CHAPTER 8: A Man Divided

ADRIAN'S POV

I closed the door to my office and turned the deadbolt. The heavy click echoed in the quiet room. I braced both hands flat on my desk and leaned my weight forward, dropping my head between my shoulders.

My knuckles were completely white, fisted against the dark wood. Then I forced my fingers to uncurl one by one. The joints throbbed. My jaw ached with a dull, persistent pain from the physical strain of keeping my teeth clamped together for the last hour.

I closed my eyes, but the image of Nirvana sitting in the middle of that lecture hall was burned into the back of my eyelids. She had looked so small. I saw the exact moment the humiliation registered on her face. I saw the way her shoulders stiffened and the way she dug her fingernails into her own palms to stop herself from crying.

Damn! I caused that. I inflicted that pain deliberately.

I stood up and paced the length of the small office. I needed a distraction during that lecture. If I had allowed myself to look at her for even one more second, the entire room would have seen the truth. They would have seen a man completely consumed by his student.

I used Sienna Davis purposefully. I fed Sienna’s ego and directed every ounce of my attention to the front row because it kept my eyes off Nirvana.

I knew it was cruel. I knew Nirvana felt abandoned. But the university was not safe, nowhere was. Why did she have to come exactly when the club is facing a crisis?

The Dwayne MC had enemies who watched my every move, looking for a weakness. If anyone realized Nirvana was my weakness, she would be dead before the end of the week. And the thought of anyone hurting a single hair of her head made me see red.

I grabbed my leather cut from the back of my chair and shoved my arms through the sleeves. I could not stay on campus. The academic facade was suffocating me already.

The moment I heard Nirvana's plan to come to college, I started my own plan and I became a professor from one or two strings.

I bypassed my car in the faculty lot and took my motorcycle. I navigated the dense New York traffic without paying attention to the route, relying on pure muscle memory to get me to the docks.

The Dwayne MC clubhouse sat at the end of an industrial alley. It was a massive, reinforced concrete warehouse. The heavy metal gate rolled open as I approached. I parked my bike inside the main bay and cut the engine.

Everywhere was silent but then it only lasted exactly three seconds before I heard the shout.

I walked through the steel door into the main bar area. The room smelled of stale beer, gun oil, and unwashed bodies.

Wayne and Iris were circling each other in the center of the floor. Wayne was bleeding from a cut above his left eyebrow. Iris had his hands raised, his knuckles bruised, shouting a string of curses. That fucker has no outa of patience.

Few other members stood around the edges of the room, watching the dispute escalate. One of them gave me a crazy grin as I entered. They were enjoying the chaos.

"You shorted the count," Wayne yelled, stepping forward and shoving Iris hard in the chest. "You think I can't do basic math? You held back three crates."

Iris shoved him back, harder. "I delivered exactly what it stated. If you lost the crates, that is your problem."

Wayne pulled a heavy hunting knife from his belt.

I stepped into the center of the room. I did not raise my voice. I did not draw a weapon. I just stepped directly between them.

"Put the knife on the table, Wayne," I said.

The room went entirely silent as Wayne froze. He looked at me, his chest heaving, the knife still gripped tightly in his right hand, hesitating.

I stepped closer to him, invading his personal space. I looked directly into his eyes. "I will not repeat myself."

Wayne lowered his arm. He walked to the wooden table near the bar and dropped the knife. The heavy metal clattered against the wood.

"Iris," I turned my head. "Get the ledger. If you shorted the delivery, I will take the cost out of your cut. If Wayne misplaced them, he takes the financial hit. If either of you draw a weapon on a brother in this clubhouse again, I will break your hands. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Prez," Wayne muttered, wiping the blood from his eye.

Iris nodded once. The rest of the members dispersed, suddenly finding reasons to be in other parts of the warehouse.

I walked over to the bar and poured a glass of water. Iris followed me, stopping a few feet away. He leaned his forearms against the bar top.

"The ledger is clean, Adrian. I didn't steal anything," Iris said quietly.

"I know," I replied. I drank the water and set the glass down. Wayne is getting sloppy. I will deal with him later.

Iris nodded again. He looked around the empty bar area before speaking. "Are we going to talk about the incident in New Orleans?"

I turned to face him.

I had sent Iris down south weeks ago when Nirvana first told me about her mother. I needed someone reliable on the ground, someone who could send a message without leaving a trace.

"The message was delivered," I said. "You did exactly what I asked."

"I painted the Chanel bag red and left the glove on the porch," Iris confirmed. "Katerina was terrified. But the girl saw me. Nirvana opened the door before I could get on the bike."

"She didn't see your face," I stated. It was a fact, not a question.

"No. I had the hood up," Iris said. "But she knows someone was there. You brought her to New York right after. People are going to start asking questions, Adrian. The club is going to notice you are distracted."

"I'm not distracted" I snapped. "Her presence here is my business. You keep your mouth shut about New Orleans."

Iris raised his hands in surrender and walked away.

I stayed at the bar, staring at my empty glass. The adrenaline from the confrontation with Wane faded, leaving me with the persistent ache in my chest.

My mind immediately went to Nirvana. I could not stop it. I remembered the exact weight of her body pressed against mine at the penthouse. I remembered the way she gasped when I gripped her hips and pushed her back against the glass door. I remembered the heat radiating from her skin and the desperate way she tangled her fingers in my hair. The way my own body responded to her.

The physical need for her was a constant, sharp pressure in my groin. I gripped the edge of the bar, trying to force the images away. I wanted to consume her. I wanted to lock the doors and spend days pulling apart every single defense she had. I wanted to hear her moan my name in the dark.

But damn,I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to keep the filth of my life away from her. But every time she looked at me with those wide, defiant brown eyes, my control slipped away.

I pushed her away in the classroom today to keep her safe, but the urge to pull her back and claim her in front of everyone was almost unbearable.

I left the clubhouse an hour later. The sun was setting, casting dark shadows across the city. I rode toward the manor. I knew she would be there. My security detail confirmed she returned straight from the campus after her classes ended.

I expected her to be locked in her bedroom. I knew she would refuse to speak to me after the way I treated her.

I parked the bike in the driveway and walked up the front steps. I unlocked oak doors and stepped inside. The house was completely dark. Ronan was not home yet, I thought.

I closed the door behind me and engaged the deadbolt. I walked down the main hallway, unzipping my leather jacket.

I stopped at the entrance to the kitchen.

Nirvana was sitting on the edge of the marble island counter in the dark. She was entirely still, her legs dangling over the edge. She did not flinch when I entered the room. She just stared at me.

Even in the dim light filtering through the windows, I could see the pure fury radiating from her.

Her posture was rigid. Her hands were gripping the edge of the marble so hard her knuckles mirrored mine from earlier today.

She had been waiting for me.