There’s a pause on the other end. “She knows you’re there?”
“Yeah.” I glance at Kayla, who’s pacing now, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Came home early.”
Dragon sighs. “Fifteen minutes. Try not to make things worse until we get there.”
“No promises,” I mutter, ending the call.
I slide the phone back into my pocket, turning to face Kayla’s wrath head-on.
“Roman Sullivan, if you don’t tell me what’s going on right this second—“
“The cleanup team will be here in fifteen minutes,” I interrupt, moving toward the front window to keep watch.
I don’t see her coming. One moment I’m scanning the street outside, the next a sharp pain explodes in my shin. I jerk around to find Kayla standing there, hands on her hips, having just delivered what was clearly a well-aimed kick.
“What the—“
“Talk,” she demands. “Now.”
I rub my shin, surprised and oddly impressed by her directness. This isn’t the Kayla I married. This Kayla doesn’t back down, doesn’t wait patiently for me to decide what she should know. The realization sends a confusing mix of pride and regret through me.
“I’m not entirely sure who broke in,” I admit, deciding in that moment that she deserves the complete truth, no matter how messy or complicated. “We’ve been tracking some suspicious activity—“
“We?” she interrupts.
I nod. “Dragon—he’s the president of an MC called Drago’s Inferno. They’ve been helping me keep watch over you.”
“Keep watch over me?” Her voice drops dangerously low. “What exactly does that mean, Roman?”
I wince. Here goes nothing. “I’ve been guarding you for the past two years. Making sure you’re safe.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow again as understanding dawns. “You’ve been stalking me?”
“Not stalking,” I correct quickly. “Guarding. Protecting.”
“For two years,” she repeats flatly.
“Yes.”
“Two. Years.”
“Yes.”
“What gives you the right—“ she starts, but the rest of her sentence is cut off by the sound of vehicles pulling up outside.
I move quickly to the door, relieved by the interruption despite knowing it’s only a temporary reprieve. Gray and a couple of prospects step inside.
“Situation?” Gray asks, his eyes taking in the scene.
“Found him in the kitchen,” I say, nodding toward the intruder. “No ID. No colors. No obvious ties to any club I recognize.”
Gray crouches beside the man, who’s starting to groan, showing signs of regaining consciousness. He lifts one eyelid, then checks the man’s pockets again.
“We’ll find out who he is,” Gray says, standing. He gestures to the two prospects, who move in to grab the intruder’s arms and legs.
Kayla watches in stunned silence as they carry the man out the door, his head lolling. Gray follows them without another word, closing the door behind him. Through the window, I watch as they load the man into the trunk of the SUV and drive away.
When I turn back to Kayla, she’s staring at me like I’m a stranger.