34. Ayla

34

AYLA

A fter what feels like an eternity, I force myself to my feet. I’ve heard the front door open multiple times and heard the hushed talk through the door. It’s time to face them. Gathering every ounce of courage, I take a deep breath and step out into the hallway. My pulse pounds in my ears as I make my way toward the living room on unsteady legs.

I stop short in the entryway, surprised to see Teller, Kip, and Clay settled on the couch, each looking up at me the second they see me, their bodies tense and faces strained.

Teller leans forward, elbows on his knees, dark hair shading his eyes. Kip’s shoulders hunch, his usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow. Clay’s chiseled features are set like stone, but his gray eyes are soft with concern as they meet mine.

Relief washes over their expressions at the sight of me, and they start to rise. But I hold up a hand, keeping them in place. “Wait,” I say, my voice carrying across the room. “It’s my time to talk.”

They exchange wary glances but settle back onto the cushions. The silence stretches taut between us, the air electric with unspoken thoughts and emotions. I lick my dry lips, steeling myself, knowing I can’t back down now. It’s time for the truth to come out, as painful and messy as it may be. No more secrets.

I square my shoulders and look each of them dead in the eye. “How many women have you shared before me?” The question hangs heavy, the words bitter on my tongue.

Shock registers on their faces, followed by a flash of guilt. They shift uncomfortably, gazes darting between each other. The silence grows, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Teller clears his throat. “Ayla, it’s not--“

“Don’t.” I cut him off, my voice sharp as a razor’s edge. “Just answer the question.”

Another beat of loaded silence. Then, barely above a whisper, Clay confesses, “Three.”

The single word slams into me like a physical blow. I suck in a breath, fighting the sting of tears. Three women. Three other women who have been exactly where I am now, tangled up in this complicated web of these three and lust and...what? Love? The thought makes me want to laugh. Or cry. I’m not sure which.

Kip leans forward, his expression pained. “Ayla, please, let us explain...”

But I’m not done. I need to know. Masochistic as it may be, I have to hear the whole truth. “Were they relationships?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly. “Or just casual sex?”

They exchange another heavy look. Teller runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “Just sex,” he admits quietly.

Just sex. The words echo in my mind, taunting me. Is that all I am to them too? Another warm body to share, another notch on their belts? The thought makes my stomach turn. Whatever we had always felt like more than just something casual.

I press my lips together, fighting back the swell of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Hurt, anger, jealousy, fear - they all clamor for attention, warring inside my chest. But I refuse to break. Not here, not now. Not in front of them.

Steadying myself with a deep breath, I meet their gazes head-on. “Is that what this is too?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Am I just convenient sex for you?”

“No!” Clay exclaims, surging to his feet. His eyes blaze with intensity as he takes a step toward me. “Ayla, what we have with you...it’s real. It’s so much more than just sex.”

Kip nods fervently, his expression earnest. “We care about you, Ayla. Deeply. This isn’t some casual fling for us.”

I want to believe them. God, how I want to believe them. But the doubts slither through my mind, insidious and persistent. I’ve been hurt before, betrayed by those I trusted most. Can I really afford to let my guard down again? If I do and I’m betrayed, I don’t think I’ll make it.

Teller must see the uncertainty in my eyes because he stands slowly, approaching me with a gentle expression. “Ayla,” he murmurs, reaching out to cup my face in his hands. “Look at me. Really look at me.”

I do, searching his gaze for any hint of deception or insincerity. But all I find is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes my breath away.

“Promise me,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Promise me you’re telling the truth.”

“I promise,” Teller says solemnly, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “We all do.”

Kip and Clay nod in agreement, their expressions mirroring Teller’s sincerity.

Something loosens in my chest, a knot of tension unraveling. I feel like I can finally breathe again, the weight of uncertainty lifting from my shoulders. They mean it. They really mean it.

I sag against Teller, letting him wrap his arms around me as I bury my face in his chest. Clay and Kip move in, enveloping me in a warm embrace.

Teller’s arms tighten around me as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “We’re sorry we weren’t upfront with you from the start, Ayla. We should have been.”

I nod against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent. “There’s something else I need to know,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Piper...do you really not know which one of you is her father?”

The brothers exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. It’s Clay who speaks first, his voice low and measured. “We know it’s one of us,” he admits. “But it doesn’t matter which one. We’re all committed to raising her together.”

Kip nods in agreement, his hand finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Piper is our daughter, Ayla. All of ours.”

I feel a swell of admiration for their unity, for the unwavering bond between them. It’s a kind of loyalty I’ve never experienced before, a depth of commitment that takes my breath away.

“I need you to understand something,” I say softly, my gaze moving from one brother to the next. “I’m vulnerable with you, and I don’t keep secrets. I need to know that you won’t keep anymore from me either.”

The tension in the room is palpable, a heaviness that settles over us like a weighted blanket. I study their faces, searching for any hint of what they might be holding back. Clay’s jaw is clenched, his eyes darting away from mine. Kip’s leg bounces nervously, his fingers drumming against his thigh. And Teller... Teller’s gaze is fixed on the floor, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for impact.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Something you haven’t told me.”

The silence stretches on, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my palms slick with sweat. I’m not sure I want to know the answer, but I can’t live with the uncertainty. I need to know everything or this is never going to work.

“Please,” I breathe, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I need the truth.”

Teller’s head snaps up, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a wariness in his eyes, a hesitation that sends a chill down my spine. He glances at his brothers, a silent communication passing between them.

“Ayla...” he begins, his voice rough with emotion. “We... we’re part of the Black Wolves.”

I blink, the words taking a moment to register. “The Black Wolves? What’s that?”

Teller takes a deep breath, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle. “It’s a motorcycle club. We’re members.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis, the floor shifting beneath my feet. A motorcycle club. Images flash through my mind - leather jackets, roaring engines, danger lurking in the shadows. Kyle coming home after a meeting already drunk, ready for a fight over anything and everything. Blood already on his knuckles as he makes my mother take off his jacket. It’s everything I’ve been running from, everything I’ve been trying to escape.

“A motorcycle club,” I repeat, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “Like... like gangs and stuff?”

Kip flinches at the word, his eyes filling with pain. “We’re not a gang, Ayla. It’s not like that.”

But I’m barely listening, my mind reeling with the implications. How could I have been so blind? How could I have let myself fall for men who are part of a world I want nothing to do with? I knew they rode motorcycles, and I was fine with it when I thought they did it for fun. Not when they’re part of a club. Motorcycle clubs had a bad reputation in my area that had a bloody history. Kyle used to talk about wanting to join one, even going as far as buying a bike but he would often too drunk to ride it.

I take a step back, my legs trembling beneath me. I need air. I need space. I need to get away from here, away from them.

“I... I can’t do this,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I can’t...”

And then I’m turning, my feet carrying me towards the door. I can hear them calling after me, their voices laced with desperation. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I have to get out of here. I have to run.