14. Lyla

Pain is relative. The things that hurt the worst aren't physical. And I've experienced enough to be clear on that matter. But as I blink my eyes open and take in the single bulb above my head while my dream fades out, pain I thought I'd forgotten floods back.

Concrete. Chains. Blood.

My mind is foggy as I scramble to sit, and I take in the familiar surroundings. But it's not the basement. This place is somewhere else. A place I've only been when Ellie and I used to sneak around the Twisted Kings compound. And glancing up, I realize I'm seated in the middle of a horse stall.

"Good morning." Sage's voice filters through the white noise, and my stare snaps to a stool positioned near the gate.

He's leaning back, with his arms crossed over his chest and a passive expression on his face. It's been eight years since I've seen him, and every one of them hits me as I look him over. He's older now, more muscular. His skin is littered with tattoos, and any softness in his jaw has been carved and defined. But those dark eyes of his haven't changed a bit.

"Why am I here?"

I scoot back, panicking, until I realize I'm not chained to anything. Not that I think Sage would necessarily chain me down, but if he's spent the last eight years working with my father, he might be capable of it.

One look and I know he's not the same person I remember.

Sage leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees. "I don't know, Lyla. Why are you here?"

He's pissed, and I'm not surprised. He asked me to trust him all those years ago, and I ran away instead. He didn't see there was no saving me after what had happened, and I didn't have the heart in me to explain it. There was no salvation after what those men did.

To me. To Ellie.

It wasn't the first time someone tried to use Ellie and me against my father because of his role in the club, but it was the worst. It was enough to remind me why I swore I'd never hand my heart to a biker.

The fact that I had is a mistake I'll never be able to rectify.

"I was passing through town. Why do you care?"

I don't look him in the eyes. I can't.

They're just as endless as they were back then, and they remind me of all the things I gave up.

"You're passing through my tattoo shop. That's why I care."

"Didn't realize you were still working there." I shrug, picking at my fingernail.

"I own it."

That steals my attention, and now I glance at him. I take in the veins on the back of his hands, and the hardness of his stare. The inescapable heat that radiates off him and fills the cold air. He's grown up, changed.

And he owns the shop now?

"You do?"

Sage doesn't so much as nod, but the slightest tick of his jaw as he stares me down says I'm not the only one wrestling monsters in my head.

"It looks different," I say, realizing that if Sage is the one who owns Twisted Roses, he's probably one of the reasons it was overhauled. "Mason made it sound like that place is a pretty big deal now."

"Is that really what you want to talk about, Lyla?" Sage leans forward, narrowing his stare at me.

No, I don't. But it's better than the conversation we're avoiding.

"What do you want from me?" I knit my fingers together. "You want me to say I'm sorry I left? Or sorry you found me? Or explain where I've been? Do you really want to dig into all that right now? I'm here, you've got me. Congratulations. Ask your questions."

He breathes out his amusement and tips his head back, rubbing his palms down his face. His neck is tense with his frustration as he huffs out a laugh. But it's unamused, and when his dark eyes spear me again, my mouth turns to sandpaper.

"I see some things never change."

"I've changed plenty." I glare at him.

"Could have fooled me." He bites the inside of his cheek. "Stubborn, defiant. Can't just fucking listen for once in your life."

"I guess I could say the same, seeing as you're still doing my father's bidding. Apparently, there isn't much I've missed."

It's a lie so big it fills the air around me. Because I did miss something—him.

But he clearly hates me so much for leaving, it's easier to hand him bricks to build this wall between us than try to force him to let me in.

Sage pulls himself to stand, shaking his head. He paces side to side, and I sit frozen, trying not to be swept up in the waves of static rolling off him.

"Doing his bidding…" he repeats what I said, but his tone is so low it feels a little like a threat as he pauses to stare down at me. "And why do you think that is?"

"Because that's what you all do."

"You all?"

"Bikers." I grit my teeth. "Kane says jump and you say how high. It's pathetic, you know. There's more out there than this club. Not that you ever cared about it."

He's smirking at me, his dark eyes not letting me go.

"What?" I ask when he won't break the staring contest we're locked in.

"Nothing." He waves his hand out. "Please, continue. Tell me all the shit you think you know about me. It's fascinating."

This is a side of Sage I don't remember—cold. Protective, but also mean. Demanding and harsh. And I wish it didn't hurt to face it.

Sage crosses his arms over his chest, and I glance down. That's when I realize there's one thing glaringly missing. We're in the center of the Twisted Kings compound, and Sage is wearing a simple black T-shirt.

"Where's your cut?" Members don't leave their rooms without them. And they definitely don't go into the city without them. But when I ran into Sage's chest at Twisted Roses, he wasn't wearing it.

He smirks, like I've been running in circles and I'm just now finally catching up. "Didn't patch in."

He didn't patch in.

It takes me a moment to process what he's saying because it's nonchalant.

He brushes it off like it means nothing. Like I didn't ask him a hundred times to reconsider what he was doing. Like the fact that his joining the club wasn't the one thing that started to tear us apart before I ever did.

"You didn't?"

"Nope." He shakes his head.

Fate changed.

"Why?"

For the first time, his eyebrows lose their tension. His jaw relaxes, like he was prepared for any snarky comeback I could have tossed his way, but not for that question. He stares at me, and I think for a moment I catch a glimpse of the man I remember. But, as if he senses me softening, he shakes his head and his defenses come up again.

"We're not getting into this right now."

Voices come from a distance, and Sage peeks through the slats in the stall. Three of the walls are solid steel and eight feet high, but the final one is a gate with slats only a couple of inches apart.

From the outside of the structure, these might look like horse stalls, but horses aren't what's really housed here.

"Kane wants to talk to you." Sage opens the gate, slamming it shut from the other side. "I'll be back."

And for a moment, with his hand on the lock, he pauses, watching me. He stares through the slats, and I don't blink beneath his attention. Part of me wishes I could run up and grab his hand, and the other part knows I left for the right reasons.

I don't speak. I don't breathe. Not until he turns and walks away.

Sage Jackson.

If he were a tarot card, he'd be the wheel of fortune. And I can't decide whether that's a good or bad thing.