“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t understand it either.”
Colton sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Mrs. Sullivan, I have to consider the possibility that you’re not being entirely truthful with me.”
“Meaning what?” I snap, the frustration finally getting the better of me. “You think I’m making this up? That I gave myself these bruises and scrapes, destroyed my own car, and have been hiding out somewhere for days just for the fun of it?”
“I think there might be more to the story than you’re telling me,” he says evenly. “Perhaps something to do with your husband’s… activities.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know anything about Roman’s club business. He never involved me in any of that.”
“Never?” Colton presses. “Your husband is the Vice President of a motorcycle club with a reputation for involvement in various illegal activities, and you expect me to believe he never brought any of that home?”
“That’s right,” I say firmly. “Roman kept that part of his life separate from me. I didn’t go to the clubhouse; the other members made it clear I wasn’t welcome. I didn’t socialize with the members’ wives or girlfriends. I didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer information.” I swallow hard, remembering the security footage I saw in Kit’s warehouse. “The only time I ever called the clubhouse was that night when my car broke down.”
“And what did they say when you called?” Colton asks.
“That Roman was busy. That they’d give him the message.” I look down at my hands. “They didn‘t.”
Colton watches me for a long moment, then sighs again. “Alright, Mrs. Sullivan. I think we’re done for now.” He closes his notebook and tucks it into his jacket pocket. “The doctors say you’re being released today. Do you have somewhere to go?”
The question catches me off guard. “I… yes. I think so.”
“Good. Here’s my card.” He places it on the bedside table. “Call me if you remember anything else. Or if you’re ready to tell me the whole story.”
I don’t respond to that, just watch as he stands and adjusts his jacket.
“One more thing,” Colton says, pausing at the door. “Your husband has been quite… insistent about seeing you. Hospital security has had to remove him twice. You might want to prepare yourself for when you leave.”
The door closes behind him before I can respond. Roman. Even the thought of seeing him makes my stomach clench. The Roman I thought I knew wouldn’t have left me alone andvulnerable on a dark road. Wouldn‘t have brushed aside my calls for help. Wouldn’t have put Naomi’s safety above mine.
But that’s exactly what he did. And I saw it with my own eyes, thanks to Kit’s “entertainment.”
The door opens again, and I tense, expecting Colton with more questions. But it’s Morgan. Her face is red from the cold outside, and her arms are full of shopping bags.
“Guess who’s back?” she says, her voice the most welcome sound I’ve heard in days. “I come bearing gifts. Real clothes that don’t show your ass when you walk.”
Despite everything, I grin. “You’re an angel.”
“More like a badass fairy godmother,” Morgan corrects, dumping the bags on the foot of my bed. “The doctor says you can be released today if you remember. So I thought I’d grab a few things while you were dealing with Deputy Douche.”
“Thank God. I can’t wait to get out of here.” I reach for the first bag, pulling out a pair of soft leggings and an oversized sweater. “Did you have any trouble at the house?”
Morgan just smirks. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Your husband was there, pacing like a caged animal. He’s not taking the ‘no visitors’ thing well at all.”
“That’s just too bad,” I say, surprised by the coldness in my own voice. “He can be as upset as he wants.”
Morgan perches on the edge of my bed. “You know you can tell me what happened? I know you’ve been doing the whole official statement thing with the cops, but what really went down, Kayla?”
I look down at my hands, at the fading marks on my wrists where the ropes cut into my skin. “I was kidnapped by someone who wanted to hurt Roman. And in the process, I learned some things about my husband that I can’t unknow.”
“What kind of things?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it yet.” Maybe not ever.
Morgan nods, accepting this without question. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about her; she doesn’t push when I pull back. “So, what’s next? You said you don’t want to go back to your place.”
“I don’t,” I confirm. “But I don’t know where to go. It’s not like I can afford a hotel room for more than a night or two.” I bite my lip, hating how helpless I feel. “And my job is seasonal. I don’t have work for another two months.” It’s a painful reminder of how dependent I’ve been on Roman. His tattoo shop provides most of our income during the winter months when my landscaping work dries up.
“Stay with me,” Morgan says immediately. “My spare room is a disaster zone right now, but I can clear it out.”