I nod, too exhausted to argue. “He doesn’t drink,” I murmur. “I’ve never seen him like that before.”
Lexi squeezes my hand. “You have to see the worst of him at some point, and I think that was it.” I think back to a couple of weeks ago, the night he beat Lee and shudder. Despite everything, the hurt, the shame, I still want him. I still want him to love me.
I stand in Shadow’s bedroom. The rope he used to tie me up lays coiled on the floor beside the bag of money. I pick it up, place it on the side table, then slide the cash back under the bed.
The shopping bags are still stacked neatly in the corner, full of the things he bought me. I don’t touch them. Instead, I pull out the clothes I arrived in. They’ve been washed since, folded and ready. With the jeans and shirt Lexi gave me, it’s enough.
“That’s all you need?” she asks softly from the doorway.
“It’s what I came with,” I murmur, slipping my toothbrush into my pocket.
Lexi leads me upstairs. I know this floor—it’s the rooms where the club girls stay, but at least it’s not the basement.
“Lock the door,” she warns. “Sometimes the brothers stumble up here drunk. If it’s unlocked, they’ll see it as an invitation. I’ll get you a room on another floor tomorrow, once Axel approves it.”
I shake my head. “Here’s fine. Thanks.”
“Try to rest,” she says. “Breakfast is at seven for the girls, eight for the bikers. If you want to avoid Shadow, come early.”
I wait for her to leave, then lock the door. The silence presses in. I sink onto the bed and release a long breath.
Now what?
I don’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, it’s his face I see. Angry, broken, lost.
The whispers of the night fade into silence, replaced by the low hum of pipes and the occasional thud from somewhere above. I toss and turn until the first streaks of light cut through the thin curtains. My eyes burn from crying, and my chest is heavy with everything I can’t fix.
By seven, I can’t lie there any longer. I push myself out of bed, pull on the jeans and shirt, and run my fingers through my hair. My reflection looks as wrecked as I feel. Still, I square myshoulders, remind myself I have to keep going, and open the door.
I don’t get two steps before the door opposite swings open and Shadow steps out. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
He looks rough, with dark circles beneath his eyes, stubble shadowing his jaw. He’s topless, his kutte slung carelessly over one shoulder. And behind him, the sound of a woman’s laugh echoes faintly from the room he’s just left. My stomach twists painfully.
His eyes meet mine, and for the first time since last night, I see something flicker there. Guilt, shame, maybe both.
I drop my gaze, muttering, “Excuse me,” and move to step past him.
But his hand comes out, catching my wrist. His thumb brushes my skin once, tentative, before he says quietly, “It’s not what it looks like.”
I laugh, hollow and small. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I know,” he admits, voice low, “but I’m giving you one anyway.”
I finally look up at him. His eyes are bloodshot, the fight gone from them. He looks exhausted. “You really think it matters now?” I whisper.
His jaw tenses, a muscle ticking. “It matters to me.”
I pull my wrist free, my heart thundering. “Then you should’ve thought about that before you kissed her.”
I start down the hall before he can answer, forcing myself not to look back.
But his voice follows me, rough and unsteady. “Remi . . .”
I stop, just for a second.
“Eat something,” he says quietly. “Please.”
I don’t turn around. “Don’t pretend you care,” I whisper then keep walking.
