Chapter 4
Becki
I don’t sleep.
I creep back into my trailer at a snail’s pace with my lips tingling and my legs still shaking, the flashlight clutched like a weapon I never used. My heart hasn’t slowed down once since that masked man grabbed me.
Pinned me.
Kissed my neck, at least.
The horror movie I left on the TV is now a silent gray screen. Shadows flicker along the paneled walls, and for a second, I wonder if he followed me back.
If he’s watching. If he’s still out there. A sane person would be terrified. I’m not sane.
I’m fucking thrilled.
I sit on the couch, legs tucked under me, hoodie zipped tight, trying to play it cool while my brain spins like a scratched record. Over and over, the same questions loop.
Who the hell was he? Why did I let him touch me like that? Why did I like it?
No.
Why did I fucking love it?
That kiss wasn't just hot. It was personal.
It wasn’t some sloppy, mask-wearing perv sneaking a thrill. It was teeth on my flesh, a hunger with history. It was someone who knew me, how I moved, how I tasted, what I’d crave.
And that narrows the suspects way down.
The Kings of Anarchy MC. And I know all the men in it. Too well. I rule out a few right away.
Rye? Too busy chasing girls at the Pit.
Oaks? Would've bragged by now, and one of the club bunnies would’ve called me. Hell, his ol’ lady would whoop my ass.
Whip? Got a new baby, new woman, and a beer gut that definitely didn’t belong to my masked mystery man.
Vandal? Taken but in my DMs. So, maybe.
And some of the others? Too short. I’m pretty tall, myself. And Mr. Murder Man was tall enough to look me in the eye. But also wore boots.
Legend? My heart twists. Couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be. I’d know if it were him. Wouldn’t I?
Then again, I thought so at the time, with the way he used to hold me…
No. Stop.
I ran into his new flavor of the week.
I jump in the shower at sunrise, letting the hot water scald the confusion off my skin. It doesn’t work. Every bead of steam reminds me of the way the masked man grabbed me. The way he groaned. The way I wanted to tear that mask off but didn’t, because… I didn’t want to know.
Not yet.
Knowing would kill the high.
If I’m being honest with myself, there’s one name I haven’t crossed off my list yet.
Royal.
Tall enough. Brooding. Dressed in black even when it’s ninety degrees out.
He’s not country like the rest of them. Don’t talk with a drawl. Reads weird old books with titles in Latin and quotes poetry when he’s drunk enough. Mysterious in a way that don’t fit in Paradise Falls. Don’t fit in Kentucky, really.
He’s also been my friend since we were teens. Back when he was quiet, loyal, and sweet.
Safe.
At least… I thought he was safe.
Royal scares the pants off most folks with his evil tattoos. The ones he got just to piss off my father, the Reverend. All the metal in him. His goth clothes alone could cause a riot in church.
Touching the crook of my neck, I shut my eyes, reliving the pressure, the teeth, the tongue. No sign of a tongue ring so that rules out Royal.
It’s still morning when I head over to the old jailhouse they call a clubhouse, call the Lockup.
One whiff tells me they’re cooking up leftover burgoo in a dented crockpot like it’s a holy ritual.
There’s still a Halloween banner drooping from the rafters, and a few busted beer bottles on the floor.
Whiskey’s passed out in the corner with devil horns and red glitter on his boots.
I walk in with the hoodie still damp from the woods, smelling of the masked man, mascara smudged under my eyes.
And I sense him before I even see him. Royal’s leaning against the far wall, sipping black coffee. He says it tastes better bitter. His face is unreadable as always. His eyes, dark, smudged like mine, but slow-burning, lock onto me like a fuse that hasn’t quite lit.
For one hot second, I wonder if he knows.
If he thinks I know. If we’re both just standing here, pretending nothing happened while the space between us coagulates with secrets.
Coolly, I cross the room way too slowly and lean against the table near him. Let my shoulder brush his tatted arm like I don’t notice, even though I do. I always do.
“You go to the party last night?” I ask, tossing it out casual, like I don’t really give a shit.
He shakes his head. His long hair is pulled back into a tight bun, but somehow, I imagine it’s not. “Stayed in.”
“Yeah?” I fake a yawn. “Me too. Real boring night.”
His lip twitches. Just a flicker. Royal’s lips are plump and shapely. Sometimes I’m jealous of whoever he has them on this week. That’s before I remember, if Legend hated me for being with his dad, he’d kill me if I were with his Royal.
“But get this,” I say, dropping my voice. “I did have a visitor.”
Now he looks at me. Really looks. “Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Mm-hmm. Big guy. Hoodie. Real strong grip.” I lean in just a little. “Big cock.”
Royal sips his coffee.
Says nothing.
My stomach flips.
“You don’t recognize this hoodie?” I try.
“Everyone’s got a black hoodie.”
“He kissed me like he meant it. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” I tease, smiling like it’s a joke.
He shrugs. “I don’t kiss girls in the woods.”
“Too bad.” I wink. “He was good.”
His jaw tightens. Ever so slightly.
Gotcha.
But just when I think I’ve cracked him, when I’m sure his ears are turning red and he’s about to blurt something out, he lifts his gaze to mine and smirks.
Not a boyish smirk. A man’s smirk. Like he knows exactly what I’m doing. And he’s not playing.
“Maybe it was Legend,” he says, calm as ever, chewing on his tongue ring. “You still hung up on him, right? You could never…”
The words hit like a slap I wasn’t ready for. Because damn, he’s not wrong. I am still hung up on Legend. And he knows it. But something in Royal’s tone… it’s not mocking. Not bitter. Just matter-of-fact.
Like he’s already made peace with the fact that I’ll always be looking in the wrong direction. And then there’s that tongue ring, reminding me of its absence last night.
“I’m over Legend,” I lie.
“Sure you are, pumpkin.”
We stand in silence for a beat too long.
“Yes, I’m all about my Biker Boo now.”
“Biker Boo?” He laughs, rare.
“Ghost mask. Plus, he’s got to be a biker, I know it,” I say, eyeing him suspiciously. “Who else in this town would have the balls to follow Crazy Becki into the graveyard.”
The clubhouse hums with low music and cigarette smoke. Laughter echoes from the hallway. Someone yells something about a keg being low.
But none of that reaches us.
We’re suspended in something else. Something paralyzing.
I shift. Try to laugh. “You really don’t know who it was?”
Royal leans in just enough that I feel the heat off his hard body. It feels so familiar. It has to be him.
“I know one thing,” he says, voice eerie. “If some asshole kissed you like that… he’s gonna do it again.”
My breath catches.
“I hope he does,” I say, meaning it more than I should.
His eyes burn into mine like a dare.
Then he turns and walks away.
And that’s when Legend walks in. Leather jacket slung over one shoulder, beard freshly trimmed, and that signature swagger of a man who owns Hell. I don’t realize I’m still hugging the hoodie to my chest until his eyes land on it.
He slows. Brows furrow. “Why are you wearing my hoodie?” he asks.
My mouth goes dry.
Royal is still within earshot, stiffening like a coil. But it’s Legend now, closing the space between us. His voice is casual, but his eyes aren’t. He’s scanning the hoodie, like trying to remember if he gave it to me… or if I took it.
And I did take it.
“It’s just a hoodie,” I say, too fast.
He tips his head. “Looks like mine.”
“Maybe. Everyone’s got a black hoodie.”
“Not with that tear on the sleeve.”
My fingers twitch. Shit. I didn’t even notice the tear.
I open my mouth, then close it again.
“Found it,” I lie. “Someone must’ve left it at the party last night.”
Legend doesn’t look convinced. “You weren’t at the party.”
“I found it this morning, dipshit.”
But before he can press, a door bangs open.
Derby storms in, sweaty and flushed. “Yo, Legend… trouble over in Official.”
Legend straightens. Gives me one last, long look. He turns without another word and follows Derby out.
And I’m left standing there, heart ricocheting off my ribs. Because for a second… for a damn second … I thought it was Royal.
And now?
Now I’m wondering if it was Legend after all.
If maybe… the ghost I hunted in the woods was a lot more familiar than I thought. Maybe Legend’s tired of chasing a woman who doesn’t want him.
Maybe he’s finally chasing me.