Chapter 18 Definitely Not Saying Good Girl
Elias
I’m proud of her.
That’s the thought I keep circling back to as I pull into Raine’s narrow driveway, my truck idling under the half-dead streetlamp.
It’s been a hell of a week, and I’ve seen a lot of ugly in that time—broken ribs, overdose calls, a rollover that will haunt my dreams for years—but it’s her that keeps replaying in my head. Not work. Not the sirens.
Her.
Raine finally admitting she didn’t want to do it alone anymore. Raine texting Theo like it didn’t kill her to reach out. Raine riding Jax like he deserved every second of it and then some.
I’m not jealous. Not even a little.
Theo needed that win, needed to know that all the patience and soft persistence paid off.
And Jax… well, personally, I think she should’ve made him sweat a little longer.
Maybe another week of radio silence, just to really tenderize his ego before she climbed him like that. But I’m not mad about it.
She picked us. All of us. Whether she’s ready to say it out loud or not.
My phone sits in the cupholder with the last text in our thread being mine.
Elias:
Off at 11. Text me you’re home safe or I’m going to come knock on your door and check for myself.
There's no reply. No “K.” No “you’re annoying.” Nothing.
She could have fallen asleep. Or maybe she’s lying on her couch, scrolling, pointedly ignoring me because she doesn't think I'll actually show up.
I kill the engine and grab my jacket off the passenger seat. I’m still in my EMT pants and navy shirt, the fabric faintly stiff with the smell of antiseptic. My rig is back at the station. Tonight, it’s just me in my truck.
I stride to her door with intent and determination so deep not even her stubbornness could stop me now. It doesn't take me long to get to her front door, peeling number and all. I knock once with my knuckles, hard enough that there's no doubt she heard it.
“Raine.”
I warned her.
There’s a long stretch of silence. Then after a couple of minutes I hear the shuffle of her feet. She pauses right on the other side of the door like she’s debating whether to pretend she’s not home. But then the lock clicks, and the door opens a crack, chain still on.
Her eye appears in the gap sheepishly, which is not like her at all. “Elias?"
“Yeah.” I arch my brow, crossing my arms impatiently. “You didn’t answer me.”
“I was busy.”
“Too busy to text ‘alive’?”
She huffs with a roll of her eyes.
“Open the door, Raine.” It's not a question, nor a suggestion. It's a demand.
“I’m fine.”
I don’t repeat myself. I just stare at her through the crack, letting the silence stretch. It takes ten seconds before she swears under her breath and closes it long enough to slide the chain off and open the door again.
She’s in an oversized sleep shirt and nothing underneath from what I can tell, hem hitting high on her thighs. Her hair’s down and dry, mussed like she’s been rolling around on the couch. There’s a faint flush on her cheeks that’s not from sleep.
She props a shoulder on the frame, trying for casual. “Happy? I’m alive. You can go.”
I don’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside past her.
She blinks, surprise flashing in her face before she can school it. “Excuse you—”
“You didn’t text.” I close the door behind me, because there’s no escaping what I’m about to do to her. “I told you what would happen.”
“You also told me to rest,” she fires back. “Maybe I was doing that.”
My eyes skim her hair. Her shirt. The faint, telltale tension in her shoulders. The way she won’t quite meet my gaze.
“Were you?” I ask softly. “Resting?”
“No. I was taking a shower.”
“Funny. Your hair’s not wet.”
She freezes a fraction of a second. “Shower doesn’t always mean hair wash, Elias. That’s not a rule.”
“Were you really in the shower?”
“Yes.”
I raise a brow. “Raine.”
She crosses her arms, chin lifting. “Why are you interrogating me in my own home?”
“Because you're lying.” I keep my voice calm but low. “I don’t like being lied to.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t get to barge in and—”
“Raine.” I stop her, my tone unnegotiable. “If you didn't want me here, you should have texted. If you want, I can leave. Just use your words. I’ll walk out right now.”
She hesitates, and that's enough answer for me.
“I figured as much. Look, I’m not mad you were busy. I’m not mad you didn’t see your phone. I am mad you’re lying to my face about what you were doing.”
Her jaw works.
“I'm not—”
“Don’t,” I cut in, gentle but firm. “You know what happens when you lie, Raine?”
“Let me guess.” She rolls her eyes, trying to shake off the way my tone is affecting her. “This is where you ground me. Take away my phone. No bike privileges for a week.”
She jokes, because she's been around Jax too much this week, and to him, I'm dad.
“This is where I give you a chance to fix it,” I correct her, my eyes locked on hers. “Kneel.”
Her whole body locks up. “What?”
“In front of me.” I cross my arms over my chest, chin high and eyes serious. “Kneel, and open your mouth.”
She laughs. It’s full of disbelief, but there’s a crack in it. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Could be.” I shrug. “Still not repeating myself.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the usual give, the softness I carry for her. It’s still there, but under it is something else. Command.
“Elias, you can’t just… come in here and start issuing orders.”
“Sure I can.” I tilt my head. “You can also ignore them. You can tell me to go. You can walk away. But if not? You kneel when I tell you to.”
The silence grows thick around us as she tries to process. She wants to argue. I can see it in her eyes. And honestly, she wouldn't be her if she didn't.
A full minute ticks by, and I watch as her fingers flex against her arms, shifting her weight. I can tell the silence is making her uncomfortable, and the way I hold her gaze, unbreakable, has her fire dying out faster than she'd like.
Finally, she mutters, “You’re such a pain in my ass,” and drops to her knees on the rug in front of me.
She glares up at me like she’d rather punch me than look at me.
“Happy?” she snaps.
I uncross my arms and reach down, slipping two fingers under her chin. I tilt her face up, making sure she’s looking right at me.
“There you are,” I murmur. “Good girl.”
Her pupils flare at that.
She tries to hide it, but she fails.
My thumb drags along her bottom lip, slow. “Now, are you going to tell me the truth? Or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”
Her eyes go wide. Her mouth parts around my thumb for a second on instinct before she catches herself, shutting it again.
“I wasn’t doing anything,” she says, too fast. I know it's a lie.
My thumb leaves her lip. “So you ignored me?"
“No.” She shakes her head, hair brushing my thigh. “I didn’t even know you texted. My phone was on silent.”
“What were you doing, Raine?”
“Nothing.”
“Try again.”
She swallows, dropping her gaze, breaking our line of sight, and that’s the part that gets me more than anything else. Not the lie. The shame behind it.
I let my hand fall away and reach for my belt, making her head jerk up when she hears the slide of leather through loops.
“Uh—what are you doing?” she asks, her tension spiking.
I pull it free, double it in my hand, and snap it once in the air beside her face. Not close enough to touch her. Just enough for the sound to crack the air.
Her breath stutters. Her knees press closer together. “E-Elias.”
I drop the belt onto the back of the couch behind me. Her eyes flick to it, then back to my face.
“I would never hurt you. Not with that. Not with anything. You should know that.”
Something in her shoulders lowers a fraction.
“But I am going to teach you what happens when you lie to me,” I continue. “What honesty gets you, and what lying costs you.”
Her voice comes out smaller this time. “You’re being weirdly hot and I hate it.”
“That’s your problem,” I say dryly, already reaching for the button of my EMT pants. I pop it, then drag the zipper down, slow enough that she hears every tooth. “Not mine.”
“Seriously, what are you doing?”
“About to teach you how to be honest with me.”
Her mouth opens, then closes just as fast. “I… wasn’t… doing anything.”
“Still lying.” I stare at her in silence a while longer, hoping she’ll crack. When she doesn’t I continue. “Last chance to do this the easy way, Princess.”
Her eyes widen at the nickname, the one I save for special occasions.
She shakes her head stubbornly. “Nope.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “We’re doing it the hard way, then.”
I shift my stance, letting the fabric of my pants fall open more, giving her a very clear line of sight at what she’s doing to me just by kneeling there and being difficult. Her gaze drops despite herself. Her lips part, and her tongue flicks out to wet them.
“Raine.” She snaps her eyes back up to me when I call her name. “Open your mouth.”
She glares at me, but I know she’s not really mad. “You don’t—”
“Raine.” I let just enough steel edge in to stop her from arguing. “Open. Your. Mouth.”
Her jaw clenches. Then slowly, defiantly, she opens. I slide my thumb back in, pressing down on her tongue, not hard enough to gag her, just enough to make her feel it. To remind her she put herself here.
“That’s better,” I murmur. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
A faint sound escapes her throat, vibrating against my skin.
“You don’t get to ignore me. When I text to make sure you’re breathing and you go quiet on me? I’m not just going to shrug and let it slide. I take your safety seriously. That means I take your honesty seriously, too.”
Her eyes are huge. Angry and turned on with something vulnerable under it all that makes my chest ache.
I pull my thumb out, swiping it on her bottom lip again, watching it shine. “Now. Let’s try this again.”
I drag my thumb to her chin, tilting her face up more.
“What were you doing, Raine?” I ask. “When I texted you.”
Her voice is ragged when she finally answers. “Nothing.”
I sigh.