low but razor-sharp. “This shit ends now.”
“They started it,” I mutter, immediately hating how childish the words sound.
Gray’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t give a fuck who started it. You almost took Sledge’s head off over a stupid joke. Get your shit together, Roman.”
I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline leaving my system as quickly as it came. “I know,” I mutter, running a hand over my face. “I know.”
Gray studies me for a long moment. “She was going to move on eventually,” he says, his voice softer now. “You had to know that.”
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the wall.
Of course I knew. Logically, I knew. But logic has nothing to do with the knife twisting in my gut every time I think about Kayla with someone else.
Logic has nothing to do with the cold, empty feeling that’s lived in my chest since the day she walked away.