Chapter 21
Jo-Leigh
It feels like Swag is gone for days when in reality it’s only one.
I pace. I scroll on my phone. I shower. I pretend to read. I wonder what’s happening at my old job. Nothing makes the gnawing in my stomach go away. Not knowing where he is. What he’s doing. Whether he’s even alive.
When the door finally creaks open, I freeze.
Swag steps into the room, and the sight of him steals the air from my lungs.
His knuckles are split open, blood crusted along the edges.
His shirt is streaked with soot, smoke, and something darker I don’t want to name.
There’s a slash across his cheekbone, his lip swollen, and yet it’s the look in his eyes that terrifies me most.
Cold. Dark. Deadly. Like he’s carrying ghosts on his shoulders.
“Swag…” My voice barely scrapes out.
He drags a hand down his face, sighs, and leans against the doorframe like the weight of the world is pressing him there. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. The silence between us hums, thick with unasked questions and things I’m not sure I want to hear.
I swallow hard. “What happened?”
His gaze flicks to me, sharp and unreadable. “Handled it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His voice is rough and deep. And different.
I take a step toward him before I can think better of it. “Handled what? Swag, are you…are you okay?”
That earns me a low laugh. But there’s no humor in it. “Okay? That’s not in the cards for me, bee.”
The nickname, soft and rough all at once, unravels me a little, but I stay rooted in place. I know I should back off. I should give him space. But I can’t. Not when he looks like this.
“I was worried,” I admit, hating how small my voice sounds.
His jaw flexes.
“Don’t be.”
He peels his shirt off, tossing it to the floor, and I see the bruises scattered across his ribs.
Fresh. Ugly. Proof of whatever war he fought while I sat here safe in his bed.
I try not to stare, but I fail. My chest tightens as fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing tangle inside me.
“This is why you didn’t want me leaving the clubhouse, isn’t it?”
He looks at me and steps forward until there’s barely an inch between us. His scent hits me first: smoke, leather, and adrenaline.
“Langston’s tightening his grip,” he says, voice low and lethal. “And until I take care of it, you don’t go anywhere without me. You understand?”
The order in his tone rubs me raw. “I can’t just hide in your room forever, Swag.”
His hand comes up, curling around the back of my neck. His thumb grazes my pulse, and I swear he can feel the wild beat beneath my skin.
“You can. And you will. Because you’re mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. Whether you like it or not.”
My breath catches. I should argue. I should scream at him for disappearing, for coming back like this, for trying to control my life.
But the only thing I manage is a shaky whisper. “You scare me sometimes.”
His eyes soften.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Means you’re smart.”
I don’t know what I expect him to say, but it’s not that. The tension between us coils tighter until it feels like the walls themselves are holding their breath.
“You can’t keep doing this,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Disappearing. Coming back busted up. Acting like I should just sit here and not ask questions. That’s not how this works, Swag.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t answer. I shove at his chest, frustration and fear tangling into something sharp.
“You want me locked away like some possession, but you won’t even tell me what’s happening! If you want me to trust you, you need to?—”
His hand snaps out, gripping my wrist, not painfully, but enough to still me.
“Trust you?” he repeats, his voice low, raw.
“This has nothing to do with trusting you. It’s knowing what you can and can’t handle.
You think you want the truth, bee, but you don’t.
If you knew the shit Ricky Langston had planned, you wouldn’t sleep.
You wouldn’t eat. You’d run so damn far from Baton Rouge you’d forget your own damn name. ”
A chill sweeps down my spine.
“Then tell me,” I whisper, even though every instinct screams I shouldn’t. “Tell me what he wants.”
Swag exhales slowly, scrubbing a bloody knuckle across his jaw. For a second, I think he’ll shut down again but instead, his gaze locks with mine, unflinching.
“Langston doesn’t just want me out of the picture,” he says. “He wants control. He wants leverage. And little bee…” He hesitates, and that pause tells me everything before he even says it. “…he wants you.”
The floor feels like it drops out beneath me. “What?”
“He knows you’re mine. Knows touching you is the fastest way to get me on my knees. And that means every second you’re alone you’re a target.”
I shake my head, denial clawing its way up my throat. “I’m no one. I’m nothing to him?—”
“You’re everything to me.” His voice sharpens like a blade. “That’s enough for him.”
I can’t move. I can’t think. The room feels too small, his words wrapping around me like a noose.
Finally, I manage to choke out, “And what, you think locking me in this clubhouse fixes it?”
“It keeps you alive,” he says flatly.
I stare at him, searching his face, but all I see is fury at Ricky, at the situation, maybe even at me for daring to fight him on it.
“You can’t control me forever, Swag.”
His lips curl into something dark, dangerous. “I don’t need forever, bee. I just need long enough to take Langston off the board.”
The promise in his voice sends a shiver racing through me. Not just because I believe him but because deep down, a twisted part of me wants him to succeed. Wants him to burn Ricky Langston’s world to the ground if it means I’m safe.
And maybe that should scare me most of all.
Swag gives me one last look before disappearing into the bathroom without another word. The sound of running water echoes in the room.
I should give him space. I know I should. But my feet have a mind of their own, carrying me forward until I’m standing in the doorway.
He’s at the sink, shirtless, steam curling around his broad shoulders. His hands brace against the counter, head bowed like he’s fighting a war with himself.
“Swag…” I whisper.
His gaze snaps up to the mirror, meeting mine. Dark. Heavy. Dangerous.
“Bee,” he rasps, voice low and rough. “Go back to bed.”
“No.”
Before I can second-guess myself, I step inside, closing the door behind me.
“You can’t shut me out every time things get bad,” I say softly. “I’m not going anywhere, Swag.”
His jaw flexes, and for a long beat, neither of us moves. Then, in one fluid motion, he peels off what’s left of his clothes and turns, closing the distance between us.
“You keep following me into the fire,” he growls, backing me against the tiled wall. “One day, bee, you’re gonna get burned.”
“Then burn me,” I breathe.
Something snaps between us. He cups the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that’s fierce, hungry, claiming.
My fingers fist into his damp hair as his body presses into mine, heat rolling off him like a storm.
The next thing I know, he strips me down and pulls me into the shower, under the spray as water cascades down my skin.
His hands roam with rough purpose, gripping my hips, sliding up my sides.
I gasp against his mouth as steam fills the small space, fogging up everything but him.
“Say it,” he demands, voice jagged, lips dragging down my throat.
“Say what?” I pant.
“That you’re mine.”
My breath catches, but the words fall out anyway. “I’m yours.”
He growls low in his chest, pushing me back into the tile, one hand tangled in my wet hair, the other sliding down to anchor me in place.
His touch is everywhere but there’s something else beneath it.
Something fragile he won’t admit. I feel it in the way his mouth softens against mine, in the way his breath hitches when I whisper his real name.
“Jackson…”
He stills for half a heartbeat, then exhales like the sound of his name is gasoline on an open flame.
“Careful, bee,” he murmurs, his voice shaking with restraint. “You keep saying my name like that, I’m not stopping this time.”
“Then don’t,” I whisper.
And the last of his control snaps. The steam curls thick around us, fogging the glass and blurring the edges of the world until it feels like it’s just him and me — no Ricky, no threats, no danger — just the heat between us.
Swag’s body presses into mine, his chest slick and hot against my own as the water crashes down over us.
My back hits the cool tile, a sharp contrast to the searing warmth of his mouth on my neck.
He’s relentless, lips and tongue moving like he’s starving, like every second without touching me is killing him.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as rough palms slide over my ribs, thumbs grazing the undersides of my breasts before he squeezes just enough to make me whimper. His low growl rumbles against my skin, vibrating deep in my chest where his mouth lands.
“Bee,” he rasps, dragging my name out like a warning and a prayer all at once. “You got no idea what you do to me.”
“I think I do,” I breathe, voice trembling even as I arch into his touch.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
His eyes burn — dangerous, hungry, possessive.
There’s no soft Swag here. No Jackson who pretends to care from a distance.
This is the man who claims, who takes, who dominates every inch of space he walks into.
And I should be afraid. I should run. But my body leans closer, aching for more.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, voice low and strained like he’s barely holding himself together.
“No.” The word slips out, breathless and absolute.
That’s all it takes.