Chapter 26
Kayla
The ceiling above my bed holds no answers, no matter how intensely I stare at it.
Sleep refuses to come, my mind racing with the knowledge that Roman is just a few dozen feet away, sprawled on my couch as if he belongs there.
Like two years of silence and separation never happened.
Like he didn’t just casually drop that he’s been watching me this entire time, a shadowy presence on the periphery of my life that I never asked for, never wanted.
Or maybe I did want it, deep down in the most hidden corners of my heart, and that’s what terrifies me most of all.
I roll onto my side, punching my pillow into submission before tucking it under my head.
The sheets tangle around my legs as I shift positions for what feels like the hundredth time.
Mochi jumps up onto the bed, padding over to curl against my back, his purr vibrating between my shoulder blades.
At least someone in this house can relax.
Two years. For two years, Roman has been following me.
Guarding me. The thought sends contradictory waves of fury and comfort washing through me.
How dare he? Who gave him the right to insert himself into my life again without my knowledge or consent?
And yet… knowing that he was there, that someone was watching over me when I felt most alone, stirs something I’ve tried desperately to bury since the day I signed those divorce papers.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but images of Roman keep flashing behind my eyelids.
There’s a weariness to him now that wasn’t there two years ago.
The hunger on his face as he looked at me hasn’t changed, however.
He still behaves with the same confidence, the same authority.
The same audacity. He’s always been physically intimidating, and that clearly hasn’t changed; he certainly had no trouble dispatching the intruder in the hallway.
The intruder. My eyes snap open, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs. Someone broke into my house tonight. Someone was waiting for me when I came home from my date with Todd. Someone who might have—
I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable I am, how fragile the security I’ve built around myself really is. I took self-defense classes when I first moved to Billings. I learned how to shoot a gun. Would any of it have been any good if I’d been taken off guard in my own home, however?
The memory of my kidnapping rises unbidden: the blindfold, the ropes cutting into my wrists, Kit’s voice in my ear. The complete powerlessness of being at someone else’s mercy.
It could have happened again. Tonight.
My breath comes faster, and I sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees. I force myself to take deep breaths.
When my heart rate finally slows, I lie back down with a sigh and close my eyes, trying to empty my mind. Sleep tugs at me; my body finally surrendering to exhaustion. I’m drifting, nearly there, when something nags at the edge of my consciousness. Something I’ve forgotten. Something important.
My eyes fly open as the memory crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. Kit’s voice in my ear, just before he left me in the woods. “Tell him I did it for Amara.”
Amara.
I sit bolt upright, sending Mochi scrambling away with an indignant meow.
How could I have forgotten? In the chaos of those first days after my release, I never asked Roman about Amara.
We never really sat down and talked about what happened during my captivity.
I was too angry, to hurt, too focused on escaping the life that had nearly destroyed me.
But what if it matters? What if Amara is the key to understanding what’s happening now?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I throw back the covers and slide out of bed. Padding down the hallway to the living room, my heart pounds harder with each step. The house is silent except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the soft tick of the clock in the kitchen.
“Roman?” I whisper into the darkness, peering at the couch where I left him. “Are you awake?”
There‘s a grunt from somewhere, then Roman’s voice. “I am. Go back to bed, Sunshine. Get some rest.”
“I have a question,” I press, squinting into the darkness. I can barely make out the shape of the couch, but Roman doesn’t seem to be on it.
Another grunt, then, “I’m fine.”
The response doesn’t make any sense, which makes alarm bells start ringing in my head. “Wait, are you in the kitchen?”
“Just getting a snack,” he replies. “Go back to bed.”
“Why is the light off?” I take a step toward the kitchen.
“Got a headache,” Roman says quickly. “Look, Kayla, I really need you to go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
His insistence only increases my suspicion. “No, this is important. I just remembered something Kit said to me, right before he let me go.” I take the final steps into the kitchen, my hand finding the light switch on the wall. “Who is—“
Light floods the room, momentarily blinding me.
I blink a few times and then freeze, my question dying on my lips.
Roman is on the floor, shirtless, his powerful body pinning someone beneath him.
A gun is pressed to the captive’s temple.
But it’s the flash of golden-blonde hair that makes my breath catch, that makes the world tilt sideways for a moment.
Kit. He’s here, in my kitchen. The man who kidnapped me two years ago is lying on my kitchen floor with Roman’s gun against his head.
“—Amara?” I finish, the name coming out as a gasp.
Kit groans from his position on the floor, his green-gold eyes rolling up to meet mine with that familiar mocking glint. “Really, plant lady, really? All you had to do was pass on the message.”
“Kayla, get my phone,” Roman barks, not taking his eyes off Kit, the gun steady in his hand.
“It’s in my pocket. Call Dragon.” His body is tense, muscles coiled as if he’s ready to snap at any moment.
Kit just lies there beneath him, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth despite the weapon pressed against his temple.
The whole scene feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into a nightmare.
I hesitate, suddenly very aware that Roman isn’t wearing a shirt. In the harsh kitchen light, his torso gleams golden, all hard planes and defined muscle. The broad shoulders I used to cling to on the back of his motorcycle. The strong arms that once held me through countless nights.
“Kayla,” Roman’s voice cuts through my inappropriate reverie. “Phone. Now.”
I approach cautiously, my bare feet cold against the kitchen tile. Roman’s jeans are slung low on his hips, and I have to kneel beside him to reach into his pocket. The heat radiating from his skin makes my fingers tingle as they brush against his thigh through the denim.
“Back left,” he instructs, voice tight.
As I slide my hand into his pocket, I actually look at the tattoos on his back and my breath catches.
The Devil’s Rejects’ grinning skull, the tattoo that once dominated his skin, has been transformed.
The skull is still there, but now it’s encircled by a snarling dragon, its claws tearing into the design.
And above that, something new: a blazing sun, its rays reaching across his shoulder blades.
A sun. Sunshine. Me.
“Anytime now would be good,” Roman says, jerking me back to reality.
I realize I’ve been staring, my hand frozen halfway into his pocket. Quickly, I retrieve the phone, my cheeks burning. The screen lights up at my touch, revealing a photo I wasn’t prepared for: me. A candid photo of me working in the garden of the old house, one I wasn’t even aware Roman had taken.
“Password’s 0428,” Roman says, his eyes still fixed on Kit.
My birthday. After everything, he still uses my birthday.
I punch in the numbers and open his contacts, finding Dragon’s name near the top of his recent calls. The phone rings three times before a man answers, his deep voice sharp with irritation.
“What the hell now, Roman? It’s the middle of the goddamn night.”
I freeze, unsure what to say. Roman saves me from having to respond.
“I’ve got him,” he calls over his shoulder, loud enough for Dragon to hear. “At Kayla’s.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end.
“On my way,” Dragon responds, his tone completely changed. The call ends abruptly.
“Well, isn’t this just heartwarming,” Kit drawls from his position on the floor. “The gang’s all getting back together.”
“Shut up,” Roman snaps.
Kit just grins. “You know I always thought you were one of the duller knives in the drawer, Roman. I must say, this isn’t doing anything to improve my opinion of you.”
“I said shut up.”
“Make me,” Kit taunts, a twisted smile playing at his lips despite his current position. “So, Roman, are you going to answer your lovely wife’s question, or are you afraid to let her know what you’re really capable of?”
Roman’s jaw tightens visibly. I watch the muscle jump beneath his skin.
“Oh, I’m sorry. That was the wrong word. Ex-wife is what I meant to say.” Kit’s smile widens as he emphasizes the word. “Does that still sting, Roman? Knowing you lost her? Knowing she’s gone and she’ll never be yours again?”
“I said shut up,” Roman hisses.
“It didn’t feel good, did it?” Kit continues, his voice taking on a softer, more venomous quality. “To know your woman is in danger and not be able to help her. Not even knowing where she is. Knowing you’d give your life for her in a heartbeat and it making no difference at all.”
Roman shifts his weight, pressing Kit harder into the floor. “Demon, I swear to God—“
“What’s wrong, Roman?” Kit cuts him off. “Don’t want sweet Kayla to know that you’re a fucking murderer—“
“I didn’t fucking kill her!” Roman roars, the sudden explosion of rage making me flinch. His whole body trembles with it, the gun wavering slightly against Kit’s temple.
Kit goes utterly still beneath Roman, something flickering across his face that looks almost like hope before it goes blank again. “I don’t believe you.”
I stand in the middle of my kitchen, arms wrapped around myself, feeling like I’ve stumbled into a foreign film without subtitles. None of this makes sense.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I finally ask.
“No,” Roman and Kit answer in unison, then glare at each other.
Before I can respond to that, there’s a sharp knock at my front door. I jump, my nerves already frayed to the breaking point. Roman nods toward the living room.
“That’ll be Dragon,” Roman says. “Go let him in.”
I pad through the living room, conscious of the fact that I’m wearing nothing more than my sleep shorts and a tank top.
It’s when I open the door that I get another shock.
The man standing in front of me could be Kit’s doppelganger.
They both have the same blonde hair, the same eerie golden-green eyes, the same beautiful face.
The only difference is this man’s hair is longer and instead of a scar, his face is covered by a neat beard. Twins, I realize with a start.
“Kayla,” Dragon nods, taking in my disheveled appearance. “May we come in?”
I step aside wordlessly. Dragon is flanked by the dark haired man who was here earlier and several other men, all of them wearing cuts with the same snarling dragon that’s tattooed on Roman’s back.
I lead them to the kitchen, where Roman still has Kit pinned.
“Let him up,” Dragon says, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument.
Roman hesitates, then slowly removes the gun from Kit’s temple and stands, backing away but keeping the weapon trained on him. Kit sits up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck with exaggerated relief.
“For the record,” Kit says, climbing to his feet with feline grace, “I totally could have gotten you off me. I just didn’t feel like it.”
Roman snorts derisively.
Dragon steps between them, focusing on his twin. “Would it kill you to answer your phone once in a while?” he asks, exasperation evident in his voice.
“Been a busy, busy boy,” Kit replies with a mocking smile, spreading his hands wide. “You know how it is: places to go, people to terrorize, revenge to be had.”
Before Dragon can respond, the front door crashes open, and two men burst in, guns drawn.
I have just a moment to recognize Scorpion with his close set eyes and beard that looks like it was trimmed with a weed wacker and Tank, who is absolutely massive with a wild bushy beard and a bald head that makes his face look oddly small by comparison, before Roman yanks me behind him, using his body as a shield, pointing his gun at the newcomers.
Dragon‘s men also draw their weapons, creating a standoff in my small living room.
Dragon just sighs deeply, like a parent dealing with particularly troublesome children. “Really, Kit? This is how we’re doing this?”
Kit rolls his eyes. “Scorpion, Tank, what the hell are you doing?”
Scorpion keeps his gun steady. “Saw Dragon and his boys roll up. Figured things had gone sideways.”
“Everyone, please put your guns away,” Dragon says with the weariness of someone who’s had this conversation too many times. His calm in the face of all these weapons is both impressive and terrifying.
Scorpion and Tank look to Kit, who gives them a small nod. Slowly, reluctantly, weapons disappear into holsters and waistbands. The tension in the room drops from unbearable to merely suffocating.
Dragon opens his mouth to speak, then shakes his head as if thinking better of it. “We’re all going back to the Inferno clubhouse,” he announces. “Before one of Kayla’s neighbors calls the cops.”
“Now wait a minute—“ Scorpion begins to protest.
“Everyone,” Dragon says, his voice hardening as he fixes Scorpion with a glare that could melt steel.
Scorpion mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “Forgot what an asshole he is.” Then he catches sight of me peeking out from behind Roman, and his scowl transforms into a grin. “Hey it’s Kayla! Good to see you again.”
I give him a small wave because what else can I do at this point?
“Go get dressed,” Roman tells me over his shoulder. “We need to move.”
I nod numbly and retreat to my bedroom, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt and grabbing a light sweater with hands that won‘t stop trembling. By the time I return, Roman has put on a shirt and his jacket, and the men have organized themselves, clearly preparing to leave.
Outside, the night air is pleasantly cool as Roman leads me to his motorcycle.
The familiar rumble of the engine vibrates through me as I climb on behind him, my arms automatically finding their place around his waist. I can feel the heat of his body beneath his clothing and his sharp intake of breath at my touch.
It feels like coming home and losing my way all at once as we pull away from the curb, following Dragon’s bike toward the Inferno clubhouse.