Dragon’s voice startles me more than it should. I’m in the park lot of the Inferno clubhouse, heading towards my bike. Glancing around, I find Dragon leaning against the brick wall, arms folded across his chest, half his face hidden in shadow. How long has he been standing there? The man moves like a damn ghost when he wants to.
“It’s not stalking,” I reply, continuing toward my bike. “It’s protection.” The cool night air carries the scent of coming rain, and I make a mental note to grab my waterproof gear from the saddlebag.
Dragon pushes off the wall, falling into step beside me. “Protection from what, exactly? Kit let her go. If he wanted tohurt her, don’t you think he would have when he had her in his power?”
I don’t answer right away, focusing instead on checking my saddlebags, making sure my gear is in order.
“How long are you going to do this, Roman?” Dragon asks, his voice softening slightly.
I straighten, meeting his gaze directly. “The rest of my life, if I have to.”
Dragon sighs, shaking his head. “You know she’s going to be pissed if she finds out, right? She’ll skin you alive if she discovers you’ve been lurking outside her apartment.”
I shrug, swinging my leg over my bike. “Maybe. But she won’t find out.”
“She might,” Dragon counters. “Billings isn’t that big. And you’re not exactly inconspicuous.”
“I’m careful.”
“You’re obsessed.”
I don‘t deny it. What would be the point? He’s not wrong.
“God save me from pining ex-husbands,” Dragon mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is why I’ll never take an old lady. Muddles your mind, keeps you from thinking straight.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “That’s very cold-blooded of you.”
“It’s practical,” he corrects me. “Besides, look what love’s done to you. The great Viper, reduced to sitting in the rain outside an apartment building, watching a woman who doesn’t want you anymore.”
“You don’t have to understand,” I tell him. “You just have to let me do what I need to do.”
Dragon’s expression shifts, growing more serious. “Do you really think Kit is still a threat to her? Truly?”
I look away, staring at the clubhouse wall as I consider my answer. The truth is, I don’t know. Demon is a wild card,unpredictable. But his behavior with Kayla never made sense to begin with. The way he took her, then just let her go… none of it makes any sense.
“He’s your brother,” I say finally, turning back to Dragon. “What do you think?”
Dragon’s eyes fix on some distant point beyond my shoulder. For a moment, he looks lost, uncertain in a way I rarely see him. Dragon is the steady one, the rock his club is built on. But when it comes to his brother, that foundation cracks.
“I wouldn’t have thought Kit was a threat to her in the first place,” he admits softly. “He’s done a lot of fucked-up things in his life, but kidnapping? Terrorizing women? That was never his style.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
I know Dragon has people looking for his brother, just as I do. So far, Demon has managed to stay off everyone’s radar, which only makes me more suspicious. Men like Demon don’t just go quietly away.
“Until we find Demon,” I say, “until I know for certain that the threat to Kayla is eliminated, I’m going to keep watching over her.” I start the engine, feeling the familiar rumble beneath me. “That’s non-negotiable.”
Dragon chuckles, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Let’s be honest. You won’t stop even then.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Probably not.”
“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch,” Dragon says, but there’s a grudging respect in his voice.
I don’t say anything to that. Just pull away from the curb and raise a hand in farewell as I head toward the gate. In my side mirror, I catch a glimpse of Dragon still standing there, watching me leave, his expression unreadable. Then he turns and walks back into the clubhouse.
I promised her I’d never leave her alone in the dark again. Even if she doesn’t know it, I’m keeping that promise.
* * *
Left hook. Right cross. Left again. The punching bag sways under my assault, leather splitting my knuckles despite the wraps. Blood seeps through the white fabric, but I keep going. Pain is good. Pain is better than thinking about Kayla sitting across from some smiling stranger, laughing at his jokes, maybe reaching for his hand across the table. Left hook. Harder this time. The chain securing the bag to the ceiling creaks in protest. Seven months since the divorce became final, and somehow it still feels like someone’s taken a cheese grater to my insides.