Page 10 of Just Heartbeats (Royalla Motorcycle Club #1)

Kodiak rolled the overhead door of the garage closed and walked toward the clubhouse. His back ached, his hands ached, his knees ached, and the only thing that sounded good was a couple of drinks in the corner where he could decompress from the last two weeks.

He walked through the door. The music was loud, the air was thick with the smell of pot, and the usual Friday night crowd of members was letting loose.

Approaching the bar, he motioned to Baker for one of the whiskey bottles. "Grab me a Coke, too."

Baker set a glass on the counter. Kodiak placed his hand over the rim, stopping him from pouring, and took everything to the table in the corner.

He cracked open a bottle, poured the whiskey halfway up the glass, and added enough Coke to top him off.

He leaned back, taking a long swig and gazing around the room out of habit, checking faces, hoppers, and moods.

Then he saw Roma.

Near the pool table, cue stick in hand, half-smiling as she lined up a shot. Nate stood close to her side. Too close. His hand brushed against her back when she sank the eight ball, and she punched him in the shoulder in victory—light, easy, real shit her age group did.

Kodiak's grip on the glass tightened. It was the kind of play he hadn't seen from her in a while. Enjoying her time with Nate hit something raw in him. Nate spoke to her, and she leaned into him, genuinely interested in whatever he said.

Of course, Nate was eating up the attention. That cocky asshole was young, always chasing after anything with tits and ass.

Kodiak finished the rest of his drink in one long swallow. He told himself he didn't care. Roma could do what she wanted. She was an adult now. He wanted her to grow up and get more out of life. He owed her that. Hell, he owed Chopper.

But when Nate gestured toward the door and Roma followed him out without hesitation, he grabbed the back of his neck as heat flooded his skin. She had the freedom to come and go. She no longer had to ask his fucking permission.

Five minutes. He'd give her five damn minutes, and then he'd haul her ass inside.

He tapped the heel of his boot against the floor and watched the clock on the wall. The party around him blurred. It was all white noise and movement.

His pulse tapped steadily in his ears, adding to his agitation. He drank straight from the whiskey bottle.

At the five-minute mark, Kodiak stood, knocking over the chair, and stormed across the clubhouse, pushing his way out the door. The night air hit him but failed to cool him off. He scanned the lot, finding them halfway down the line of motorcycles.

Nate had his arms around her. Roma stood with her hands tucked under his jacket, her face hidden in his chest. Something in Kodiak snapped.

He made it to them without being spotted. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Nate looked up, startled. "Hey, Prez. She's cold—"

"Inside." Kodiak fisted his hands. "Now."

Nate hesitated, then stepped away from Roma, hands up in surrender. "Sorry, Prez."

Kodiak didn't even watch him go. His eyes locked onto Roma when all he wanted to do was shake some sense into her. Nate? What the fuck?

She wrapped her bare arms around herself and met his gaze. There was no guilt in her expression. She wasn't smug. She wasn't confused. But she was guarded.

"This isn't a game," he said, his voice low and sharp.

"I didn't do anything wrong." Her teeth chattered. "I was going to go back inside and grab my coat, but he —"

"You're out here wrapped around Nate like it's prom night," he snapped. "Come on, Roma, use your head. You think that's smart? You're on Royalla property. Any woman here is open to things you haven't even learned about. The men will take any attention you give them and hurt you."

"I was cold," she said evenly. "That's it. He told me to put my arms under his leather. That's all."

He'd protected her too much. She had no experience with men. The guys in Royalla weren't the kind she should experiment with. Most of the members inside had lost their virginity as soon as they could get a boner. And, they'd been using women ever since.

"Guys like Nate—he'll take what you give and think there's more."

"Maybe I want to flirt," she shot back. "I'm not a kid, Kodiak. You don't get to lecture me like I am."

He stared at her, breathing hard. She was never one to walk away and accept his guidance. She had to stand here and debate with him.

"This club isn't some safe little playground," he said. "You start fucking around and you'll never get out of here."

She stared back, arms crossed, chin high. Kodiak turned away before he said something worse.

"Go inside," he muttered. "Party's over for you."

He thought she was going to stay and argue her reasons for going back into the party. But after a moment, she walked past him and headed toward the door of the clubhouse without another word.

Kodiak stayed out in the cold, rubbing the tension out of his jaw. That girl was going to be the death of him.

The door clicked shut behind Roma, muffling the music, but not the pounding of his heart. Eventually, his breathing regulated. The night air cut through his vest, cooling him off.

She was cold. That was all it was.

And Nate—the boy hadn't crossed any line. He was trying to help Roma and keep her comfortable—precisely what he'd want any Royalla member to do.

He hadn't seen two people sharing a jacket when he'd come outside. He'd seen trouble. He'd seen Roma stepping away from him and going to someone else. Every part of him went on alert. He was ready to start a fucking war.

For Roma.

Everything he did was for her, and she had no clue.

He ran his hand over his face, pulling his beard. She had him losing his head. It'd been a rough couple of weeks since she started working at the garage. The only time he could escape her was when he went riding or had a meeting.

The constant need to touch her had taken its toll on him. Now he was picking fights with one of his men.

He was too old, too worn down, too deep in this life to be looking at her the way he sometimes caught himself doing. She wasn't some girl off the street. He'd known her since she was a baby. He'd watched Chopper pick her up and set her on his Harley when she was only a few years old.

She was part of the club. Family.

But she wasn't a kid anymore. Hadn't been for a while. And every time she met his gaze, something stirred in him. Something that had no business being there.

Kodiak turned away from the lot and walked around to the back of the garage, where it was quiet and dark. He leaned against the cold brick wall and lit a cigarette with fingers that still trembled with leftover adrenaline.

He hated that he'd snapped at her. Hated that she'd had that look on her face—like she knew exactly why he was angry and was happy he was suffering.

That's what got him the most. He had a feeling that if he gave her any encouragement to show him attention, she would know exactly what to do.

The end of his cigarette glowed in the dark. He could keep pretending nothing was happening between them. He could keep snapping at her, pushing her away, pretending his protective instincts were that—protective, not possessive.

But one of these days, it was going to boil over. He could feel it building inside of him. The more she carved out a place for herself at the club, the more he realized she wasn't going anywhere.

And neither were his feelings.

Kodiak tossed the cigarette onto the asphalt, crushed it under his boot, and made his way back inside.

The party was still going on. He scanned the room. Roma was nowhere in sight.

He wasn't sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.