Chapter 16
Jo-Leigh
I replay his words over and over until I want to scream.
Three debts.
The words echo like a countdown in my head.
Not just because of how he said them, but because deep down I think he believes it.
Worse? I think he might be right. Not about owing him because I didn’t ask to be saved.
But about the scholarship. I remember the letter.
The way I held it in my hands, crying because it felt like a miracle.
A full ride. No strings attached. No one could ever explain who nominated me or how I got chosen. Just that it was real. Valid. Mine.
Was it always him?
I press my hand to my chest like it might slow my racing heart, like I can stop the guilt from crawling up my throat. It shouldn’t matter. A scholarship’s a scholarship. But if he pulled strings it means I didn’t earn it. It means I was someone’s secret project.
His project.
“Goddamn you, Swag,” I whisper.
He’s crazy if he thinks I’m just going to move in with him. That’s not how this works. I don’t want a keeper. I don’t want to be caged.
But…
I glance toward the thin front door. It’s new. Replaced. But I can still see the cracks where the last one splintered. Still hear his voice counting to three.
One… two…
I shiver and force myself to stop thinking about it.
But Swag was right about one thing. I’m not safe here.
Not when Ricky could be around any corner.
Not when his smile hides something darker.
I don’t know what he wants from me, not really, but I know it isn’t good.
So now I have a choice. Stay here and keep pretending I can handle this alone or go to the clubhouse, face whatever mess Swag has in store for me, and maybe finally sleep with both eyes closed.
Dammit.
Three debts.
I pace my tiny apartment like a caged animal.
My palms are sweaty. My heart won’t calm down.
But even worse than the fear slinking under my skin is the part of me that wants to listen to him.
That part needs to be smothered. Because if I say yes now, I lose whatever sliver of control I have left.
I stop pacing and glance at my empty duffel.
Sitting by the door like it’s already made the decision for me.
I kick it across the room.
“No,” I whisper, jaw tight. “Not like this.”
He doesn’t get to bark orders and have me fall into line. If I go with him, it’ll be because I choose to, not because he decided to collect his imaginary debts like some kind of dark prince dragging me into a castle of chaos.
I flop onto my bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. I can already imagine the look he’ll give when I don’t show. That slow burn. That clenched jaw. The kind of silence that makes people squirm.
Good.
Let him come to me. Let him see that I’m not the girl he remembers or the one he thinks he owns.
I pull the blanket over my head, curl into the mattress, and whisper to the shadows, “Come get me.”
I wake up with a headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the war inside me. The morning light slips between the broken blinds, casting pale stripes across my floor like prison bars.
I should’ve gone with him.
No. I shouldn’t have.
My legs swing off the bed and hit the floor with a quiet thud. I stare at the scuff marks on the tile, my heart tap-tap-tapping like it knows something I don’t. Maybe it does.
Because the longer I sit here, the heavier my chest feels.
Like I’ve missed some unspoken window. Like whatever safety he was offering is about to vanish and I’ll be left alone to face Ricky, to face everything, without backup.
I blow out a breath and scrub my hands down my face. Why does it always come back to him?
The knock on the door is not gentle. Three hard raps, followed by silence. My heart leaps. Before I can fully think it through, I tiptoe to the door and glance through the peephole. Of course. Leather cut. Square jaw. Eyes full of fire and fury.
I swallow hard, pulse flickering as I unlock the deadbolt and open the door.
He fills the frame like a damn storm cloud.
“I figured you’d try to play stubborn,” he mutters, his voice rough and low. “But I didn’t think you’d be this reckless.”
I cross my arms, even though my knees wobble. “I’m not yours to command.”
He steps inside without permission, crowding my space in that way that steals my breath and muddles my thoughts.
“Yet here I am,” he says, “still showing up for you. Again.”
He looks around, eyes narrowing at the too-thin door, the chain lock that might as well be made of thread.
“You had one night to prove you could keep yourself safe.” His voice drops. “And you failed.”
“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t turn this into some game where you get to win.”
“I’m not playing games, bee,” he growls. “I’m trying to keep you alive. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to grab your bag, say goodbye to this shithole, and come home with me. That’s not a command. That’s a damn fact.”
I blink up at him, torn between fury and fear and something dangerously close to relief. And deep down, I already know I’m going with him. But I can’t help but push his buttons. Maybe I want to see how far I can bend him before he breaks.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah?” His tone is low, skeptical. Dangerous.
I nod. “You’re not my boss, Swag. Nor my father.”
Something dark flickers in his eyes as he begins to close the space between us. Each step is measured, predatory. He stalks toward me like a storm brewing just for me.
“Careful, bee,” he warns, voice like a growl. “You don’t want to push my buttons.”
I tilt my chin, refusing to back down. “Why? You gonna spank me for being a bad girl?”
That stops him. Just for a second. But then his mouth curves into something feral. His voice dips even lower.
“You keep talking like that, and I’ll do more than spank you.” He’s inches from me now, his presence wrapping around me like smoke and heat. “And it won’t be punishment. It’ll be a lesson.”
I swallow, hard, my bravado faltering under the weight of his promise. But I don’t move. Neither does he.
“I don’t scare easy,” I whisper, though my pulse betrays me.
He leans in, brushing his mouth against the shell of my ear.
“That’s your problem, little bee. You should.” His fingers trail lightly down my arm, setting every nerve ending alight. “You think you’re safe poking the beast?” he murmurs. “You think I won’t take what’s already mine?”
“I’m not yours,” I breathe.
“Oh, but you are,” he says, voice like velvet wrapped in barbed wire. “And I’m done playing nice.”
He grabs my chin between his fingers. It’s not rough, but firm enough to make me freeze. His gaze drops to my mouth.
“You want to be a brat, fine. But don’t cry when I make good on every promise.”
I shiver, but my eyes hold his. “Then stop threatening me and do it.”
He stills. Then, slowly, he grins. It’s wicked and dark and filled with something I’m not sure I’m ready for.
His mouth slams against mine with a force that steals the breath from my lungs.
There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses me.
It’s hungry like he’s trying to devour every word I’ve ever dared speak against him.
His hand tangles in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp, giving him the perfect opening to deepen the kiss.
I stumble back into the wall, and he follows, pressing his body against mine. Every hard line of him contrasts the softness of my own. The pressure and dominance send a dizzying rush of heat through my veins.
I should push him away.
But my hands curl into his shirt instead, dragging him closer. His tongue brushes against mine, and something inside me breaks open, wild and reckless. I arch against him, needing more, and he groans against my mouth like he’s barely holding it together.
“Goddammit, bee,” he growls, breaking the kiss just long enough to drag his mouth down the line of my throat. “You drive me fucking insane.”
“Then stop kissing me,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “You really want me to?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My lips are swollen, breath ragged, and my heart is beating out of my chest like it’s trying to warn me that this is dangerous.
But I don’t move. His hand trails down my side, past my waist, until he’s gripping my thigh, pulling it around his hip.
The motion drags our bodies even closer, and the friction has me biting back a moan.
“I gave you a choice, bee,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along my jaw. “Come willingly, or I take what’s mine.”
“And what exactly is that?” I challenge, breathless.
He presses his forehead to mine, voice tight with restraint. “You.”
That single word slams into me, unfiltered and raw.
Then his hands are under me, lifting me effortlessly as my back hits the wall. His mouth is on mine again, punishing and possessive, his hips pinning me in place. I’m not sure if I’m surrendering or fighting, but whatever it is, it feels too good to stop.
We’re a tangle of heat and tension, a slow burn building into something combustible and just when I think we’re going to cross that line he stops.
“You have two choices. We keep going or we go back to the clubhouse, and I fuck you there.”
My cheeks heat.
“So either option ends in sex?” I shake my head. “Pass.”
Swag’s eyes narrow, that stormy blue darkening with something sharp and unreadable.
“Pass?” he repeats, like the word personally offends him.
I cross my arms even though my heart’s still racing from how close we just were.
“You gave me two options, and I’m choosing neither. So… pass.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. He steps in again, not touching, but crowding making me feel every inch of his control.
“You think this is a game, bee?”
“No.” I lift my chin. “I think it’s a trap.”
He leans in close, his breath brushing my cheek. “You wanted me. You still do.”
I force a breath through my nose, hating how my body betrays me by leaning ever so slightly into him.
“Wanting you doesn’t mean I want to be owned.”
Swag goes deadly still.
“I don’t own things, Jo-Leigh. I protect them. I fight for what’s mine. I bleed for it.”
“And I’m not yours,” I whisper, even though I’m not entirely sure I believe it.
That dangerous smile flickers across his lips. “You keep saying that like it’s still up for debate.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
We stand there in a deadlock of heat and stubbornness until he finally breaks the moment, backing away like it costs him.
“I’ll give you one more night,” he says, heading for the door after dropping a card on the nightstand. “One more night in this cheap apartment with paper-thin locks and no backup.”
He pauses with his hand on the knob, glancing over his shoulder.
“You better hope Ricky doesn’t show up again. Because next time, I won’t be waiting for your permission. I’ll be kicking the damn door in and carrying you out.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him with finality that leaves the air too quiet.
My knees almost buckle.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, fingers trembling as I press them to my lips. They still buzz from where he kissed me, from everything he didn’t do and everything he promised he would.
One more night. I know, deep down, I won’t be able to resist him forever. And that card? His phone number. I stare at it before adding it to my phone.
Going to work feels like a fever dream. Melanie talks beside me like the earth hasn’t tilted off its axis, like my entire reality hasn’t cracked open and left me stumbling through the pieces.
She chatters about weekend plans, office gossip, the best lunch spots but it’s all static in my ears.
My nerves buzz like a live wire, frayed and sparking, anticipating Ricky’s appearance the way a storm watcher braces for the funnel cloud.
When Melanie suggests the diner around the corner for lunch, I agree, even though my stomach is a knotted mess.
I smile through it, pretending I'm fine. Pretending I’m normal.
Pretending the shadows haven’t started creeping in around the edges of my life.
By the time I walk up the stairwell to my apartment, I’ve almost convinced myself of the biggest lie of all:
That Swag is overreacting.
That I’m safe.
That I can handle myself.
But that illusion shatters the second I see my door. My kicked-in door.
My blood runs cold when Ricky steps from the shadows.
“Did you do this?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
The busted frame, splintered wood, and the door barely hanging on its hinges all scream one thing. Rage. And Ricky has never been good at hiding his temper.
He scoffs, shifting his weight. “Officers of the law don’t go around kicking in doors.”
“Right.” I don’t believe him. Not for a second.
He steps closer, and I move back, clutching my bag tighter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No,” I lie, voice too tight. “I’ve been working. Like a normal person.”
“You think that biker freak’s gonna protect you? You think that little scene last night means something? Because it doesn’t.”
“I think you should leave.”
“I think you’re forgetting who you used to be,” he snaps. “A nobody. Just another scared girl at a bonfire who liked being looked at.”
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
He laughs. “Why? Because you got a little attention from some thug in leather? You think he’s gonna play house with you now?”
I step fully inside and reach for my phone. “I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead.” He shrugs, but his smirk tightens. “Just remember which badge they respect around here.”
And with that, he turns and walks off leisurely, like this was all just a social visit. Like he didn’t just break into my home. Like he didn’t just confirm everything Swag warned me about.
My hands shake as I lock what’s left of the door behind me.
I shouldn’t call Swag. I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Because there’s no pretending anymore. I’m not safe.
And maybe I never was.