Roman snorts derisively.
Dragon steps between them, focusing on his twin. “Would it kill you to answer your phone once in a while?” he asks, exasperation evident in his voice.
“Been a busy, busy boy,” Kit replies with a mocking smile, spreading his hands wide. “You know how it is: places to go, people to terrorize, revenge to be had.”
Before Dragon can respond, the front door crashes open, and two men burst in, guns drawn. I have just a moment to recognize Scorpion with his close set eyes and beard that looks like it was trimmed with a weed wacker and Tank, who is absolutely massive with a wild bushy beard and a bald head that makes his face look oddly small by comparison, before Roman yanks me behind him, using his body as a shield, pointing his gun at the newcomers. Dragon‘s men also draw their weapons, creating a standoff in my small living room.
Dragon just sighs deeply, like a parent dealing with particularly troublesome children. “Really, Kit? This is how we’re doing this?”
Kit rolls his eyes. “Scorpion, Tank, what the hell are you doing?”
Scorpion keeps his gun steady. “Saw Dragon and his boys roll up. Figured things had gone sideways.”
“Everyone, please put your guns away,” Dragon says with the weariness of someone who’s had this conversation toomany times. His calm in the face of all these weapons is both impressive and terrifying.
Scorpion and Tank look to Kit, who gives them a small nod. Slowly, reluctantly, weapons disappear into holsters and waistbands. The tension in the room drops from unbearable to merely suffocating.
Dragon opens his mouth to speak, then shakes his head as if thinking better of it. “We’re all going back to the Inferno clubhouse,” he announces. “Before one of Kayla’s neighbors calls the cops.”
“Now wait a minute—“ Scorpion begins to protest.
“Everyone,” Dragon says, his voice hardening as he fixes Scorpion with a glare that could melt steel.
Scorpion mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “Forgot what an asshole he is.” Then he catches sight of me peeking out from behind Roman, and his scowl transforms into a grin. “Hey it’s Kayla! Good to see you again.”
I give him a small wave because what else can I do at this point?
“Go get dressed,” Roman tells me over his shoulder. “We need to move.”
I nod numbly and retreat to my bedroom, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt and grabbing a light sweater with hands that won‘t stop trembling. By the time I return, Roman has put on a shirt and his jacket, and the men have organized themselves, clearly preparing to leave.
Outside, the night air is pleasantly cool as Roman leads me to his motorcycle. The familiar rumble of the engine vibrates through me as I climb on behind him, my arms automatically finding their place around his waist. I can feel the heat of his body beneath his clothing and his sharp intake of breath at my touch.
It feels like coming home and losing my way all at once as we pull away from the curb, following Dragon’s bike toward the Inferno clubhouse.
27
Chapter 27
Kayla
The clubhouse of the Drago’s Inferno MC looks less like a clubhouse and more like a giant warehouse complex spanning multiple lots. I can’t stop staring as we pull into the lot and the gate clangs shut behind us. As Roman cuts the engine, I’m suddenly aware of how tightly I’m gripping his waist. I release him quickly, sliding off the bike on legs that feel like they’re made of wet clay. The night air is cool against my skin after the warmth of Roman’s body. I stare up at the building’s façade, wondering what fresh insanity awaits me inside. Two years of carefully constructing a normal life, and in the space of an evening, I’ve been dragged back into the chaos of motorcycle clubs, guns, and dangerous men.
Roman’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady as he guides me toward the entrance. I should shrug him off,maintain some distance, but I’m too exhausted to fight about something so small. And although I’d never admit it out loud, I find his familiar touch comforting.
The door opens before we reach it, and a tall man with hard eyes nods at Roman. The interior is surprisingly clean, certainly cleaner than the Reject’s clubhouse ever was, but it’s still unmistakably a space that belongs to men. Worn leather furniture, wood-paneled walls adorned with motorcycle memorabilia and pinup girls, the lingering scent of cigarettes and beer hanging in the air.
A stocky man with short dark hair approaches Dragon, his gaze flicking briefly to Kit before settling back on his president.
“She’s here,” he says simply, his voice low.
Dragon’s face breaks into a smile I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of making. “Excellent.”
“Wait—who?” Kit demands, his head snapping up. The change in his demeanor is immediate. The confident swagger, the mocking smile, the taunting gleam in his eye all vanishes in an instant, replaced by what can only be described as apprehension.
Dragon doesn’t answer, just gestures for us to follow him deeper into the clubhouse. Roman’s hand presses more firmly against my back as we fall into step behind them.
“Who’s here?” Kit asks again, his voice sharper this time. Dragon still doesn’t respond, just leads us down a dimly lit hallway lined with closed doors.