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“Is that blood?” Salem's panicked gaze meets mine as Taylor and Christian's voices echo from inside.

“Dude, just… hang on! Stop being a bitch. Let me clean it.”

“Fuck off, pendejo.”

“You wanna get staph or some shit? Let me fucking clean it.”

I reach for the ruined door, and we step inside to find Tay seated at the small table, cradling his best friend's bloody jaw.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, pulse quickening.

Christian’s face is… a mess. Two swollen eyes blink over at us. “Came home and found Arya fucking Devon.”

Salem sucks in a breath. “What?”

“Didn’t believe it at first. Thought maybe we'd walked into the wrong RV, but nope. There she was riding his massive dick.”

I glance at Salem, utterly confused because weren't they sharing Arya? Had I misunderstood the situation? “Where are they now?”

“Huck took Arya in the truck and Dev sped off before I could catch a murder charge.” Christian meets my gaze, his bruised features wrapped in rage and heartbreak. “I didn’t hurt her. I'd never do that.”

Taylor sighs before dipping a bloody cloth into a bowl of water. “But you sure kicked Devon's ass, though.”

“You did what?” I screech, tugging at my hair. “He's still healing from when Salem kicked his ass!”

“What'd you want me to do, cabrón? Stand there and watch while he fucked my girl?”

“But you were both fucking her already!”

Christian laughs bitterly. “Not anymore.”

Salem spins toward the door without hearing another word. “I’ll take the Audi and go get her.”

“Guess I'll look for Dev,” I mumble, following close behind.

Christian calls my name before I can shut the door.

“If you wanna find him,” he says, flinching when Taylor dabs at another cut, “look for somewhere dark where he can see the stars. Fucker likes to look at them for some reason.”

I nod and step outside in time to watch my wife drive away, kicking up dirt in her wake. She didn't even say goodbye. My heart twists sharply.

Just like that, whatever peace we happened to find tonight turns to sand and slips right through my fingers.

After calling and texting at least a dozen times, Dev finally drops me a pin to his location. That's all I get from him. No explanation, no message back. Just coordinates that I have to call an Uber for.

It takes about thirty minutes, but eventually I find him on the outskirts of town, nestled in some trees overlooking the Missouri River. He's lying on his bike, head against the handlebars and a joint in his mouth when I pull into the clearing.

When the driver drops me off, I climb out slowly, gravel crunching under my sneakers. Dev doesn’t move, doesn’t even look my way. Just takes a drag off his joint with his eyes trained on the darkened sky. Moonlight illuminates the blood coating the side of his face, and his knuckles are just as bruised as Christian's.

For a second, I stand there, watching the wind whip brown waves around his battered face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dev exhales smoke without lifting his head. “You came all the way out here just to scold me?”

I grit my teeth and storm over to pluck the joint from his mouth. “Was the ass kicking from Salem not enough? You wanted more? Is that it?”

“You smell like sex,” he mumbles, glassy eyes finally swinging my way. “She finally put out for you? Or did you put out for her?”

“Don't talk about my wife that way, asshole.”