Page 17

Torrent

"Finch, how about we take Tessa and Emerson out sometime?"

The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them, but Finch reacts like I’ve just suggested a group manicure. His brows shoot up like they’re trying to hit the damn ceiling.

But he nods anyway. “Yeah. That’d be fun.”

I offer a quick nod, like it’s no big deal, like I didn’t just make a fucking peace offering in the form of a double date.

But the truth is, I needed to say that. I needed to do something because I’ve been off.

Distant. Angry. And not just the kind of pissed you walk off in the yard with a smoke.

The kind of anger that soaks into your bones and makes you forget who the hell you are.

Drift warned me. Told me not to let my shit with Tessa bleed into club life. And what did I do? I let it pour straight into the heart of the club I swore to protect.

That shit won’t happen again. I won’t let it.

Last night, it grounded me. It brought me back to the girl who once made me believe in something good again.

The one who looked at me like I wasn’t broken.

I needed to know that girl was still in there somewhere.

And she was. In her smile. In her laugh.

In the way she curled into me like I was still the safest place on earth.

She didn’t say she was okay. Didn’t promise she was past whatever demons she’s battling. But she showed me.

And it wrecked me.

Because, as much as I hate to admit it, without her, I don’t function right. It’s like walking with a limp I forgot I had until she’s near and I remember how it feels to move without pain.

“Good to have you back, Prez,” Drift says, clapping a hand to my shoulder.

We're at Savage Steel, the usual spot, doing what we always do. Selling guns, taking orders, checking over manifests. Nothing about the day is different on the surface. But I am. I feel lighter. Clearer. Like I finally kicked a dark cloud that’s been following me around.

I lean against the display case, arms folded, and glance at Drift.

“I’m not gonna apologize to anyone else, but I owe you one. You warned me. Told me not to let my personal shit spill into club business. And I ignored it.” I look him in the eye. “That won’t happen again.”

Drift doesn’t miss a beat. His face softens, not with pity, never that, but with respect.

“I don’t need your apology, man. Just need to know my President is all here, all the time.”

The guilt stings deep in my gut. That I made them doubt me. Even for a second.

“I am. You fucking know that.”

He nods once. “I do. Just remember that next time you and Tessa butt heads. Because we can’t afford for you to go dark again.”

“I meant what I said. I won’t let that happen again.” I push off the counter. “We need to have church. Lock up. Get everyone around the table.”

Respect is earned in this life, every goddamn day. I’ve had mine for years, but that doesn’t mean I get to coast.

If I don’t have their trust, I’ve got nothing.

We all take our places around the table, the weight of leadership settling on my shoulders the moment I sit at the head.

I’m still proud to wear this patch. Still honored to call these men my brothers.

“Everything alright?” Cetus asks, arms braced on the table.

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Just need to say something.”

The room goes still. All eyes on me.

“It’s been brought to my attention that I’ve been less than a President lately.

” My gaze flicks to Finch and Crab, who exchange a quick look.

I clock it but keep going. “I’ve had personal shit going on, but that’s not an excuse.

I’m your President, and that’s not a title I wear lightly.

You’re my brothers, and you deserve better than what I’ve been.

But I’m here. Fully. And I’m not going anywhere.

I made you a promise when I took this seat, and I’m making it again now: I will always have your backs.

Always fight for this club. Always lead with my head straight and my loyalty unwavering. ”

I lean back, let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s grounding.

I’ve come so far from prospect to leader, from reckless to responsible. Tessa and this club are my world, and maybe it’s messy, but fuck, it’s mine.

“It’s cool, Torrent,” Ganges says, tapping ash from his cigarette. “We’ve all got shit we can’t always bury.”

“I just figured you were on your period,” Riptide snorts.

The room breaks into low chuckles, mine included.

Until Finch speaks.

“Tessa told you, right?”

My body stills.

“Finch, shut the fuck up,” Crab hisses.

My eyes cut between them. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Finch pales. He looks at me, then at Crab, like he’s hoping the table will swallow him whole.

“One of you better start fucking talking,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous.

“Asshole,” Crab mutters, glaring at Finch.

“We went to Tessa. We were worried about you and asked her to fix whatever was going on between you two,” Finch blurts.

My chair crashes to the floor as I stand too fast.

“What the fuck?”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Drift barks.

“Oh, hell,” Riptide groans, rubbing his face.

Cetus just shakes his head. Ganges exhales slowly and lights another smoke.

“Why the fuck would you get Tessa involved?” My voice cracks like a whip across the room. “She’s not in this club. You’ve got a problem with me? You come to me. You don’t drag my woman into it.”

“We were desperate,” Finch mumbles. “And Tessa’s kind, and we thought maybe?—”

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” Crab interrupts.

I turn on him, teeth clenched, heart pounding in my ears.

“No, Crab, she didn’t. But she fucking should’ve.” I lean over the table and brace my hands against the wood. “What happens in this club stays in this club. You don’t go whispering to my ol’ lady like this is some teenage drama. This is a goddamn brotherhood. Not a fucking high school cafeteria.”

And then the words hit me. Hard. Like a sucker punch to the ribs.

She only smiled for me last night because they asked her to.

“When?” I ask, quieter now. “When did you talk to her?”

“Yesterday,” Finch admits.

I drop into my chair like the air’s been sucked from my lungs. I scrub my hands down my face, the realization clawing its way down my spine.

Last night wasn’t ours.

It was theirs.

Every kiss. Every smile. Every soft moan in the dark, I thought she was choosing me.

But she was trying to fix me.

“Everyone out,” I mutter, then louder, “Get the fuck out!”

Chairs scrape. Boots shuffle. Everyone clears out, leaving me alone in the silence.

Finch lingers for a second. “I’m sorry, Torrent.”

“Get out before I do something I’ll regret.”

He nods and disappears.

The door closes.

And I sit in the quiet, heart pounding, rage bleeding into something colder. Emptier.

I stare at the wall, at nothing, and reach for the ashtray.

“FUCK!”

I hurl it across the room. The glass shatters, and so does the last piece of peace I thought I had.

The ride home feels like punishment.

Helmet on. Engine roaring. My thoughts louder than both.

The ashtray breaking wasn’t enough. I wish it had been.

Wish it had snapped something loose in my chest, given me clarity.

But all I’ve got is smoke in my lungs and heat burning beneath my skin.

Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion. They all fight for space in my chest, pushing and twisting until I can barely breathe.

I shouldn’t be this wrecked.

But I am.

Because last night meant something to me. Meant everything.

And now I don’t know what any of it meant to her.

I pull into the driveway and kill the engine, sitting on the bike like it might still carry me away from all this. But the quiet is louder here. The house is dark. Still. Waiting.

I dismount slowly, toss my helmet to the steps, and drag my feet up the porch. I don’t bother turning on any lights inside. I know this place by heart. And tonight, it feels fucking hollow.

My phone buzzes in my pocket for the fifth time. I pull it out just long enough to see Drift’s name flash across the screen before I hit ignore.

Then again.

And again.

I can’t.

Not yet. Not until I sort the storm inside of me.

I strip off my cut and toss it onto the arm of the couch, where it slumps down like even it’s too tired to deal with me. I grab a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, the good kind not the cheap shit, and take a long pull straight from the bottle.

I sink onto the couch, elbows on my knees, bottle dangling between them.

She smiled. She laughed. She touched me like I was still hers.

And all of it might’ve been fake.

No.

Not fake.

Just forced.

And somehow that’s worse.

Tessa has always been fire and honesty. She doesn’t pretend. Doesn’t play games. That’s what drew me to her in the first place. She was real in a world built on lies and shadows. She saw me.

So why the hell couldn’t she come to me?

Why the fuck did it take Finch and Crab showing up like two clueless knights with a guilt trip for her to finally touch me like she used to?

I take another drink and let the burn settle deep. My stomach twists, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Because if I let this feeling get out from under me, I’ll say something I can’t take back.

And I love her too fucking much to do that.

My phone lights up again.

Missed call. Drift.

Group text. Ganges asking if I’ve cooled off. Finch begging me not to hate him. Crab saying he tried to stop him.

I don’t care.

Not right now.

I need to find my footing again. I need to stop being the guy reacting from pain and go back to being the man who leads with purpose. Logic. Strategy.

That’s who I am.

That’s what the club needs from me.

And it’s what Tessa deserves, too.

Because if I go to her now, if I face her while my heart’s bleeding and my pride’s shattered, I’ll break everything. Her. Me. Us.

And I want us to make it through this. God, I want that more than I want my next breath.

So, I sit in the dark with my bottle and my bleeding heart, counting breaths like prayers.

Trying to remember that I’m more than the pain.

That I’m Torrent.

President of the Royal Bastards.

And the man who still fucking loves that woman, even if she broke something in me without meaning to.