Kodiak didn't even watch him go. His eyes locked onto Roma when all he wanted to do was shake some sense into her. Nate? What the fuck?
She wrapped her bare arms around herself and met his gaze. There was no guilt in her expression. She wasn't smug. She wasn't confused. But she was guarded.
"This isn't a game," he said, his voice low and sharp.
"I didn't do anything wrong." Her teeth chattered. "I was going to go back inside and grab my coat, but he —"
"You're out here wrapped around Nate like it's prom night," he snapped. "Come on, Roma, use your head. You think that's smart? You're on Royalla property. Any woman here is open to things you haven't even learned about. The men will take any attention you give them and hurt you."
"I was cold," she said evenly. "That's it. He told me to put my arms under his leather. That's all."
He'd protected her too much. She had no experience with men. The guys in Royalla weren't the kind she should experiment with. Most of the members inside had lost their virginity as soon as they could get a boner. And, they'd been using women ever since.
"Guys like Nate—he'll take what you give and think there's more."
"Maybe I want to flirt," she shot back. "I'm not a kid, Kodiak. You don't get to lecture me like I am."
He stared at her, breathing hard. She was never one to walk away and accept his guidance. She had to stand here and debate with him.
"This club isn't some safe little playground," he said. "You start fucking around and you'll never get out of here."
She stared back, arms crossed, chin high. Kodiak turned away before he said something worse.
"Go inside," he muttered. "Party's over for you."
He thought she was going to stay and argue her reasons for going back into the party. But after a moment, she walkedpast him and headed toward the door of the clubhouse without another word.
Kodiak stayed out in the cold, rubbing the tension out of his jaw. That girl was going to be the death of him.
The door clicked shut behind Roma, muffling the music, but not the pounding of his heart. Eventually, his breathing regulated. The night air cut through his vest, cooling him off.
She was cold. That was all it was.
And Nate—the boy hadn't crossed any line. He was trying to help Roma and keep her comfortable—precisely what he'd want any Royalla member to do.
He hadn't seen two people sharing a jacket when he'd come outside. He'd seen trouble. He'd seen Roma stepping away from him and going to someone else. Every part of him went on alert. He was ready to start a fucking war.
For Roma.
Everything he did was for her, and she had no clue.
He ran his hand over his face, pulling his beard. She had him losing his head. It'd been a rough couple of weeks since she started working at the garage. The only time he could escape her was when he went riding or had a meeting.
The constant need to touch her had taken its toll on him. Now he was picking fights with one of his men.
He was too old, too worn down, too deep in this life to be looking at her the way he sometimes caught himself doing. She wasn't some girl off the street. He'd known her since she was a baby. He'd watched Chopper pick her up and set her on his Harley when she was only a few years old.
She was part of the club. Family.
But she wasn't a kid anymore. Hadn't been for a while. And every time she met his gaze, something stirred in him. Something that had no business being there.
Kodiak turned away from the lot and walked around to the back of the garage, where it was quiet and dark. He leaned against the cold brick wall and lit a cigarette with fingers that still trembled with leftover adrenaline.
He hated that he'd snapped at her. Hated that she'd had that look on her face—like she knew exactly why he was angry and was happy he was suffering.
That's what got him the most. He had a feeling that if he gave her any encouragement to show him attention, she would know exactly what to do.
The end of his cigarette glowed in the dark. He could keep pretending nothing was happening between them. He could keep snapping at her, pushing her away, pretending his protective instincts were that—protective, not possessive.
