"What?" she asked.
"They end up slapping on a Royalla patch and sticking around for life." He shrugged. "Eventually, they learn not to run."
"I'm not a Royalla member."
"Of course, not. Chicks don't ride." He tapped the counter in front of her. "But you're family. Running away from family is the opposite of what you should do."
That made sense, except she wanted to run to Kodiak, and he kept pushing her away.
She exhaled slowly, rolled her shoulders, and forced herself to focus on the drink in front of her instead of the heat pressing against her spine. Kodiak wouldn't break first—she knew that much. But she wasn't planning on giving up either.
Let him watch her.
Let him try to fight his feelings.
Because this time, she wasn't going to back down.
She loved him. She always had. Before her dad died, she looked up to Kodiak. Everyone respected and admired him, but Kodiak was her dad's friend, his most trusted friend, and that feeling was passed down to her. No matter how grumpy Kodiak could get or how often he bossed her around, she loved him.
One day, he'd realize that the women he brought to his room wouldn't give him what he desired. They'd never satisfy him because they didn't know him. No one knew the president of Royalla, not the way she knew him.
Kodiak wasn't even looking for someone to make him happy. He wanted someone loyal, strong, and able to match him sexually. Sometimes, she felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. If only he'd listened to her, maybe he could see that they shared something special.
When she lost her dad, she spent months walking through life in her own mind. She moved through school in a haze, came home, and surrounded herself with bikers because they were her family. She spent a lot of time with Kodiak because he was the closest thing to a father figure she had. He brought her comfort.
For two years, her lonely days were spent studying him. She created childish fantasies about Kodiak and lost herself to her imagination. The more she noticed other women paying attention to Kodiak, throwing themselves at the president, thinking he would save them from their pathetic lives, she knew that she was not like them. As soon as she understood who shewanted to be, she strived to be everything Kodiak could want in a woman.
He might not even realize that growing up and fantasizing about him had given her a purpose when she felt all alone. But somewhere between grieving for her dad and going to bed alone every night, she wanted more.
She wanted Kodiak.
An arm reached over her shoulder. She lifted her gaze and saw Kodiak in the mirror as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter.
His gaze met hers in the reflection, and he bent down, kissing the top of her head. "Go to bed, Roma."
She twirled on the barstool, her eyes tracking him as he walked toward the back of the clubhouse, the bottle of whiskey swinging from his hand. She knew he was probably going to drink himself to sleep, as he often did. But there was a small comfort in knowing that tonight, at least, he was going to his room alone.
She slipped off the stool and slowly followed in his footsteps, her heart beating a little slower. Halfway down the hallway, she quietly opened the door opposite Kodiak's room and stepped inside. The room was her home. She hadn't known anything different than the sitting area off the kitchen, the bathroom on the right, and a single bedroom at the back. When her dad was alive, he slept on the couch, giving her the room.
Even now, the bedroom walls remained purple, and she still used the black comforter with daisies along the edges. Kicking off her sneakers, she plopped onto the well-worn couch and grabbed her dad's pillow that she refused to part with. Hugging the pillow to her stomach, she curled up in the corner of the sofa.
At one point, Kodiak used to let her walk across the hall and sleep on his couch during the months after her dad wasmurdered. But recently, he'd persuaded her to leave, telling her she belonged in her bed, not his.
Chapter 3
Kodiak closed the last overhead door at the garage. The stolen parts they had collected over the past month were packed and loaded into the back of a trailer heading toward New Mexico, where they would be sold on the black market. He had sent the other Royalla members home twenty minutes earlier. No doubt, half of them ended up walking into the clubhouse next door to unwind after a long eight-hour shift.
He lit a cigarette and slowed his step. From his count, at least thirty motorcycles formed a line behind the fence. The Royalla compound consisted of four city lots, occupying an entire block. A six-foot cinder-block fence surrounded the property, keeping prying eyes from seeing what was happening inside.
There wasn't a damn thing the city of Vancouver, Washington, could do about his unconventional wall because his father had erected the barrier before any building codes could stop him.
He finished his cigarette, flicked it toward the can of sand placed beside the door, and went inside. The place was lively with the usual chaos—a few men arguing over a poker game, laughter breaking through the arguing. There were enough women around that, if he wanted, he could unwind.
But he wasn't in the mood for the bullshit that went along with hooking up with one of the club hoppers.
Royalla had a rough energy that infected everyone who stepped through the door. They lived for the present, not worrying about the future. But lately, Kodiak was immune. In all his forty-five years, he'd never had such a dry spell.
His focus was on Roma and what tomorrow would bring him.
