Chapter 27
Kayla
The clubhouse of the Drago’s Inferno MC looks less like a clubhouse and more like a giant warehouse complex spanning multiple lots.
I can’t stop staring as we pull into the lot and the gate clangs shut behind us.
As Roman cuts the engine, I’m suddenly aware of how tightly I’m gripping his waist. I release him quickly, sliding off the bike on legs that feel like they’re made of wet clay.
The night air is cool against my skin after the warmth of Roman’s body.
I stare up at the building’s facade, wondering what fresh insanity awaits me inside.
Two years of carefully constructing a normal life, and in the space of an evening, I’ve been dragged back into the chaos of motorcycle clubs, guns, and dangerous men.
Roman’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady as he guides me toward the entrance. I should shrug him off, maintain some distance, but I’m too exhausted to fight about something so small. And although I’d never admit it out loud, I find his familiar touch comforting.
The door opens before we reach it, and a tall man with hard eyes nods at Roman.
The interior is surprisingly clean, certainly cleaner than the Reject’s clubhouse ever was, but it’s still unmistakably a space that belongs to men.
Worn leather furniture, wood-paneled walls adorned with motorcycle memorabilia and pinup girls, the lingering scent of cigarettes and beer hanging in the air.
A stocky man with short dark hair approaches Dragon, his gaze flicking briefly to Kit before settling back on his president.
“She’s here,” he says simply, his voice low.
Dragon’s face breaks into a smile I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of making. “Excellent.”
“Wait—who?” Kit demands, his head snapping up. The change in his demeanor is immediate. The confident swagger, the mocking smile, the taunting gleam in his eye all vanishes in an instant, replaced by what can only be described as apprehension.
Dragon doesn’t answer, just gestures for us to follow him deeper into the clubhouse. Roman’s hand presses more firmly against my back as we fall into step behind them.
“Who’s here?” Kit asks again, his voice sharper this time. Dragon still doesn’t respond, just leads us down a dimly lit hallway lined with closed doors.
I can’t take my eyes off Kit as we walk. Gone is the man who kidnapped me, who terrorized me, whose voice still sometimes haunts my dreams. In his place is someone who looks almost…nervous. I’m left asking myself, what could possibly make a man like Kit nervous?
The hallway seems to stretch endlessly, the tension growing thicker with every step. Finally, Dragon stops in front of a door at the far end. He turns to Kit, his expression almost amused.
“You brought this on yourself,” Dragon says, the satisfaction in his voice unmistakable. Then he opens the door.
“Christopher Bryant, what the hell have you been getting up to?” a voice booms from inside.
Kit’s face transforms into an expression of genuine horror. “You called Gigi?” he whispers, staring at Dragon as if he’d just committed the ultimate betrayal.
Dragon’s only response is a smile as he places a hand on Kit’s back and propels him into the room. Dragon glances back at Roman and me, jerking his chin toward the door in a silent command before turning to the dark-haired man who’d accompanied him to my house.
“Gray, take Scorpion and Tank, put them in a guest room. Assign someone to watch them.”
Gray nods, already moving to carry out the order, as Roman leads me into the room after Kit.
The woman waiting inside is tiny, probably not even five feet, with wiry white hair cropped short around her weathered face.
Despite her size, she commands the space like a general on a battlefield.
She’s wearing a cut identical to the one Dragon and his men wear, though sized for her diminutive frame, and the scowl on her face would make a lesser man crumble.
“I don’t hear from you for two years,” she’s saying to Kit, who looks like he wants to sink through the floor, “and then I get a call in the middle of the night that you’ve been kidnapping people?
Starting club wars? You’d better have a damn good explanation because I didn’t raise you to act like this! ”
I can’t stop staring in fascination at Kit. He stands before her with his head slightly bowed, like a schoolboy caught in some mischief rather than a dangerous criminal.
“Everyone sit,” Gigi commands, pointing to the long table that dominates the center of the room.
We all obey without question. A young woman with curly brown hair appears, setting down a tray with a coffee pot and mugs, which she fills without asking if anyone wants any.
“Thank you, Maddie,” Gigi says, her tone softening slightly.
Maddie nods and slips out of the room. I notice the way Dragon’s eyes follow her, lingering on the door even after it closes behind her.
Gigi reaches into a large tote bag at her feet and pulls out knitting needles and a half-finished project in deep burgundy yarn. The click-clack of her needles fills the silence as she settles in, arranging the yarn in her lap.
“I want to make one thing clear before we begin,” she begins, her voice rising slightly as her needles click faster.
“For forty-five years I patched up every scrape, every knife wound, every bullet hole that your grandfather’s merry band of idiots collected.
I set broken bones in kitchens with nothing but whiskey for anesthetic, and I sewed up gashes that would make a butcher queasy. ”
Dragon opens his mouth, but Gigi barrels on, building momentum like a freight train.
“I listened to the endless complaining of the old ladies,” she continues, jabbing her knitting needle in Dragon’s direction.
“How their men never came home, how the club took everything and gave nothing back. I broke up fights between club bunnies who thought pulling hair and scratching eyes was the way to settle who gets to warm whose bed.”
Kit stares fixedly at the table, his jaw clenched tight.
“I kept everything running while your grandfather and then your father strutted around like roosters in a henhouse, puffing out their chests and acting like they ruled the world.” She punctuates this with a particularly vicious stab of her needle.
“I stayed up nights worrying about which of them wouldn’t make it home, which old lady I’d have to console, which child would grow up without a father. ”
The room is so silent I can hear the distant thump of music from another part of the clubhouse. Even Roman seems frozen beside me, his eyes fixed on the tiny woman wielding her knitting needles like weapons.
“And now,” Gigi says, her voice dropping to a dangerous softness, “now that I’ve finally earned my retirement, now that I finally have my garden and my shows and my peace and quiet, you two—“ she glares at Dragon and Kit, “—you two can’t keep from stirring up trouble long enough for me to enjoy it.”
She sets her knitting in her lap and levels a stare at both twins that would make lesser men crumble. “I want this nonsense cleared up by Saturday. I have a date, I’m going dancing, and I will not cancel it because you two can’t behave yourselves.”
Dragon shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “A date? Who—“
Gigi’s eyes narrow, and Dragon immediately closes his mouth, apparently thinking better of the question. Smart man.
“Now,” Gigi says, picking up her knitting again with an air of finality, “Christopher, you’re going to talk, and you’re going to tell us exactly what is going on. The whole story, not just the parts you think make you look clever.”
But Kit is no longer looking at Gigi. His gaze has shifted to Roman. Suddenly, he slams his hands on the table, making me jump.
“If you didn’t kill her, where is she?” he demands, his voice raw with emotion. “What happened to her? I had it directly from Naomi’s mouth that she died at your hands.”
Roman studies Kit for a long moment, his expression weary.
“Is that why you targeted Naomi? Why you targeted Kayla?” he asks quietly.
“Naomi told the Rejects that the two of you had a fling. That she ended it when you wanted her to help you bring down the Rejects so you could take over their territory.”
Kit lets out a derisive snort. “I wouldn’t have touched Naomi with a ten-foot pole.” His face changes then, vulnerability flashing across his features so briefly I almost miss it. “I loved her.”
I blink in surprise, before realizing that he’s not talking about Naomi. The idea that Kit could love anyone seems impossible, at odds with everything I know about him.
“Boys,” Gigi interrupts with a sigh. “You’re starting in the middle of the story. Maybe catch the rest of us up?”
Roman’s eyes find mine, and for a moment, I see something I’ve never witnessed in them before: shame.
He shifts in his seat, and the leather of his jacket creaks in the sudden silence.
Everyone is watching him now, waiting for the explanation that will finally make sense of all this madness.
I realize I’m holding my breath, bracing myself for whatever ugly truth is about to emerge.
“Amara was a dancer at one of the strip clubs the Devil’s Rejects owned,” Roman begins, his voice low but steady. He keeps his eyes on me as he speaks, as if he’s explaining this to me alone. “She’d previously been what they call a club bunny at Kit’s club, the Hell’s Fury.”
I can feel Kit’s stare from across the table, but I don’t look away from Roman.
“When Amara came to us, she said a relationship with a brother in Kit’s club had ended badly, that she needed a fresh start.” Roman’s fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table. “It wasn’t uncommon. Girls move between clubs all the time when things went south. No one thought anything of it.”
I glance at Kit, whose jaw is working silently, his golden-green eyes burning with an intensity that makes me look away.