Page 7 of Just Heartbeats (Royalla Motorcycle Club #1)

Roma watched Kodiak drink.

He sat at the bar in the clubhouse, shoulders hunched, nursing the same bottle of whiskey he'd started an hour ago when he arrived.

She hadn't heard him come in, but heard his door close across the hallway, tempting her out of her room.

She'd followed him, noticing his wet hair, still dripping from a shower.

The heavy set of his dark brows kept her from approaching him. That's when it hit her that the mood of the entire room was heavy. Everyone focused on the drink in their hand rather than the people in the clubhouse. She glanced at the door. They even closed the place to club hoppers.

Cruz asked Kodiak if there was anything else he needed to do, and all he'd done was shake his head and take another drink without uttering a word. Roma stayed close enough to hear but far enough away from him to give him space.

He wasn't acting normal.

He drank. Slow. Methodical. As if it were a job he hated but had to finish.

Roma stood in the entrance of the hallway, arms crossed, refusing to go back to her room. She hated this version of him. Not because he was drinking, not even because he was shutting her out—but because she didn't know why .

When he'd left, he was going after a member of Deception Motorcycle Club that he believed killed her father. Her stomach gnawed. She needed to know that the killer paid for what he'd done.

Kodiak rubbed his hand over his face, took another drink, and then stared at the bottle. His black hair, sprinkled with white that was only seen up close, fell around his face, threatening to hide him from her. Unable to wait, she crossed the room.

He never looked up. Didn't even blink.

"Say something," she said. "You don't get to go quiet on me."

That was the same thing he'd tell her after her dad was killed. There were days when she never spoke, never cried, and never communicated with anyone. Kodiak had refused to let her shut down. He'd forced her to talk with him. Afterward, she always felt better and less alone.

Still, Kodiak refused to give her an answer.

He set the whiskey down and stood, unsteady but powerful. He walked past her like she wasn't even there. Not angry. Not cold. Just... hollow.

She pivoted, keeping him in sight.

He disappeared down the hallway toward his room.

Roma stood in the middle of the clubhouse, pulse ticking behind her eyes.

She hated to cry. Hated the space Kodiak put between them.

And hated that this wasn't the first time he'd made her feel like a storm was brewing around her, but she was given no warning.

She had no idea if she was supposed to run out into the rain or seek shelter from the lightning.

She depended on Kodiak. Probably too much.

But tonight, the electricity in the air felt different. She'd gotten her hopes up that her nightmare would end with Kodiak finding the man responsible for killing her dad. But now she was more worried about Kodiak.

She waited, giving him half an hour, maybe more.

He never returned. The other bikers continued to drink, giving her no clue about what happened at the meeting, on the ride, or why everyone acted as if someone had died.

She scanned the room, taking note of who was present and who was absent. Baker was behind the counter, drinking as he supplied others with alcohol. Her stomach rolled, thinking about any of the men getting hurt, or worse. She'd known most of them her whole life.

She walked over to the bar. "Baker?"

"Hm?" The older man refused to meet her gaze.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing that concerns you." Baker dipped his chin, giving her a look that was universal to all members of Royalla when they wanted her to shut up and stop asking questions.

But that never stopped her. "Is Kodiak okay?"

Baker took a drink. "It's best you go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day."

Frowning, she walked away. She had no other option because the bikers weren't going to clue her in on what was happening. They took their orders from Kodiak, and he'd made sure that she stayed in the dark.

Between Kodiak's room and her room, she paused, straining to hear anything. Unable to stop herself, she turned the handle. She let herself inside and closed the door.

The room was dark. A faint orange glow came from the bedroom, casting a shadow across the floor.

She inched her way to the entrance and peeked inside.

Kodiak lay on the bed, boots still on, one arm draped across his chest. His breathing was steady and deep, like a man who'd finally collapsed under too many drinks.

"Kodiak?" she whispered.

She stepped closer and touched his shoulder. Nothing. He never even stirred.

"Are you okay?" She stroked his whiskered jaw.

Still nothing.

Concerned, she leaned over him, pressing her hand to his chest. Warm. Solid. Rising and falling. Concern slipped in, brushing aside her anger like cobwebs. She straightened, looking around, trying to figure out what was going on with him. Going to the bathroom, she turned on the light and gasped.

There was a pile of discarded clothes crumpled on the bathroom floor.

His shirt, his jeans, and even his leather vest were carelessly tossed over the sink.

She stepped closer, intending to fold the leather the way her dad had always done when he came home every night, but stopped when she saw a brown substance speckled on it.

She ran her thumb over the stain and realized it wasn't brown at all but dark red. Her heart pounded— it was blood.

Her stomach dropped. She crouched, fingers brushing the fabric. Some spots smeared, still fresh.

"Kodiak?" she called again, her voice shaking now. "Are you hurt?"

No answer.

After washing her hands, she returned to the bedroom and turned on the overhead light to check his arms and ribs. There were no bandages or wounds. She dropped her gaze to his hands. There were abrasions across his knuckles.

Her mind raced. Had he hurt the man who'd killed her father? She swallowed hard, unable to think about what happened when Kodiak was out of her reach.

She sat on the floor beside the bed, back to the wall, knees pulled to her chest.

And waited for him to wake up.