Chapter 32
Roman
I stride down the hallway ahead of Gunner, my mind still reeling.
The taste of Kayla lingers on my lips, and I can still feel the heat of her body pressed against mine, the gentle pressure of her hands on my face.
Two years of thinking I’d never hold her in my arms again, and now the flood of everything I’m feeling threatens to drown me.
All I can think about is getting back to her, finishing what we started, consequences be damned.
“Roman, hold up,” Gunner calls from behind me, his footsteps quickening to keep pace.
I barely hear him; my thoughts a chaotic mess. Kayla kissed me. After everything, after all this time, she kissed me. What does it mean? Has she forgiven me? Does she want me back in her life? And what does this mean for her relationship with Todd?
“Roman,” Gunner tries again, his voice more insistent. “You need to—“
“Not now,” I growl over my shoulder, not breaking stride. “I need to deal with whatever Dragon wants and get back to Kayla.”
Gunner makes a frustrated sound behind me. “That’s not what I—“
I round the corner, Dragon’s office door in sight. Whatever Dragon wants, I need it to be quick. I need to get back before Kayla has time to overthink what just happened between us, before her walls go back up. Before she remembers all the reasons she left me in the first place.
The urgency of that thought propels me forward, and I push through Dragon’s office door without knocking, a habit that used to earn me lectures, but which Dragon seems to have resigned himself to now.
“What’s so damn important that—“ The words die in my throat as I take in the scene before me.
Dragon is behind his desk, his expression going from severe to amused.
Gray stands to his right, arms crossed over his broad chest, one eyebrow raising as he turns to look at me.
And Demon — because of course Demon is here — lounges in a chair across from Dragon, feet propped up on the edge of the desk, wearing a smirk that immediately sets my teeth on edge.
All three of them stop mid-conversation to stare at me. The silence stretches uncomfortably as their eyes move from my face downward. I follow their gazes, looking down at myself, and that’s when I realize.
I’m not wearing a shirt. I never put my shirt back on.
I’m standing in Dragon’s office, bare-chested, with nothing but my tattoos and a thin sheen of sweat from my workout for coverage.
Embarrassment fills me. I’m not a kid; I’m the former VP of the Devil’s Rejects, a man who’s spent his adult life commanding respect.
And here I am, half-naked and flushed like a teenager caught making out behind the bleachers.
Which is basically exactly what happened.
“I tried to tell you,” Gunner says from behind me, his voice tinged with both exasperation and amusement.
“Forget something?” Demon drawls, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “Or maybe several things? A shirt, your dignity…”
“Shut up, Demon,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest in a belated and useless gesture of modesty.
“Now, now,” he continues, clearly enjoying himself. “No need to get testy. We’re all friends here.”
I take a step toward him, fists clenching at my sides, but Dragon’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Enough.” It’s just one word, but it does the job. Dragon doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. When he speaks, people listen. Even Demon, who respects almost nothing and no one, falls silent, though the smirk remains firmly in place.
Dragon fixes me with a level stare. “Roman, would you like to go find a shirt before we continue?”
It’s phrased as a question, but it isn’t one. I nod stiffly. “Give me two minutes.”
I back out of the office, practically colliding with Gunner, who’s still standing in the doorway. His expression is sympathetic as he steps aside to let me pass.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I really did try to tell you.”
I grunt in acknowledgment and speed-walk back to my room, cursing under my breath the entire way. I can still hear Demon’s laughter echoing in my head, and I make a mental note to wipe that smirk off his face the first chance I get. Preferably with my fist.
Back in my room, I grab the first clean shirt I can find and yank it over my head, not even bothering to check what it is.
I splash some water on my face from the bathroom sink, trying to cool the heat of embarrassment from my cheeks.
Is this what I’ve been reduced to? Someone who gets this rattled by a kiss?
I straighten, take one last look in the mirror, and head back to Dragon’s office.
This time, I knock before entering.
“Come in,” Dragon calls, and I step inside, fully dressed this time.
Demon slow claps as I enter, and I shoot him a look that would wither a lesser man. He just grins wider, clearly delighted by my discomfort.
“Nice of you to join us, Roman.” Dragon says, his voice dry. He gestures to the empty chair beside Demon. “Have a seat.”
I slide into the chair, deliberately putting as much space between myself and Demon as possible.
“Now,” Dragon continues, all business again, “as I was about to explain, we’ve received some critical intelligence from our men inside the Devil’s Rejects.”
This immediately captures my full attention. Ever since I left the Rejects, Dragon has maintained sources within the club, feeding him information about Naomi’s activities. It’s how we’ve managed to stay one step ahead of her so far.
“Naomi is expecting a major shipment tonight,” Dragon says, pushing a folder across the desk toward me. “According to our sources, it’s the biggest one yet, and apparently very important. Important enough that she’s going out to meet it herself, along with some of her most trusted officers.”
I flip open the folder, scanning the details inside. Photos of a remote warehouse about thirty miles outside of Redbird. Satellite images showing access roads, potential entry and exit points. Notes on the expected time of the meeting and the suspected contents of the shipment.
“What exactly is this shipment?” I ask, looking up from the folder.
Dragon’s expression darkens. “Our sources weren’t able to confirm, but based on the patterns we’ve been seeing, and what Demon has shared about Naomi’s new ventures…” He trails off, exchanging a loaded glance with Gray.
“Human trafficking,” Gray supplies, his voice flat and hard. “We believe this is a transfer of people.”
My stomach turns. The Rejects I knew, the club I was part of under Atlas’s leadership, would never have touched human trafficking. We had lines we didn’t cross. But Naomi has clearly been redrawing those lines since I left.
“This warehouse,” Dragon continues, tapping the photo, “is remote. Isolated. Few access roads, even fewer witnesses. And according to our sources, Naomi will be there herself.”
The implication is clear, and I feel a surge of anticipation. “This could be our chance to get to her,” I say, already mentally preparing for what that would mean.
Dragon nods. “Exactly. She’s grown increasingly paranoid over the past few months. Rarely leaves the Rejects clubhouse. And no one has seen Atlas for weeks, which is… concerning.”
“She probably killed him,” Demon interjects, examining his nails as if he’s commenting on the weather rather than the potential murder of a motorcycle club president. “It was the logical next step in her takeover.”
The room goes quiet as we all absorb this. I knew Atlas—worked with him, respected him in some ways, feared him in others. The idea that Naomi might have taken him out… it’s not actually that surprising, given what we now know about her, but it’s still a lot to process.
“If we try to attack the Rejects clubhouse directly,” Dragon says, breaking the silence, “it would be a bloodbath. And it would bring every law enforcement agency in the country down on our heads.”
“But if we intercept this shipment,” I finish the thought, “we might be able to eliminate Naomi and some of her inner circle in an isolated area, with minimal witnesses.”
Dragon gives me a sharp nod. “Exactly.”
Demon leans forward, dropping his feet from the desk to the floor with a thud.
“It seems a little too perfect, doesn’t it?
” he asks, his voice unusually serious. “Naomi, who never goes anywhere without an army of protection, suddenly decides to personally oversee a shipment in a remote location? Sounds like a trap to me.”
It’s a fair point, and I can tell from Dragon’s expression that he’s already considered this possibility.
“It could be,” Dragon acknowledges. “But it’s still our best chance. Kayla can’t stay in hiding forever.” He looks directly at me as he says this, and something in his gaze tells me he knows exactly what happened in the gym earlier. “We need to end Naomi, one way or another.”
He’s right. As much as I want to keep Kayla safe in the compound where I can see her, where I know nothing can harm her, it’s not a long-term solution.
She has a life—a job, friends, a home she loves.
And Todd, a voice in my head adds bitterly.
I push the thought away. Whatever is or isn’t between Kayla and me, the most important thing is ensuring she can go back to her life without fear.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask.
Dragon leans back in his chair. “We’ll take a team that’s small enough to move quietly, large enough to handle whatever we find.
You, me, Gray, Demon if he’s willing.” He glances at his brother, who responds with a noncommittal shrug.
“Plus a few of our most trusted men. We’ll scout the location this afternoon, set up positions before dark, and be ready when they arrive. ”
“And if it is a trap?” Gray asks, ever the pragmatic one.
Dragon’s expression hardens. “Then we deal with it.”
I look around the room at these men who have become my brothers over the past two years. Whatever our differences, I trust them with my life. More importantly, I trust them with Kayla’s safety. If this is what it takes to end the threat to her once and for all, then I’m all in.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
Dragon checks his watch. “Two hours. Gather what you need, make whatever preparations are necessary.” His eyes meet mine again, and there’s understanding there. “Say whatever goodbyes you need to.”
I nod, standing up. “I’ll be ready.”
Demon rises from his chair, stretching lazily like a cat. “Well, if we‘re rushing headlong into an obvious trap,” he drawls, “I might as well come along to say ‘I told you so’ when it all goes to hell.”
As I turn to leave, Demon calls after me, “Don’t forget your shirt this time, Romeo.”
I give him the finger over my shoulder without looking back, the sound of his laughter following me out the door. For once, though, I can’t muster much real anger at his taunts. My mind is already racing ahead, planning what I need to do before we leave.
And most importantly, what I need to say to Kayla.
Because if things go sideways tonight, if this really is a trap and I don’t make it back, I need her to know. That even when she stopped being my wife, I never stopped being hers in every way that matters. I need her to know that I never stopped loving her. Not for a single moment.