Page 3 of Just Heartbeats (Royalla Motorcycle Club #1)

Roma stepped into the hallway, the worn leather jacket draped over her shoulder. Across the hall, Kodiak's door remained closed, but she could hear the faint sound of the television, which meant he was inside. Her fingers flexed in frustration.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Not often had she mouthed off to Kodiak or gone against his wishes, but when she occasionally couldn't contain her frustration with him, he always shut her down quickly.

She had spent two years learning how to steel herself, how to hold her ground even when the universe tried to break her.

Kodiak had taught her how to stand strong.

He'd drilled resilience into her with quiet expectations.

So, if he thought she was going to fold over whatever was shifting between them, he was dead wrong.

In the main room of the clubhouse, she headed toward the bar.

The familiar smell of whiskey and smoke surrounded her.

The late-night calm had taken over. Murmurs of conversation mixed with the distant hum of engines outside made sure the clubhouse was never totally silent.

Settling onto a stool at the makeshift bar, she stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles with practiced ease until her toe touched the floor.

She could feel eyes on her, some of the guys watching with quiet amusement, others with curiosity.

But it was the shiver rolling up her spine and her pulse tightening her throat that grabbed her attention.

There was no need to turn around and understand the reason for her awareness. Kodiak had left his room and followed her. Somewhere behind her, he stood, watching, assessing, and deciding whether to step into a battle with her or to walk the other way.

He had to feel it. There was no way he couldn't.

A glass slid across the bar toward her. Baker's relaxed smirk settled in as he leaned against the counter. "You look like you need a drink, Miss Roma Lake."

She looked at the dark liquid with a thin foam layer on top, wondering if Baker had finally decided to let her try some alcohol. "Really?"

"That would be a hard pass." He chuckled. "No giggle juice for you. I don't want to get in trouble with Prez."

Andrea, one of the women who entertained the bikers, waved at her from the other end of the bar. She smiled, not in the mood to engage in small talk. Instead, she pushed the glass toward Baker.

"I need a ride more than I need a root beer," she said, feeling twelve years old again.

Her gaze flickered toward the mirror behind the bar, catching a glimpse of Kodiak's reflection. His dark stare was unreadable, and he held a firm grip on the edge of the table next to him. She sighed heavily because this had turned into a game now, whether he liked it or not.

The tension in his shoulders and a flicker of danger in his gaze warned her about his mood. He always thought she was reckless, always wanting answers about her father's death and eager to hang out with the younger members of Royalla. How often had he warned her she was walking too close to danger?

But now he was the one shutting himself down, and for the first time, she wondered what caused him to be so closed off when he had always been willing to comfort her before.

Why would he stop holding her now? Was it because she was no longer a child?

Baker cleared his throat and braced his hands on the counter. "Where do you need to go so late at night?"

"Anywhere but here." She wouldn't find any answers about her dad's murder sticking around the compound.

Kodiak prohibited the men from discussing that night with her. She had searched the internet repeatedly, but of course, Royalla had covered up the crime. The only way she would get answers was if she left the compound and found the truth herself.

She couldn't figure out how she would do that. It wasn't like a guy stood on the corner, selling answers for five bucks a question.

Hunter walked behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of beer. He caught her eye and lifted his chin.

She mouthed, "Hi."

Rumor had it that Hunter lost his hearing in one ear when he was young from a gunshot blast going off close to him.

It also severely damaged his hearing in his other ear.

But he could read lips well enough that most people couldn't even tell that he wasn't hearing them when they spoke to him.

That all depended on whether Hunter wanted to pay attention.

Often, he chose to walk in the quietness and ignore everyone else.

"You know, many men have tried to outrun their troubles." Baker leaned closer until she could see the small cross tattoo underneath his eye. "Do you know what happens?"

"What?" she asked.

"They end up slapping on a Royalla patch and sticking around for life." He shrugged. "Eventually, they learn not to run."

"I'm not a Royalla member."

"Of course, not. Chicks don't ride." He tapped the counter in front of her. "But you're family. Running away from family is the opposite of what you should do."

That made sense, except she wanted to run to Kodiak, and he kept pushing her away.

She exhaled slowly, rolled her shoulders, and forced herself to focus on the drink in front of her instead of the heat pressing against her spine. Kodiak wouldn't break first—she knew that much. But she wasn't planning on giving up either.

Let him watch her.

Let him try to fight his feelings.

Because this time, she wasn't going to back down.

She loved him. She always had. Before her dad died, she looked up to Kodiak. Everyone respected and admired him, but Kodiak was her dad's friend, his most trusted friend, and that feeling was passed down to her. No matter how grumpy Kodiak could get or how often he bossed her around, she loved him.

One day, he'd realize that the women he brought to his room wouldn't give him what he desired. They'd never satisfy him because they didn't know him. No one knew the president of Royalla, not the way she knew him.

Kodiak wasn't even looking for someone to make him happy. He wanted someone loyal, strong, and able to match him sexually. Sometimes, she felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. If only he'd listened to her, maybe he could see that they shared something special.

When she lost her dad, she spent months walking through life in her own mind.

She moved through school in a haze, came home, and surrounded herself with bikers because they were her family.

She spent a lot of time with Kodiak because he was the closest thing to a father figure she had. He brought her comfort.

For two years, her lonely days were spent studying him.

She created childish fantasies about Kodiak and lost herself to her imagination.

The more she noticed other women paying attention to Kodiak, throwing themselves at the president, thinking he would save them from their pathetic lives, she knew that she was not like them.

As soon as she understood who she wanted to be, she strived to be everything Kodiak could want in a woman.

He might not even realize that growing up and fantasizing about him had given her a purpose when she felt all alone. But somewhere between grieving for her dad and going to bed alone every night, she wanted more.

She wanted Kodiak.

An arm reached over her shoulder. She lifted her gaze and saw Kodiak in the mirror as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter.

His gaze met hers in the reflection, and he bent down, kissing the top of her head. "Go to bed, Roma."

She twirled on the barstool, her eyes tracking him as he walked toward the back of the clubhouse, the bottle of whiskey swinging from his hand.

She knew he was probably going to drink himself to sleep, as he often did.

But there was a small comfort in knowing that tonight, at least, he was going to his room alone.

She slipped off the stool and slowly followed in his footsteps, her heart beating a little slower.

Halfway down the hallway, she quietly opened the door opposite Kodiak's room and stepped inside.

The room was her home. She hadn't known anything different than the sitting area off the kitchen, the bathroom on the right, and a single bedroom at the back.

When her dad was alive, he slept on the couch, giving her the room.

Even now, the bedroom walls remained purple, and she still used the black comforter with daisies along the edges.

Kicking off her sneakers, she plopped onto the well-worn couch and grabbed her dad's pillow that she refused to part with.

Hugging the pillow to her stomach, she curled up in the corner of the sofa.

At one point, Kodiak used to let her walk across the hall and sleep on his couch during the months after her dad was murdered. But recently, he'd persuaded her to leave, telling her she belonged in her bed, not his.