CRAVING THE WRONG MAN

SHE WAS 2

RHETT

“You shouldn't use that word now,” I continue. “You don't get to ride into my garage in the middle of the night and demand that I hand her back to you because you've suddenly remembered she belongs to you.”

“She doesn't belong to anyone.”

Something changes in his voice when he says it, and I study him carefully.

There it is. The part of my brother I knew was always there.

I've seen it over the years in ways Saint probably never noticed himself. The way his eyes followed Mia when she walked into a room. The way he remembered things she said while pretending he hadn't been listening. The way his temper changed whenever she was hurt.

Saint loved Maren. I never doubted that. But somewhere along the way, Mia had gotten underneath his skin too. He simply hadn't realized how deep she'd gotten until he thought he had lost her.

Maybe that's what makes this so satisfying, and maybe that's what makes it dangerous, because I want him to hurt. But when I look at Saint standing there, desperate for an answer, I realize I don't want Mia to become the prize in a war between two brothers. She deserves to become the person who decides where she goes next.

“You know what your problem is?” I ask.

Saint stares at me.

“You thought that because you didn't choose Mia in that room, you didn't want her.”

His expression hardens. “You don't know what I feel.”

“I know you better than you think.”

He takes another step forward, but my men immediately shift. I lift one hand, and they stop.

“Go home, Saint.”

“Tell me where she is.”

“No. Because I don't know where she is”

His eyes narrow. “You know where she is.”

I say nothing, and his expression changes when he realizes that my silence is confirmation enough.

“You do.”

I hold his gaze for a second “I know where she isn't.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

The answer isn't entirely a lie, and that is all he is getting.

His fists tighten. “Rhett, I'm warning you.”

I almost smile. “You're warning me?”

I take another step toward him until only a few feet separate us.

“Brother, you should be worrying about yourself.”

He looks ready to argue, but I continue before he gets the chance. “You came here looking for the woman you abandoned. You should have gone back to that warehouse first. You should have searched there and stayed there until you found her.”

His face pales slightly. “Why?”

“Are you stupid? Because that's where you left her.”

Silence settles between us as he absorbs that.

“You want to know where Mia is?” I ask quietly. “Go find the place where you abandoned her. Maybe you'll find something useful. Maybe you'll find nothing. Either way, that's your problem now.”

Saint looks at me as though he wants to tear the answer out of me, but I don't move.

Finally, his voice drops. “Is she alive?”

The question is hits harder than everything else he's said.

For a moment, Mia's face comes back to me. I remember the exhaustion in her eyes and the way she had asked me to make her husband believe she was dead. I could give Saint the answer he wants, but a selfish part of me didn't want to.

Instead, I tell him, “You should live with not knowing that.”

His eyes flicker. “That isn't an answer.”

“No,” I tell him. “It's the consequence.”

Something shifts across his face, and for the first time since he arrived, he looks less like the president of Night Saints and more like a man who has realized that the consequences of one decision might follow him much further than he expected.

He turns sharply toward his men. “Let's go.”

They begin mounting their motorcycles while Saint remains where he is for another moment, his eyes fixed on mine.

“If she's hurt—”

I cut him off before he can finish. “If she's hurt, remember who left her there and who caused it.”

His jaw clenches, and then he gets on his motorcycle.

The engines roar to life one after another, and the bikes disappear through the gate until the sound gradually fades into the distance.

I remain standing in the middle of the lot, watching the empty road long after the last taillight disappears. Only then do I realize my hands are clenched, so I slowly open them and flex my fingers as I turn back toward the garage.

Three years ago, I told myself leaving Night Saints would solve the problem. I could build Black Reign, establish my own territory, and stay far enough away from Mia that wanting her would eventually become a memory and fade.

But It didn't.

I remember the day she married Saint every time I think about the years I spent away from her. I remember standing and forcing myself to stay still while my brother put a ring on the woman I had spent years pretending I didn't want.

I knew Saint loved Maren. I knew Mia loved Saint. And I knew exactly how badly that combination could end.

So I left.

Not because I stopped caring about Mia. I left because I cared enough to know I couldn't stay close to her and pretend I didn't want something I had no right to have.

I built Black Reign instead. I made myself busy enough that there was no room for her in my head. Business, territory, deals, money, blood—anything that kept my mind occupied.

It worked until tonight.

One phone call from Mia, and three years of distance disappeared.

I look toward the building, and the realization settles more heavily than I want it to. I don't only want to protect her. I want her, the way I want her is so f*****g dangerous that I want to keep my distance and swallow every urge of having her near me.

I've wanted her for years, and she's vulnerable now, hurt and betrayed, standing at the exact point where a man like me could make himself necessary to her.

But I refuse to take advantage of that. I'm not Saints and I'm not nice either, she doesn't know the world I ran yet.

I turn away and head back inside.

The message I sent to Mia's discarded phone was never meant to lead Saint to her. I knew he would send someone to find it, and I wanted him to find enough of a clue to know she might be alive. I wanted him searching, and I wanted him afraid, but I also wanted him nowhere near her.

This garage is one of several I have scattered throughout Chicago, useful places that keep my business moving without exposing Black Reign's real operations. Saint knows better than to come near my territory, which makes this the safest place to keep Mia tonight.

Tomorrow, I'll take her home to Black Reign with me.

For now, she needs rest, food, medicine, and enough strength to leave this place on her own feet.

I reach her door and stop with my hand on the handle. I want to walk in there and tell her that she doesn't have to worry about Saint anymore. I want to tell her that I'll make sure he never touches her again. More than anything, I want to tell her that she can stay with me.

But wanting those things doesn't give me the right to ask for them.

So I open the door instead.

Mia looks up immediately, her eyes searching my face.

“Did he believe you?”

I close the door behind me. “No.”

She goes still, and I can see the disappointment cross her face.

“I thought you were going to convince him I was dead.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

I look at her for a long moment. I could tell her the truth—that I won't lie for Saint, that I won't give him the comfort of believing Mia is dead, and that some selfish part of me wants him to suffer for what he did.

But there is another reason I keep to myself. I want Mia alive far more than I want Saint comfortable.

“Because I'm not going to help you disappear by turning your death into another thing Saint can regret.”

She stares at me. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth.”

Her brow furrows. “What truth?”

I take a step closer. “That he should go back to where he left you.”

Her lips part slightly. “And?”

“He left.”

Mia looks down, and something tightens in my chest. I want to reach for her, but I don't because I want to too much.

“You're leaving with me after tonight,” I tell her.

She looks up instantly “Where?”

“Somewhere your husband won't come looking for you. Black reign”