Inside, she told herself.Toward answers and unfinished business that gnawed at her ribs.
“I’m looking for Havoc,” she pointed out.
Roach’s brows lifted.“Yeah?He’s probably busy right now.”
“I saw him come back,” she said.
She had caught a glimpse of him half an hour ago.He’d ridden in with a few of the guys.Even from a distance, she’d felt the charge of him like static.
Roach studied her for a long moment, then glanced toward the stairs like they might bite.
“What do you want with him?”Roach asked curiously.
Ivy stopped and turned back to face him fully.
“Where’s his room?”Ivy demanded.
That got a low whistle.“Straight to the point.”
“Roach,” she said evenly, patience thinning, “are you going to tell me or not?”
He scratched his beard, clearly torn.
“You seem like a decent woman,” he said finally.“Not the kind that needs trouble.”
Her shoulders squared.“What are you saying?”Ivy asked.
“I’m saying,” Roach replied slowly, “Havoc ain’t ...easy.Ever since he lost his old lady, he hasn’t been the same.”
Something tightened in Ivy’s chest.“I didn’t ask for a warning,” she muttered.
“You might not get what you’re looking for,” Roach continued, not unkindly.“Whatever it is you think is there.”
She held his gaze.“That’s for me to find out.”
Roach sighed, long and resigned.
“Second floor.End of the hall.Door on the left,” he finally told her.
“Thank you,” she said.
She didn’t give herself time to second-guess it.Ivy turned and headed inside, boots echoing against worn wood.The clubhouse swallowed her whole, dimmer and cooler than outside.The air smelled like coffee gone cold, smoke soaked into walls, and something electric she couldn’t name.
The stairs creaked under her weight.With every step, her pulse ticked higher.She told herself she was angry.That she needed to finish the conversation he’d cut short.That this was about clarity.
It was also about the way her body remembered his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at her like wanting and fear were the same thing.
The second floor hallway was quiet.Doors lined the walls, each one closed, private, holding pieces of lives she didn’t know.She found his at the end, just like Roach said.
The door wasn’t locked.She hesitated on the knob for half a second, then she turned it and stepped inside.Steam hung in the air.The bathroom door was open, and the sound of running water cut off abruptly as she froze just inside the room.
Havoc stepped out moments later, towel slung low around his waist, hair damp and darkened, droplets tracing slow paths down his chest.Ivy forgot how to breathe.
Her gaze snagged everywhere at once.Broad shoulders still beaded with water.The ink curling over the planes of muscle over his chest and six-pack abs, disappearing beneath the towel.Heat flared sharp and sudden, rushing south before she could stop it.
“Oh,” she managed.
Havoc stopped short when he saw her.Then he curved his mouth upwards—he seemed unmistakably pleased.
