Chapter 27 #2
“She‘d been dancing for us for about six months,” Roman continues, “when the till at the strip club started coming up short.”
Roman shifts again, discomfort evident in every line of his body. “I wasn’t involved in the investigation. Atlas handled it personally.” His voice hardens slightly at the name. “According to him, there were multiple witnesses who pointed the finger at Amara.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Kit’s hands curl into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white.
“Atlas handed her over to me,” Roman says, and something cold settles in my stomach at his words.
“Told me to take her somewhere remote and put a bullet in her head.” His voice grows hollow.
“Said she was a spy sent from Kit, after his bid to get Naomi to help him failed.” Roman’s eyes finally drop from mine, fixing on the table.
“He said even if someone found her body, she’d be just another dead prostitute. No one would look too hard into it.”
I feel sick, lightheaded. This is what Roman was involved in. This is the world he kept from me, the darkness he didn’t think I could handle. And maybe he was right.
Kit stands abruptly, walking away from the table with rigid steps. He stops near the wall, his back to us, hands on his hips, shoulders rising and falling with deep, deliberate breaths. I can feel the rage radiating from him even from across the room.
I turn back to Roman, horror crawling up my spine. “Did you…?” I can’t even finish the question.
Roman shakes his head, relief flickering across his features at my unfinished question.
“No. She was adamant that she hadn’t stolen anything.
That she wasn’t Kit’s spy. She was terrified, begging for her life.
” Shame colors his features again. “Instead of killing her, I took her to Billings, gave her all the cash I had on me.” He rubs his hand over his beard.
“Told her to get on a bus and get gone and stay gone.” His eyes meet mine again. “As far as I know, she did.”
The silence that follows is deafening. All I can think is that this is the darkness Roman shielded me from.
These are the choices he’s had to make. Suddenly, I understand why he kept me separate from this part of his life.
Not because he didn’t trust me, not because he didn’t respect me but because he was terrified of what I would think of him if I knew the truth.
Kit walks back to the table, his face composed now, though a muscle still jumps in his jaw. He sits down again, his eyes boring into Roman. Roman meets his gaze steadily.
“Naomi approached me,” Kit says, breaking the silence. “Not the other way around. She had dreams of making the Rejects bigger, stronger. She wanted to join forces. We never had any kind of relationship.” His mouth twists in disgust. “I shot her down. Hard.”
Roman doesn’t respond, just watches Kit as if he’s a bomb that might explode at any moment.
“When I took Naomi that first time, I intended to torture Amara’s location out of her,” Kit continues, his voice eerily calm now.
“And then kill her. But instead she taunted me about Amara’s death.
Then I decided to use her to lure in the rest of the Rejects.
As far as I was concerned, you had all signed your death warrants.
” His lips curl into a humorless smile and he lightly touches the scar that runs down the side of his face. “It didn’t go according to plan.”
Roman and Kit stare at each other across the table, years of hatred and misunderstanding flowing between them.
“So you kidnapped my wife to get revenge on me,” Roman says finally. It’s not a question.
Kit’s smile turns taunting, but there’s something hollow behind it now. “Yes.”
“But you didn’t kill her.” Roman’s voice is surprisingly soft.
Kit‘s smile falters. He turns to look at me, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks almost guilty. He shrugs. “I originally meant to.”
My breath catches in my throat, but Kit continues, his eyes still on mine.
“I didn’t want to just kill Roman anymore,” he says. “I wanted him to feel the same despair I felt. I wanted him to know what it was like to lose the one person who matters most.”
“Then why didn’t you kill me?” I ask, finding my voice at last.
Kit studies me for a long moment, his gaze assessing.
“Because we’d been watching you, learning your habits,” he says finally.
“And I came to the conclusion that out of that whole damn club, you probably deserved to die the least.” His mouth quirks up at one corner.
“It helped that you so obviously disliked Naomi.” He winks, and a shocked laugh escapes me despite myself.
“I knew I was being watched back then,” I mutter, remembering the biker in the parking lot after my lunch with Morgan. How I’d told Roman, and he’d dismissed my concerns as paranoia.
“Sorry, Sunshine,” Roman murmurs, and the guilt in his voice does nothing to soothe my irritation.
For a minute, we’re all silent. I can’t process everything I’ve just learned yet, not when I’m exhausted and afraid and still don’t understand everything. I stare at my hands, spread flat on the table, and try to make sense of a world that keeps shifting beneath my feet.
Dragon breaks the silence, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Where have you been for two years, Kit?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair. “And was the man who broke into Kayla’s house tonight one of yours?”
Kit just looks at his brother, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Roman wasn’t the only one I needed to destroy,” he says, his voice soft but venomous.
“I could have just killed them all, but it’s so much more satisfying to burn everything they hold dear to the ground, just when they think they’ve won. ”
Dragon’s eyes narrow. “You’re talking about Naomi and the rest of the Rejects.”
Kit snorts. “Who else?”
He leans back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I knew that if Naomi felt like she won, she’d get arrogant. Sloppy.” His smile widens. “And then I’d get the information I needed to burn her world to the ground.”
“Do you have that information now?” Dragon asks.
“Oh yes,” Kit says, and he sounds so gleeful that it sends a shiver down my spine.
“But then who was in my house tonight?” I ask, my voice stronger than I expected. “And why were you there?”
Kit shrugs, his eyes sliding away from mine for the first time. “He wasn’t one of mine.”
There’s something in his evasive answer that strikes me, and I follow my instinct. “But you knew he was going to be there.”
Kit shifts uncomfortably, and I know I’ve hit the mark. His discomfort is fascinating, this man who seems incapable of shame or regret, suddenly unable to meet my eyes.
“Were you trying to protect me?” I press, watching his reaction closely.
He looks even more uncomfortable now, his jaw tightening. Roman stirs beside me, his body tensing as if ready to launch across the table.
“I was protecting her just fine,” Roman growls.
Kit snorts again. “Sure you were.”
“Who sent the man?” Dragon asks, dragging the conversation back on track.
Kit doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes intent. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it,” he says, his voice contemplative. “That Kayla’s car broke down that night right at a point where she’d be the most isolated.”
Roman goes very still beside me. “What are you saying?”
Kit just smiles, the expression cold. “My man wasn’t the only one looking for Kayla on the road that night,” he says. “He just got there first.”
My blood runs cold as the implication sinks in. Someone else was hunting me that night. If Kit’s men hadn’t found me first, I might be…
Before anyone can respond, there’s a sharp knock at the door. It swings open before Dragon can call out, revealing a man with wild eyes and an agitated manner.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “but some idiot let it slip to Finn that Demon is here, and the kid went crazy.”
He runs a hand through his hair, which is already standing on end.
“Now Mason has three fewer teeth, and Doc had his very pleasant evening with Skye interrupted to tend to Raptor because Finn hit him over the head with a chair.” His voice rises with each injury he lists.
“He has a concussion and needed six stitches.”
Gigi shakes her head, a long-suffering expression on her face. “The boy is too much like his father,” she mutters. She puts her knitting away and pats Kit’s knee. “We should go stop Finn before he kills someone.”
Dragon rises from his chair, looking at Roman and me. “Kayla looks dead on her feet,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “She should rest. We’ll hash the rest of this out tomorrow.”
He gestures to the door. “Someone will show Kayla to a room where she can sleep.” Then he turns to Roman. “We’re about to question the man who broke into Kayla’s house. Want to join in?”
Roman nods, a hard gleam entering his eyes. “I do.”
I wonder briefly what “question” means in this context, but I’m too exhausted to dwell on it. Dragon and Kit move toward the door. Gigi follows, pausing only to pat my shoulder as she passes, the gesture oddly comforting.
Roman touches my arm as I stand, his fingers warm against my skin. “Kayla,” he begins.
I shake my head, cutting him off. “I really can’t talk anymore tonight, Roman,” I say, fatigue making my voice rough. “I just can’t.”
He studies my face for a moment, then nods. “Get some rest,” he says. Before I can react, he leans in and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
His lips linger longer than necessary, and a part of me wants to lean into the familiar comfort of him. But then he’s pulling away, following Dragon and Kit out the door, and I’m left standing there, my skin tingling where his lips touched.
“You must be Kayla.”
I turn to find the young woman with curly brown hair standing in the doorway. She offers a tentative smile.
“I’m Maddie,” she says. “I can show you where you can sleep.”
I nod gratefully and follow her down a hallway, away from the main areas of the clubhouse.
“I cook for the boys,” Maddie explains as we walk. “And just generally take care of things around here now that Gigi’s retired.” She glances at me. “She was the club mother for years before she decided she’d had enough.”
I try to muster the energy to respond appropriately, but exhaustion has stripped me of social niceties. Maddie seems to understand, not pressing for conversation as she leads me to a door at the end of another hallway.
“Here we are,” she says, pushing open the door to reveal a small but clean bedroom. “Bathroom’s through there.” She points to another door. “And I think we’re about the same size, so I left some pajamas on the bed for you to use if you’d like.”
“Thanks,” I manage, genuinely grateful for her thoughtfulness.
She smiles again. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Then she’s gone, and I’m alone in the quiet room. I strip off my clothes, too tired to care about the strange surroundings. After a moment’s hesitation, I pull on the pajamas Maddie left, soft flannel pants and a worn t-shirt that smells of fabric softener.
The bed is surprisingly comfortable as I sink into it, pulling the covers up to my chin. But despite my exhaustion, sleep refuses to come. Kit’s words echo in my mind, playing on repeat: My men weren’t the only ones looking for Kayla on the road that night. We just got there first.
Someone wanted me dead that night. Someone still wants me dead. Would I be dead now if Kit’s men hadn’t reached me first? The questions swirl in my head but no answers come. Eventually, exhaustion wins out, and I drift into an uneasy sleep, haunted by faceless figures hunting me in the dark.