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CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

THE CLUBHOUSE HAD quieted down, but it wasn’t peace. It was that heavy, loaded silence that settles in after a fight, the kind that tells you the damage has already been done and now everyone’s just waiting to see how deep it goes.

I wasn’t waiting. I didn’t need to.

I already knew.

I’d lost her.

Zeynep hadn’t left the clubhouse, not yet. But she was gone all the same. I could feel it in the way she looked through me earlier—eyes that once held love and trust now cold and distant. Like I was a stranger. Like I was a lie.

And hell, maybe I was.

I should’ve told her the truth. Should’ve laid it all out before it had the chance to rot everything between us. But I let the past own me. I let my wife—my ex-wife, as soon as I could get that damn paperwork through—sink her claws in deep enough to ruin the only good thing I’d ever had. The only person who saw all of me, scars and rage and all the ugly in between, and still looked at me like I was worth saving.

I couldn’t stand still. My boots chewed up the gravel outside the clubhouse as I paced back and forth, jaw tight, hands clenched. I was burning from the inside out.

Behind me, the door creaked open. I didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. I knew the sound of their boots, the rhythm of their steps. Devil and Chain. Brothers who’d seen this shit coming a mile away.

Their steps were slow, weighted—not with judgment, but with the kind of silence that comes when you know someone’s about to fall apart. They’d warned me. Both of them. And now here we were.

“Go ahead,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Say it.”

Chain leaned against the wall beside me, arms crossed casually like we weren’t standing in the wreckage of everything I’d just torched. “Say what?”

I shot him a look, sharp and tired.

Devil let out a low whistle. “He wants us to say, ‘I told you so.’”

Chain smirked. “Well, we did fuckin’ tell you so.”

I exhaled hard and shoved both hands through my hair, letting the guilt wrap tight around my ribs like a noose. “Yeah, well. Congratulations. You were right. I was wrong. And now I’ve lost her.”

That wiped the smugness clean off their faces. They didn’t mean to be assholes—they were trying to cut the tension—but this wasn’t the time for it. I didn’t need jokes. I needed Zeynep.

For a moment, none of us said a word. The wind picked up, pushing the scent of marsh and pine through the air. Somewhere on the other side of the clubhouse wall, someone laughed. Loud. Carefree. Like my world hadn’t just imploded.

Chain let out a slow breath, his voice rough with empathy. “She’s not gone, man. Not really. She’s just hurt.”

Devil sighed, “Can’t say I blame her. Not after what she saw. We warned you this would blow up if you didn’t get ahead of it.”

“I fuckin’ know,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. My pulse thudded behind my ribs like a hammer. “You think I don’t know that? I should’ve told her. Should’ve handled it like a man instead of lettin’ Chelsea screw with my head one more damn time.”

Devil didn’t flinch. “So why didn’t you?”

My jaw locked up. I shifted on my feet, the gravel crunching under my boots as my hip flared with pain, an old injury that always came back to remind me how broken I still was when stress got high. And this? This was high.

Chain narrowed his eyes. “She still fuckin’ with your head? Making threats?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The silence was loud enough.

They both knew.

Those fucking tapes. Chelsea had recorded everything back then—every outburst, every nightmare, every damn second I wasn’t in control. Just back from overseas, raw and bleeding inside, and she’d kept those recordings like trophies. Like insurance. A way to trap me in the past and keep her claws in me forever.

Proof I was dangerous. Proof I’d never be free.

And still, Zeynep… she never looked at me like I was broken. I remembered the first time her fingers brushed the scars on my face. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away or ask for the story. She just saw me. Not the damage. Not the history. Just… me. Like she’d known pain, too, and wasn’t afraid of mine.

And I let that slip through my hands.

Devil clapped a hand on my shoulder—heavy and solid. “Then fix it. End it. You’ve let that woman own too much of your life already.”

I nodded once, sharp and grim. “I did. She’s gone.”

Chain lifted an eyebrow. “Gone how?”

I smirked despite myself, the bitterness curling on my tongue. “Not buried, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Devil huffed a dry chuckle. “Well, that’s something. Cleanup would’ve been a bitch.”

Chain grinned. “Yeah, but we’d’ve helped you with it.”

I shook my head. “Appreciate the sentiment, but no. I told her I’m done. She’s out of my life for good. I saw a divorce attorney before I went to her place yesterday.”

The words felt like ripping a thorn out of my chest—satisfying but messy, still bleeding underneath. It didn’t fix what was broken. It didn’t bring Zeynep back.

I rolled my shoulders and let out a long breath. “I’ve gotta talk to her.”

Neither of them stopped me. No lectures. No warnings. Just a nod from each of them.

I turned and headed inside.

The hallway stretched longer than I remembered, every step loud in the quiet. Overhead, one of the lights flickered. I passed the bar, music played low behind the walls, some old rock track I couldn’t name, couldn’t focus on.

When I reached her door, I hesitated. My hand lifted and hovered there for a second. Then I knocked.

Nothing.

“Zeynep. It’s me.”

Still silence.

I pressed my palm flat to the wood, feeling the cool surface beneath my skin, grounding myself. “I know I fucked up,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I should’ve told you. Should’ve handled it before you ever had to find out.”

I paused, searching for the words. My throat felt tight, like they were lodged halfway up and refused to move.

“I didn’t,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “That’s on me.”

No sound came from inside. Not even a whisper of breath, not the creak of the floorboards shifting beneath her. But I knew she was there. I could feel her on the other side of that door like a ghost I couldn’t reach.

I rested my forehead against the wood, eyes closing for a beat. “I ended it,” I whispered. “She’s gone. I swear it.”

Silence. Thick and final.

The ache in my chest twisted deeper. I clenched my hand into a fist, pressing it to the frame.

She wasn’t letting me in.

And I didn’t blame her. God, I didn’t blame her for any of it. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

I stepped back, every part of me resisting the distance.

“Alright,” I murmured, voice almost too quiet to hear. “I’ll give you space.”

I turned, glancing back at the door one last time, hoping—stupidly, maybe—that she’d open it. That something would shift. But it stayed shut. She was still here. But in every way that mattered… she might as well have been a thousand miles away.

How would I fucking survive this?