Torch snorts and says, “No.”
He folds his arms across his chest, the burn scar on his wrist silver under the light.
“I’m not leaving it.” he adds.
My fingers curl slowly against the truck hood. But I don’t say shit, because if I open my mouth right now there’s a good chance something ugly comes out.
The station doors stay closed, a patrol officer walks past the front windows inside, silhouette blurred through the glass. Every second of waiting stretches too long.
I need to get back. She is there thinking…fuck,thinking we are over. Thinking the worst of me.
I rub at the ache in my chest.
Too much time for my head to fill with shit I don’t want to see again.
Bex standing in the middle of the clubhouse floor, blood running down her chin. The way she used the cut to wipe the blood from her mouth and then held it out toward me like it weighed more than the world.
Take it.
Her voice cracked and those two words held so much pain and sorrow… grief even. Like she was already grieving us.
I swallow hard and drag a hand over my mouth, over the spot I know will now have a scar on her perfect lips.
Across the lot one of the Devil’s Ride guys lights a cigarette, the flame flares bright in the dark. Blue eyes flash in the light and the fucker winks at me. Torch watches him for a second, then looks back at me.
“You know what the worst part of tonight was?” he asks.
“Torch.” Axel’s warning is quiet.
Torch ignores him.
“The worst part,” he says calmly, “was watching you fucking stand there like a good boy.”
Something inside my chest tightens.
“I wouldn’t want you moving without permission.”
“Don’t.” I warn.
“Don’t what?” he taunts, stepping closer. “Don’t say what everyone in that room was thinking?”
My head snaps toward him.
“Watch your mouth.” I grind out the warning.
Torch laughs, it’s not his usual laugh. This one sounds tired, resigned.
“Or what.”
I push off the truck before I realize I’m moving. He doesn’t step back, or flinch. Just stands there waiting for what we all know will happen if he keeps pushing.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I say, my voice all gravel.
Torch tilts his head.
“Really?” he asks. Then he gestures vaguely toward the highway behind us. “You spent all day running around chasing rumors about your wife because you assume you’re the only one who believes she didn’t do anything.”
My jaw tightens, but he keeps going.