Page 72 of Cold Hard Truth

“Kane’s in the den.” Bear’s gaze darts to Lyla, but he looks more scared of her than anything.

He should be. They all should. And not only because Kane is her father, but because she’s not sweet and compliant like the girls that usually come around here. She isn’t intimidated by bikers, and she’ll speak her mind if pushed.

I look down at Lyla. “Stay close.”

Her violet eyes flick up at me, and I wait for her to argue. For her to remind me she grew up here and she’s not scared to cut off some guy’s nuts if they try anything. But for the first time since she’s been back, she seems genuinely nervous.

Her spine is stiff, and her expression is tense. She’s gnawing at the inside of her cheek and wringing her hands together.

We walk up the final step to the porch, and her hand brushes mine as she drops it to her side. It might be an accident, but it takes everything in me not to grab it. This girl is the firecracker I want to wrap myself around just so she can blow my life to pieces.

Opening the door to the club, it’s quiet for the weekend. A few bikers mull around the bar taking shots, some are playing darts, and a few more are playing pool. Women are scattered throughout, and I remember when this all used to be appealing. When I didn’t see it as a means to an end.

One biker’s sitting in my dad’s favorite chair in the corner and some chick kneels in front of him, choking on his dick. Lyla doesn’t miss it. And just like back then, she doesn’t give them a second glance.

I don’t know what it says about either of us that this is normal. But being surrounded by booze, drugs, and sex is how we were raised.

I used to tell myself that’s why I held onto my virginity for so long. That I was surrounded by so much sex that I was desensitized to it. I wanted to think I had more self-control than the guys at the club. I refused to admitthat holding onto my virginity had more to do with the dark-haired girl beside me than anything else. It was easier to believe I was just stronger than the rest of them.

She proved I wasn’t.

One kiss and she had me on my fucking knees for her.

My heart was in my hands for her.

My soul was clawing out of my body for her.

It was allfor her.

Proven by the fact that when she left, I became just as bad as the rest of them. Losing her meant losing myself. I did anything I could think of to try to recreate the good she resurrected inside me, and nothing did the trick.

Once more, I glance down at her, and I wonder how many men have seen the butterfly I inked between her legs. How many men have seen that look on her face when she comes and her lips part and her eyelashes flutter?

Because a day doesn’t go by that I haven’t remembered exactly how she sounds and feels when she’s coming apart. When she’s trusting me fully.

How many men can say the same?

And why does it have me itching with rage?

I’m slipping.

With every step, I know there’s no going back. Even if Kane says my debt will be settled once I’m done with this, there’s no walking away from her when her hand brushes the back of mine again.

She’s always been the only good I’ve known, and I want to fucking chase it. To the ends of the earth. To my resting place.

I guide Lyla past the den, to the hallway, planting my hand on her lower back when someone barrels around the corner too fast and almost runs into her. And she curls against my body to get out of the way. She hugs me like she trusts me with her safety when I’m not the guy she remembers.

The first life I took was for her, but it wasn’t the last. And putting a few bullets in a man’s chest isn’t the worst I’ve done.

I should feel bad about it, and it’s not a good sign that I don’t, but there’s just holes where guilt used to live.

Looking over at Lyla, she’s a contradiction. Her yellow No Doubt T-shirt is bright and cheery, while her dark hair and magnetic eyes beg for me to make a bad decision.

She chews the inside of her cheek again, but her puffy lips part when she catches me staring. “You’re watching me.”

“Mm-hmm. You all right?” For someone who doesn’t stop talking half the time, she’s unnervingly quiet.

“It’s just strange being back.” Her fingers lace in front of her.

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