16. Lyla

Kane locked me up like a captive. Like a traitor.

I guess it's better than him trying to pretend he sees me as a daughter. He might be my father by blood. But that's it.

The only title that has ever meant anything to Kane is president. A man can't be a father and simultaneously be the leader of a club that rips all good things apart. It's like Mom warned me and Ellie, the Twisted Kings aren't capable of good—only death and pain.

I should have known I'd made a mistake the moment I stepped back into his territory. But Ellie deserves justice, so even if Kane found me, it doesn't matter. I'm here for my sister. I'm going to get vengeance for what happened to her.

Now that Kane lured me back, I'll finish what I started.

After leaving eight years ago, I checked in on occasion. I heard when the Twisted Kings took down Satan's Reapers and knew they assumed it was because they were responsible for kidnapping us. And even if my time in the basement taught me that they were involved, I knew they weren't the only ones behind it.

Nick was clearly one of the men out for revenge. He and two of Satan's Reapers frequented the basement in the week we were held captive. But someone else was pulling the strings, and they never showed their face. They could have been someone from Satan's Reapers; they could have been a Twisted King. For all I know, they could have been someone off the street. And they disappeared into thin air with the fallout.

It wasn't over.

Someone wanted Kane's place years ago, and they failed in their efforts. But if Kane was determined enough to lure me back now, they must be making another move.

Kane doesn't do things out of the goodness of his heart. He doesn't care that I'm his daughter. To him, this is business, not a family reunion.

Kane took us in when we were ten out of obligation. Mom was gone and his ego was too big for him to let anyone else raise his flesh and blood. But he never liked being around us. He didn't go out of his way to get to know who we were as people.

We looked too much like our mother with our dark hair and big eyes. And even if he'll never admit it, I think that haunted him.

We were an example of the kind of man Kane isn't capable of being—loyal, honest.

He has the respect of his club, but he was a terrible partner to my mom and an even worse father to us. He's not capable of love and commitment.

Looking back, I don't blame Mom for leaving. Kane made her life hell even when she wasn't with him. He dictated how we were raised even when we lived in the city, and he had the club scare away anyone Mom started dating.

He didn't want her, but that didn't mean someone else could have her.

So he pushed her until she stopped coming back.

Kane walks up to the gate and pauses, looking at me through the slats. I wonder if he notices how much I've changed, or if he barely remembers what I looked like back then.

"When can I go?" I ask. I'm lying to myself if I think there's a chance he'll let me just walk out of here.

Kane leans against the stall opposite mine and pulls out his cigarettes. He brings one to his lips and lights it. The glow of the burning ember reminds me of a hot knife, and it has my skin itching when I'm locked up in this place.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I take a step back, watching him.

He takes in a drag and then pulls the cigarette from his mouth, flicking it. Tiny embers scatter to the ground. Maybe one will catch something on fire, and we can all just burn up like the devil wants.

"You're in danger," he says, pinning me with his stare.

I roll my eyes. "And this is news?"

Kane's never appreciated my tone, but he lets it go.

"You're not leaving until I know you'll be safe."

"I'm your daughter. I'll never be safe."

He takes in another drag of his cigarette, meeting my eyes, and not arguing. We both know that even if he's telling himself I'm only here because someone is after me, it's not a one-time situation.

Someone is always after him, which means someone's always after me.

"Sage has a spare room, so you can stay with him." He drops the cigarette to the ground and puts it out with the toe of his shoe.

I'm already shaking my head. "No."

"You aren't crashing at the club." His eyes narrow. "And I'm guessing you'd like something a bit more comfortable than this stall."

"Well, I'm not staying with Sage." The thought of being in such close quarters with him drains the blood from my face. "Besides, I thought you were the one who always said you didn't want me around bikers."

"Sage isn't one."

"He works for you." At least, I assume so, given he's still doing my father's bidding, patched or not.

"Not exactly." Kane shakes his head. "But I trust him to keep you safe."

"Safe from what exactly?"

It's the least he owes me—the truth about why I'm in so much trouble. Why I was taken all those years ago and haven't slept through the night since.

Kane drops his gaze to the ground and thinks, kicking his burned-out cigarette around and not answering my question. And when he looks back up at me, any shred of humanity is replaced by the cold glare of one of the most ruthless men I've ever been face-to-face with.

"I'll check in with Sage tomorrow." He lifts off the stall and steps toward me. "Let him know if you need anything."

If he meant that, I'd tell him that what I need is to get as far away as I can. That staying with Sage is the worst thing I could do. But he doesn't actually care. It's a formality.

A cold chill tickles my skin this early in the morning. And with the sun just starting to rise, everything is a shade of gold.

I wish in this moment that I still had a family. My mom, my sister. I wish Kane felt like a father. That he could bring comfort like all those things I read about in stories as a kid.

Camping trips, roasting marshmallows, movie nights.

He can't. And the only person who ever did feel like home hates me now.

I look up at Kane and there's a blank sheet of concern masking his emotions. "Be good."

Parting words that sound more like a threat as he walks away.

Kane disappears down the tunnel, and I don't bother watching him go. I'm alone with or without him here.

After a moment, Sage once more walks up to the stall, unlocking it and swinging it open.

"You're actually okay with this?" I glare at him.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He keeps his expression passive, and I hate how easy it is for him to do that.

It reminds me of when I was a teenager, and he was still pretending he saw me as his sister. Like we don't have a past, and it means nothing for him to see me after all this time.

Maybe it doesn't. And that thought takes a bite out of me.

"Maybe I'll just run again the second you turn your back." I step forward, not stopping until I'm directly in front of him. "How do you think Kane will feel if I get away from you twice?"

Now I'm trying to piss him off, and I can't help it. It's either that or I'll stand here focusing on the fact that we're alone and all I can think about is how he still smells like leather, even without his cut. How his hair is shorter, but messier than it used to be. How his T-shirt hugs tattooed muscle, and it's distracting when I'm not going down that road again.

I expect Sage to get angry because irritating him is easier than facing my feelings. But he surprises me by looking amused instead. Sage leans in, so close I get a hit of motor oil and pine trees.

"I already learned that lesson. You won't get away from me this time, butterfly."

"Says who?"

But instead of answering with words, his gaze drops to my neck—and suddenly I feel it.

Reaching for my throat, I run my fingers over a half-inch leather choker secured around my neck.

"What is this?" I tug on it, but it barely pulls a quarter inch away from my skin.

"Insurance." He dips his finger under the band of the choker and pulls me close. "Run all you want, but I'll find you, Lyla. And I'll drag you back here when I do. I gave it all up for you once. That's not happening again."

He releases me, taking a step back.

"And there's no use trying to take it off." He narrows his gaze. "I'm the only one with the key. It stays on until Kane says otherwise."

Scratching at my throat, it swells with my nerves. I search for a clasp, but there's no use. He's sick. He's twisted. He's tracking me.

Sage really has changed.

"What happened to you?"

He skims me up and down with his lethal obsidian eyes. "I grew up."

Turning, he makes his way through the stalls, not waiting to see if I follow because he knows I will.

I'm not staying a second longer in a place where the Twisted Kings murder people—not to mention, that's probably not the worst they do here.

He keeps pace ahead of me, but even with the gap, his presence is a physical being.

Sage is a storm. He"s a change in the air, subtle enough that if you aren't familiar with chaos, you won't sense him on the horizon. But I do. I feel him—impending destruction.

Rain out for purging with no mercy for what it washes away.

He glances over his shoulder, and he's thunder in early morning. I should run. I should take cover. And yet, like I can"t help myself, I just want to stand in the rain.

Sage drives me back to Twisted Roses, leading me to the staircase that climbs the side of the building.

"You still live up here?" I ask as he waits for me to walk ahead of him up the staircase.

The moment the gate latches behind us, I feel him close in. It could be the darkness, or it could just be his presence. But in this hidden corner in LA, Sage is close, and I'm flooded with reminders of how good it feels being around him.

"Yep," Sage says, reaching around me to unlock the door and waiting for me to walk through.

He flicks on the light the moment we enter, and it takes me by surprise. For all the times I stopped by the shop, I'd never been up here.

It's bigger than I expected. The kitchen is open to the living area, and two large couches face a giant television. It's twice the size of the motel rooms I'm used to. And even if I've had an apartment on occasion over the years, they weren't very nice.

Sage's apartment is surprisingly decorated. Like the tattoo parlor below us. Gothic art, flowers, and bones on every wall.

Something about the spooky décor feels more like me than it does him, and I'm not sure what to think about that.

At one end of the apartment is a hallway, and Sage guides me to it, pointing at an open door as we pass. "Spare bathroom." He points to a door on the right. "Bedroom." He points to another. "My room." Finally, he stops at the end of the hall. "And this one's yours."

Sage swings the door open and it makes a hollow sound. The walls are probably thin enough to hear everything through them.

"This work?" he asks, stopping in the doorway while I make my way into the room.

"It's fine." I scan the space. "Nice wallpaper."

Black rose wallpaper covers the walls, and it's prettier than I'd expect from Sage. An intricate pattern that, like everything else hung up in this place, doesn't feel like him.

"It's been here since I moved in." He shrugs.

Nodding, I take in the small room. The space is mostly filled with a clunky bed and a dresser, with not much room to walk, but I don't mind it. At least there will be four walls and a door between us.

Dropping down onto the bed, I lean back on my hands and feel Sage's focus intensify. Something between hate and interest brews in his eyes as he takes a step back.

"So what is it you do for Kane exactly?"

"You mean, your dad?"

I glare at him. "You and I both know that's only blood."

"Either way." Sage tucks his thumbs in his pockets. "You have questions, you can ask him."

"Fine. Maybe I will."

I don't know what's worse. The fact that I never thought I'd see Sage again, or that now that he's standing in front of me, he's a wall of ice that there's no chipping through.

"I've got to head out for a few minutes to take care of some business. But I'll be back."

"I'll be here." I force a venomous smile and tap the choker around my neck. "And even if I'm not, you'll know where to find me."

"I will," is all he says, his gaze flaring as I stroke my fingers across the choker.

For a man who seems to want nothing to do with me anymore, he sure seems to like the idea of tracking my every movement.

"Get some sleep."

I glance at the clock. "It's eight-thirty in the morning."

"And it's been a long night." He slams the door behind him, cutting our conversation off.

Locking me in my tower while he leaves to do God only knows what. I'm a prisoner in chains, and there's no escape.

I lay back on the mattress, hating to admit that Sage is right, and I'm exhausted.

Down the hall I hear the front door open and close, confirming the walls are as thin as I thought they were. And in the silence, I want to believe I'll find what I came back to LA for—answers. Light at the end of this very dark tunnel.

But as I lie on the bed and close my eyes, the skeletons from the shop window play in front of me. They taunt me.

Destiny is a bitch, and she finally caught up.