Kit lets out a derisive snort. “I wouldn’t have touched Naomi with a ten-foot pole.” His face changes then, vulnerability flashing across his features so briefly I almost miss it. “I loved her.”
I blink in surprise, before realizing that he’s not talking about Naomi. The idea that Kit could love anyone seems impossible, at odds with everything I know about him.
“Boys,” Gigi interrupts with a sigh. “You’re starting in the middle of the story. Maybe catch the rest of us up?”
Roman’s eyes find mine, and for a moment, I see something I’ve never witnessed in them before: shame. He shifts in his seat, and the leather of his jacket creaks in the sudden silence. Everyone is watching him now, waiting for the explanation that will finally make sense of all this madness. I realize I’m holding my breath, bracing myself for whatever ugly truth is about to emerge.
“Amara was a dancer at one of the strip clubs the Devil’s Rejects owned,” Roman begins, his voice low but steady. He keeps his eyes on me as he speaks, as if he’s explaining this to me alone. “She’d previously been what they call a club bunny at Kit’s club, the Hell’s Fury.”
I can feel Kit’s stare from across the table, but I don’t look away from Roman.
“When Amara came to us, she said a relationship with a brother in Kit’s club had ended badly, that she needed a fresh start.” Roman’s fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table. “It wasn’t uncommon. Girls move between clubs all the time when things went south. No one thought anything of it.”
I glance at Kit, whose jaw is working silently, his golden-green eyes burning with an intensity that makes me look away.
“She‘d been dancing for us for about six months,” Roman continues, “when the till at the strip club started coming up short.”
Roman shifts again, discomfort evident in every line of his body. “I wasn’t involved in the investigation. Atlas handled it personally.” His voice hardens slightly at the name. “According to him, there were multiple witnesses who pointed the finger at Amara.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Kit’s hands curl into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white.
“Atlas handed her over to me,” Roman says, and something cold settles in my stomach at his words. “Told me to take her somewhere remote and put a bullet in her head.” His voice grows hollow. “Said she was a spy sent from Kit, after his bid to get Naomi to help him failed.” Roman’s eyes finally drop from mine, fixing on the table. “He said even if someone found her body, she’d be just another dead prostitute. No one would look too hard into it.”
I feel sick, lightheaded. This is what Roman was involved in. This is the world he kept from me, the darkness he didn’t think I could handle. And maybe he was right.
Kit stands abruptly, walking away from the table with rigid steps. He stops near the wall, his back to us, hands on his hips, shoulders rising and falling with deep, deliberate breaths. I can feel the rage radiating from him even from across the room.
I turn back to Roman, horror crawling up my spine. “Did you…?” I can’t even finish the question.
Roman shakes his head, relief flickering across his features at my unfinished question. “No. She was adamant that she hadn’t stolen anything. That she wasn’t Kit’s spy. She was terrified, begging for her life.” Shame colors his features again. “Instead of killing her, I took her to Billings, gave her all the cash I had on me.” He rubs his hand over his beard. “Told her to get on a busand get gone and stay gone.” His eyes meet mine again. “As far as I know, she did.”
The silence that follows is deafening. All I can think is that this is the darkness Roman shielded me from. These are the choices he’s had to make. Suddenly, I understand why he kept me separate from this part of his life. Not because he didn’t trust me, not because he didn’t respect me but because he was terrified of what I would think of him if I knew the truth.
Kit walks back to the table, his face composed now, though a muscle still jumps in his jaw. He sits down again, his eyes boring into Roman. Roman meets his gaze steadily.
“Naomi approached me,” Kit says, breaking the silence. “Not the other way around. She had dreams of making the Rejects bigger, stronger. She wanted to join forces. We never had any kind of relationship.” His mouth twists in disgust. “I shot her down. Hard.”
Roman doesn’t respond, just watches Kit as if he’s a bomb that might explode at any moment.
“When I took Naomi that first time, I intended to torture Amara’s location out of her,” Kit continues, his voice eerily calm now. “And then kill her. But instead she taunted me about Amara’s death. Then I decided to use her to lure in the rest of the Rejects. As far as I was concerned, you had all signed your death warrants.” His lips curl into a humorless smile and he lightly touches the scar that runs down the side of his face. “It didn’t go according to plan.”
Roman and Kit stare at each other across the table, years of hatred and misunderstanding flowing between them.
“So you kidnapped my wife to get revenge on me,” Roman says finally. It’s not a question.
Kit’s smile turns taunting, but there’s something hollow behind it now. “Yes.”
“But you didn’t kill her.” Roman’s voice is surprisingly soft.
Kit‘s smile falters. He turns to look at me, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks almost guilty. He shrugs. “I originally meant to.”
My breath catches in my throat, but Kit continues, his eyes still on mine.
“I didn’t want to just kill Roman anymore,” he says. “I wanted him to feel the same despair I felt. I wanted him to know what it was like to lose the one person who matters most.”
“Then why didn’t you kill me?” I ask, finding my voice at last.
Kit studies me for a long moment, his gaze assessing. “Because we’d been watching you, learning your habits,” he says finally. “And I came to the conclusion that out of that whole damn club, you probably deserved to die the least.” His mouth quirks up at one corner. “It helped that you so obviously disliked Naomi.” He winks, and a shocked laugh escapes me despite myself.