“See that’s suspicious,” I say, leaning forward. “Are we sure that’s actually his sister? They don’t look anything alike. Maybe that’s actually his secret wife and kid. Maybe he has families stashed all over the country. I’ve read about things like that.”
Hack turns to look at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Roman, are you drunk?”
“I’m just saying it’s weird,” I mutter, though even to my own ears, I sound ridiculous. “I’m telling you, I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy. He’s got skeletons somewhere.”
“Well you can go have bad feelings about the guy somewhere else. I’m done. Any further digging into this guy’s life is a waste of my time.”
I sink back into my chair again, sulking. Logically, I know Hack is right. But something about this guy makes me want to take him apart right down to the bones until I find out what I’m sure he’s hiding.
“What are we looking at?” Gray’s voice behind me makes me jolt. I hadn’t heard him approach.
“Roman’s latest background check on Kayla’s new boyfriend,” Hack replies before I can stop him.
Gray steps into the small room, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flick from the screen to my face, his expression unreadable. “Find anything interesting?”
“The guy’s a Boy Scout,” Hack says. “Steady job. Close to his family. Coaches Little League. Roman thinks it’s all suspicious.”
Gray snorts. “Of course he does.” He moves closer, scanning the information on the screen. “Todd Grant. He looks dangerous all right.”
I glare at him, but Gray just shrugs, unfazed.
“He’s dating my wife,” I growl.
“Ex-wife,” Gray corrects mildly. “And from what I can see here, he seems like a decent guy who will probably treat her very well.”
I go back to sulking.
Gray reaches over and smacks the back of my head, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get my attention. “Hack isn’t going to find a reason for you to kill this guy either, Roman. Just like he didn’t with the vacuum cleaner. So stop bothering him.”
I rub the spot where he hit me, scowling. “I’m just looking out for Kayla.”
“No,” Gray says, his voice softening slightly. “You’re not. You’re looking for a way to stay connected to her. You’re looking for an excuse to keep her in your life, even though she’s made it clear she wants to move on.” He straightens, heading for the door. “Let her go.”
The hollowness in my chest expands until it feels like it might swallow me whole.
“You want me to keep looking?” Hack asks quietly.
I push myself to my feet, suddenly needing to be anywhere but here. “No. You’re right. He’s clean.”
As I follow him out of the room, Gray’s words echo in my head. Let her go. As if it were that simple. As if I hadn’t been trying to do exactly that for the past year and a half.
As if I had any idea how to exist in a world where Kayla isn’t mine.
* * *
Just over two years of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Two years of guarding Kayla every night, two years of searching for Demon and finally the threat materializes. I was right all along. Not that being right brings any satisfaction; just a cold knot offear for what this could mean for Kayla, and a burning desire to end this threat once and for all.
Gray stands beside me, his face a stone mask that reveals nothing. The club’s VP has always been hard to read, but the tension in his shoulders tells me he’s as concerned as I am. A group of Demon’s men were spotted near Redbird. Most of them scattered when our men intercepted them, but we managed to grab one. The big question now is whether he’ll talk, and whether what he says will finally give us the answers we’ve been searching for.
“You good?” Gray asks, his voice low.
“Fine,” I reply, though we both know it’s a lie. I won’t be “good” until I know Kayla is safe. Until Demon is no longer a threat. Until this whole nightmare that started with her kidnapping is finally over.
Dragon appears in the doorway, his expression grim. “Let’s go,” he says simply, before disappearing into the interrogation room.
I follow Gray inside, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. The room is sparsely furnished; a table, a few chairs, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It’s tucked away in the basement of the clubhouse, soundproofed and secure. Perfect for conversations that shouldn’t be overheard.
The man in front of me looks younger than I expected, his wrists zip-tied to the arms of the chair. He’s got a split lip and the beginnings of a black eye, courtesy, no doubt, of whoever brought him in. He’s glaring at us and what strikes me immediately are his eyes. They are a familiar, eerie golden-green.