Page 42 of Cold Hard Truth

They’re just as endless as they were back then, and they remind me of all the things I gave up.

“You’re passing throughmytattoo shop. That’s why I care.”

“Didn’t realize you were still working there.” I shrug, picking at my fingernail.

“I own it.”

That steals my attention, and now I glance at him. I take in the veins on the back of his hands, and the hardness of his stare. The inescapable heat that radiates off him and fills the cold air. He’s grown up, changed.

And he owns the shop now?

“You do?”

Sage doesn’t so much as nod, but the slightest tick of his jaw as he stares me down says I’m not the only one wrestling monsters in my head.

“It looks different,” I say, realizing that if Sage is the one who owns Twisted Roses, he’s probably one of the reasons it was overhauled. “Mason made it sound like that place is a pretty big deal now.”

“Is that really what you want to talk about, Lyla?” Sage leans forward, narrowing his stare at me.

No, I don’t. But it’s better than the conversation we’re avoiding.

“What do you want from me?” I knit my fingers together. “You want me to say I’m sorry I left? Or sorry you found me? Or explain where I’ve been? Do you really want to dig into all that right now? I’m here, you’ve got me. Congratulations. Ask your questions.”

He breathes out his amusement and tips his head back, rubbing his palms down his face. His neck is tense with his frustration as he huffs out a laugh. But it’s unamused,and when his dark eyes spear me again, my mouth turns to sandpaper.

“I see some things never change.”

“I’ve changed plenty.” I glare at him.

“Could have fooled me.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Stubborn, defiant. Can’t just fucking listen for once in your life.”

“I guess I could say the same, seeing as you’re still doing my father’s bidding. Apparently, there isn’t much I’ve missed.”

It’s a lie so big it fills the air around me. Because I did miss something—him.

But he clearly hates me so much for leaving, it’s easier to hand him bricks to build this wall between us than try to force him to let me in.

Sage pulls himself to stand, shaking his head. He paces side to side, and I sit frozen, trying not to be swept up in the waves of static rolling off him.

“Doing his bidding…” he repeats what I said, but his tone is so low it feels a little like a threat as he pauses to stare down at me. “And why do you think that is?”

“Because that’s what you all do.”

“You all?”

“Bikers.” I grit my teeth. “Kane says jump and you say how high. It’s pathetic, you know. There’s more out there than this club. Not that you ever cared about it.”

He’s smirking at me, his dark eyes not letting me go.

“What?” I ask when he won’t break the staring contest we’re locked in.

“Nothing.” He waves his hand out. “Please, continue. Tell me all the shit you think you know about me. It’s fascinating.”

This is a side of Sage I don’t remember—cold. Protective, but also mean. Demanding and harsh. And I wish it didn’t hurt to face it.

Sage crosses his arms over his chest, and I glance down. That’s when I realize there’s one thing glaringly missing. We’re in the center of the Twisted Kings compound, and Sage is wearing a simple black T-shirt.

“Where’s your cut?” Members don’t leave their rooms without them. And they definitely don’t go into the city without them. But when I ran into Sage’s chest at Twisted Roses, he wasn’t wearing it.

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