Demon went on. "Look, I'm n.o.body to give anybody advice, so I'm just gonna say what she said, and then I can tell her that I talked to you, and you can tell her that I talked to you, and I can stop hearing about how I should talk to you, okay?"

"Jesus Christ. No offense, Deme, but-"

"Yeah, I know. None taken. She thinks that you're going off the rails and that I'm the perfect person to help you out with that, since, according to my wife, off the rails is where I lived until she fixed me."

At that, the anger that had been boiling up inside him cooled, and Connor laughed. "She's right. About you, anyway."

Demon grinned. "I know. Just...look. If you want to talk, I'm here. I don't know what I could do to help, but...you know. I'm here."

Before Connor could get out the 'thanks but no thanks' he had cued up, an image of Pilar curled up on the floor filled his head. He hadn't seen or talked to her since that day. Four days ago. The last thing he'd ever done to the woman he loved was hurt her. Because he was off the rails.

So instead of telling Demon, legendary club psycho, that he didn't need his help, the words that left his mouth were, "I hurt her. I lost my s.h.i.t, and I think I really hurt her. I know I did."

Demon had been looking down at his lap. Now he turned to Connor. There was no condemnation there. Just...understanding. They hadn't even been talking about Pilar, but Demon was still right there with him. Understanding. "I'm sorry, brother."

"Sorry for me? Why? I'm the one who did the hurting, not the other way around."

"I don't know. Guess I'm sorry because I know what it's like. It hurts, too, doing something like that when you don't mean it."

Connor leaned back in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. "Everything is just f.u.c.ked. I'm so f.u.c.ked up. She's better off."

Demon laughed at that, his face lighting up with real humor.

Connor was deeply offended. "f.u.c.k you. It's not funny."

"No, sorry. It's just..." Demon made his face serious. "Remember the day I went apes.h.i.t at Bart and Riley's? I went after Hooj and beat the s.h.i.t out of him?"

"Uh, yeah. Hard to forget."

"I almost bailed on everything that day-the club, Faith, my kid. Everything. Muse was here-he'd been shot. I came to tell him goodbye. He called me on my bulls.h.i.t. And he told me that if I wanted to be right, I had to deal with what was wrong. He said I needed to know what I wanted and then do what I needed to do to make it happen. It was good advice. You know, I haven't lost my s.h.i.t since. It was a simple thing, but it never occurred to me, that most of what was wrong in my head was the way I thought about things. I never knew that I could fix that."

"Moron."

"Yep. But you, too, maybe."

Maybe so. Leaning his head back against the wall, Connor closed his eyes.

What did he want? What could he do to make it happen?

He hadn't called first; he wasn't sure how he'd be received, so he thought it would be better if he just showed up. He understood her work schedule now, and he knew when she was off and when she wasn't.

So when Connor pulled into Pilar's driveway, he saw her Element there, as he'd expected.

He hadn't expected to see Moore's truck behind it.

But okay. He took a breath. His jealousy was his problem, not hers. Not Moore's. He had to make it right in his head, because that was the only thing that was wrong about that friendship: the way he thought about them. If he wanted her, he had to get right with her life-her friends, her work, all of it.

And he wanted her.

So he dismounted and prepared to be civil to her best friend, who'd never been anything but civil to him.

Before he got to her porch, though, her front door came open, and Moore charged out at him. He landed a ma.s.sive roundhouse right in Connor's face before Connor could even get his hands up. The blow took them both to the ground, and then Moore was astride him, pummeling him, all facial blows, back and forth, right and left, the force of the right-handed blows weakened by his injury.

Connor knew why it was happening, and he let him do it. He didn't fight back at all. After a while, winded and flagging, Moore sat back. "Fight me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Fight back. I want to f.u.c.king kill you."

"No." Connor had to force the word through an already-swelling mouth. "I earned it."

"Yeah, you did. Get the f.u.c.k out of here."

"Moore, stop. Get up." Pilar's voice was rough, like she had a cold. But Connor knew she didn't.

"Cordero, no way." Moore looked over his shoulder. From his position on the ground, Connor couldn't see, but he'd heard her voice and imagined her standing in the doorway.

"Yes. Get up."

Moore glared down at him and then stood up.

Connor rolled to his knees and spat out a mouthful of blood. No teeth, thankfully. They felt surprisingly secure in his gums. He stood and turned.

Pilar was standing right where he'd imagined, wearing her favorite pair of sweatpants and an old, loose t-shirt with a stretched-out collar.

Her throat was mottled about every color of the rainbow. To get that kind of bruising-f.u.c.k, he'd almost killed her.

"Jesus, baby. I'm so sorry."

Standing between them, Moore scoffed dramatically.

Pilar moved her attention to her friend. "You should go, Moore. I'm fine."

"Oh, that is so much bulls.h.i.t. I am not leaving you alone with him. Absolutely not."

"You are, because I'm telling you to go."

"Pilar-"

"Kyle. Go."

Moore turned to Connor. "You hurt her again, and I will hunt your a.s.s down. I don't care how many biker a.s.sholes you hide behind. I will put my fist down your throat and pull your heart out."

Connor laughed a little at that-with respect, not derision. It was a good threat, all the more powerful because it was sincere. "Understood. I'm not gonna hurt her."

Then Moore turned to Pilar. "I'm calling every half hour. You pick up, or I am bringing the cavalry back here."

"Okay. Just go."

"I can't f.u.c.king believe this," he muttered, stomping past Connor on the way to his truck.

Connor stood where he was, and so did Pilar, until Moore had pulled out of the driveway and driven off.

And they were alone, staring at each other. His eyes fell from hers and focused on her throat. What had he done?

When he started toward her, she took a wary step backward and pulled the door close, so that it was only open the width of her body. He stopped. "I'm not going to hurt you. I've never wanted to hurt you."

She put her hand to her throat. "What do you want?"

"To make us right. I love you. I need you."

"You say that, but I don't know what that means to you."

"Will you let me in so we can talk about it?"

"The last time I let you in, this happened." Her fingers moved down her bruised throat.

She had fought him, asked him to hurt her, demanded that they 'f.u.c.k it out.' He'd been trying to leave. That thought, however, amounted to a rejoinder of 'you started it,' and even to himself, it sounded childish and wrongheaded. Yet the thought wanted to be expressed. "You...you said..."

She shook her head before he could get it out. "You know this wasn't what I meant."

Yes, he did. He knew what she meant when she wanted to be hurt, and strangled to death was not it. "I know. I'm sorry."

"So we talk. Only that."

"Only that. Mutual agreement."

She stared at him until the weight of the silence was oppressive. And then she stepped back and pushed the door all the way open.

"Okay."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

"Sit. I'll get you some ice."

Connor sat on her sofa, as he had the last time she'd invited him in. He didn't bother to take his kutte off. Usually, it was the first thing he did, so Pilar had the sense that he was staying ready to leave as quickly as possible. For the best, probably.

"I don't need ice."

She laughed. "Yeah, you do. Just hold on."

In the kitchen, she collected her first aid kit and a clean towel and then got a bag of frozen corn out of the freezer.

Back in the living room, she sat on the table in front of him and opened the kit at her side. As she tore open an antiseptic wipe and began to clean up his mangled face, she said, "So talk."

He reached out, his fingers stretched toward her throat, and she flinched back; she didn't want him to touch her, not yet, and certainly not there. His hand froze, and their eyes met.

"I'm so sorry."

"So you've said." She believed him; even if she were inclined not to, the remorse in his eyes was deep and sincere. But he had hurt her-and terrified her. She'd thought she was dying. But it wasn't the worst thing he'd done that day.

She didn't say it, not yet. But the worst thing he'd done that day was leave. He'd walked away before she'd even known if she could get off the floor on her own.

He let his hand fall to his lap, and for a minute he quietly let her clean his bleeding face. As she dabbed antibiotic ointment onto a swab, he said, "I want to fix us. Is there a chance?"

Holding the swab, she looked hard at him. Moore had done a number on him-his lip was split, his cheek and nose were bleeding, and his left eye was swelling shut. "Why do you want to-and don't say because you need me. Or even because you love me. Why do you want me in your life?"

He didn't answer right away, and she dabbed ointment onto the gash in his cheek. If he didn't have an answer, then she wasn't sure what the f.u.c.king point of all this was. She could have answered; she'd thought a lot about the question. She'd argued with Moore about it. f.u.c.k, she'd asked it of herself as she was stepping back and letting Connor in a few minutes before.

She loved him, wanted him, because when she was with him, she felt bright and alive. He was funny and bold, kind and smart. He challenged her, competed with her. He knew how to have a good time, but there was real depth to him, too-a depth he protected from most people. But he'd let her in.

The fact that he was about the most gorgeous man she'd ever known and they had blistering hot s.e.x barely mattered in comparison to all of that.

"Do you know how amazing you are?"

At Connor's question, Pilar pulled away a little and focused on his eyes. "That's not an answer."

"Jesus, Pilar. I don't know how to say it. When I'm away from you, I want to be with you. When I'm with you, I don't want to leave. When something happens, good or bad, I want to tell you. I'm...f.u.c.k, I'm so f.u.c.king proud when I think about you or talk about you. Ow." He winced as she pressed on his cheek, closing the wound with a b.u.t.terfly bandage. "Proud that you're mine. When I think about what's next, the future, I want you in it. I see you in my life. You are amazing. You're so much better than I am."

"What?"

"You're a hero. Your job is literally to be a hero-you even told me that, so I know you see it that way, too. Me-I'm an outlaw. You spend your life fixing the s.h.i.t people like me f.u.c.k up. You and Moore, that's what you do."

"Oh f.u.c.k me, Connor. Not this again." She shoved back, but he grabbed her-not hard, but enough to make her tense.

"No. I'm trying to explain my trouble with him. I don't think you're f.u.c.king him. And if we're not over, then I will get right with him in your life. But there's so much in your life that's...f.u.c.k, that's admirable. I'm jealous of all of it. I'm like a black smudge in your life."

"Connor, that's nuts."

"Maybe. I never thought of myself like that before. I've been happy with myself. Loved my life. But compared to you..."

Her phone rang. Moore. She answered, "Dude, it hasn't been half an hour. And I'm fine. Everything is fine. Do not call again, because I'm not gonna answer. I will call if I need you. Okay?"

After a beat of silence on the line, she repeated, "Okay?"

Finally, Moore's voice filled her ear. "You better f.u.c.king call."

"If I need you, I will. Otherwise, I'll see you at the barn in the morning. Go kill zombies now."

"s.h.i.t, Cordero. You better know what you're doing."

"I do. Good night. And thank you."

After she ended the call, she picked up the thread of conversation. She'd been thinking about what Connor had said the whole time she was talking to Moore. "What you're saying is I make you feel worse about yourself? Then what the f.u.c.k are we doing? That's no way to be together."