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Across the bar, Jessie looks over. Her face cracks into a grin. “Hey, look what the cat dragged in!” she announces.
A group of five men enter, all wearing leather vests, jeans, and boots. Bikers. Lit from the back, they’re just silhouettes at first. Their builds are muscular, their voices carrying into the bar as one cracks a joke and the rest of them let out deep rumbles of laughter. Jessie isn’t the only one who knows them; other patrons call out to them, and a few of them lift their hands in greeting. I don’t recognize any of the names: Rourke. Axel. Rogue. Mal. Matthias. I’m about to turn away when one of the bikers, taller than the others with a close-cropped red beard, looks in my direction.
His eyes lock on me, widening at first. Then narrowing.
My chest constricts. My stomach does a sickening lurch as I realize who is staring back at me.
It’s him. It’s Brody.
Oh my god.
Somewhere far off,Vinnie asks me if there’s something wrong.
I choke out a no, my voice sounding fuzzy and indistinct to my ears.
Brody gives me a scorching stare of pure hatred, then turns away. He sits down with his friends at a six-top in the center of the room.
Vinnie’s eyes follow mine to the bikers. He must think I’m staring out of curiosity. “Those are the Lords of Carnage,” he says. “They’re no one to fuck with, but don’t worry. They’re only dangerous to those who cross them.”
“Is that right?” I hear myself say. Shakily, I bring the glass of beer to my lips.
“Yeah. They own the bar, actually.”
“Oh.”
Somehow, I can’t make my brain form more than a couple of words at a time.
I can’t believe Brody is still in town — and even worse, I can’t believe that it took me less than twenty-four hours in Ironwood to run into him. I curse myself for ordering this second beer. I’m deciding whether to just abandon it so I can escape when Brody himself stands up from the table and comes toward the bar.
“Oh shit,” I whisper, and duck my head.
“Don’t worry,” Vinnie assures me. “None of the Lords would ever harm a chick — I mean, woman.”
Brody comes to a stop at the bar, his gaze still burning a hole through me. Vinnie reaches out a fist for him to bump. “Rogue, how ya doin’?”
Rogue?
Brody has always been tall, but if anything he seems like he’s grown taller since last I saw him. I could wear my highest pair of heels and still not come up much past his chin. His arms are thickly muscled and hard, like steel bands. Tattoos — those are new — line his arms up and down, almost like sleeves. I have to block out the sudden memory of how they used to feel when they encircle me. The warm heat of him was always so comforting — and so exciting at the same time. It was like coming home.
I always used to say that home was wherever he was. Back then, he believe me.
Vinnie must not notice the hostility radiating from him. Though I can’t imagine how he can miss it. He does see Brody looking at me, though.
“This here is Rory,” Vinnie says, nodding toward me. “She’s visiting from out of town.”
Brody makes a noise in his throat.
“We’ve met,” he rasps.
“Oh yeah?” Vinnie asks. “How do you two know each other?”
Brody —Rogue— waits a beat before answering.
“She’s my wife.”
3
ROGUE
