Chapter 24 #2
He clears his throat, his voice lower now, almost strained. “Did you try on the dress?”
“What?”
“The dress.” His jaw tics. “Pretty Boy brought it to you. Did you try it on?”
I shake my head, the motion stiff and small. “Not yet.”
“Do it,” he says finally. “Tomorrow’s important.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My hand tightens around the edge of the dresser until my knuckles ache, grounding myself because if I let go, I’m afraid I’ll fall apart right here, in front of him.
He doesn’t step into the room. Doesn’t come closer.
Just lingers in the doorway, watching me with those unreadable eyes, carrying the weight of a thousand things he’ll never say out loud.
After a moment, he gives a short nod, turns, and disappears down the hall without another word.
The silence he leaves behind feels heavier than the secrets in that blue box.
And the worst part is, tomorrow I’m supposed to stand next to him and promise forever when right now, I don’t even know who the hell I’m marrying.
I finally leave the nursery and head back to his room, the weight of everything pressing down like a stone on my chest. I strip off my clothes and pull the dress from the box.
It fits. Perfectly, in fact. Like it was made for me.
It’s white and only reaches my knees. At the waist, the skirt flares out, making me feel like a ballerina or princess.
But even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t complain.
My mind’s moving too fast to care. Every time I blink, I see flashes of what I found.
The crib, the little black onesie, the note, the ring. And Ellie.
I don’t know if the ache in my chest is heartbreak for Swag or the first crack of one forming for me.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, chewing at my bottom lip until it hurts. Why did Pretty Boy tell me to look in there? Sure, it’s a big secret — the kind of thing Swag clearly wanted buried — but what does it have to do with Ricky? With this war brewing around us?
The question rattles around in my skull like loose change until it becomes unbearable.
I sigh, pulling the dress off carefully and laying it back in the box, smoothing it down like if I can control this one thing, maybe everything else will stop spinning. But it doesn’t.
So I do the one thing I know might get me into trouble. I leave the room.
The hallway is quiet, shadows stretching long under the low amber lights. Somewhere down the hall, a door slams and boots thud against the old hardwood, but the clubhouse otherwise feels tense. Like everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.
I weave past the main room, ducking my head when a couple of the guys glance my way, and head straight for Pretty Boy’s door. I knock softly. Nothing. I raise my hand to try again when the door suddenly swings open, and there he is, leaning against the frame, eyes sharp and suspicious.
“Jo-Leigh,” he says slowly, like my name’s a question. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow hard, my fingers twisting together in front of me. “We need to talk.”
His gaze flicks down the hallway behind me, scanning both directions like he expects Swag to come around the corner any second. Then he jerks his chin, stepping aside.
“Inside. Quick.”
I slip past him, my heart hammering in my chest as he shuts the door behind me.
The room smells faintly of whiskey and leather, his cut draped over a chair in the corner.
Pretty Boy crosses his arms, leaning against the dresser. “I’m guessing you found the nursery.”
I nod, my throat tight. “You knew.”
“I told you where to look, didn’t I?” he says quietly, watching me closely.
I hesitate, then blurt, “Why? Why would you send me in there? That was personal. That wasn’t yours to show me.”
His jaw ticks, and for a moment, something flashes in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or regret.
“Because you needed to know who you’re marrying,” he says finally. “And because this thing with Langston? There’s more to it, Jo-Leigh. More than Swag’s telling you.”
I blink, heart lurching. “What does Ellie have to do with Ricky Langston?”
Pretty Boy exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face before answering.
“Not Ellie, exactly,” he says, voice tight. “The baby.”
A slow dread spreads through me.
“What?”
He meets my stare, steady and unflinching, even as his voice drops to a whisper.
“Before she left Swag for that billionaire in New York, before she cut him open and walked away… Ricky Langston thought that baby was his.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Pretty Boy’s gaze softens just slightly, but his voice stays sharp. “It makes all the sense in the world once you understand what Langston lost. And why he wants to hurt Swag now.”
My chest tightens, a cold wave crashing through me as the puzzle pieces slam into place. Swag’s heartbreak, Ricky’s obsession, the vendetta I’ve somehow been pulled into.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold myself together. “You should’ve told me this sooner.”
Pretty Boy shakes his head. “Wasn’t my story to tell.”
“Then why now?” I demand, my voice breaking under the weight of everything I’ve learned tonight.
His answer is quiet.
“Because Ricky’s not coming after Swag next, Jo-Leigh. He’s coming after you.”
I blink at him, the words lodging sharp and deep, and finally manage, “Swag will protect me.”
Pretty Boy shakes his head slowly, grim and certain. “He won’t be able to.”
“How can you be sure?”
His jaw flexes, something like anger flashing behind his eyes, but it’s not aimed at me. “Did he tell you where he’s going next week?”
I hesitate, heart pounding. “No.”
Pretty Boy waits a beat, his expression dark. “To New York.”
I shake my head, like the motion alone can change what he’s implying.
“No, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t leave me here. Not now. Not when?—”
“Exactly when,” Pretty Boy cuts in, sharp but quiet. “That’s why I told you to check the nursery, Jo-Leigh. To understand why Langston’s coming, what this is really about. You think this is just club business, but it’s not. It’s personal. And that’s dangerous for you.”
My throat tightens. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just wait around and hope Ricky doesn’t?—”
“No.” He steps closer, close enough that I can see the exhaustion etched in his face. “You need to start protecting yourself. And you need to start now.”
“I don’t—” My voice catches, splintering under the pressure building inside me. “I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know who to trust anymore, Pretty Boy.”
“Trust yourself. Don’t wait for Swag to tell you everything because he won’t. And don’t wait for Langston to make his move. He’s already made it.”
I feel my chest cave in as his words sink deep, colder than anything Ricky could throw at me.
“You’ve got to stop thinking you’re just caught in the middle of this, Jo-Leigh. You’re not. You’re the prize.”
“The prize for what?” I manage, voice shaking.
He hesitates, eyes darting briefly toward the closed door like he’s weighing whether to say more. Finally, he settles on the only thing he’s willing to give me.
“That’s not for me to say,” he says softly, holding my gaze. “So that’s why you have to start protecting yourself.”
Something icy slides down my spine, settling deep in my gut, and I suddenly feel like the walls of the clubhouse are closing in around me.
Pretty Boy straightens, pulling his cut from the back of the chair and sliding it on with slow precision, like the conversation’s over.
But his warning lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating, wrapping itself around my ribs until I can barely breathe.
I step back toward the door, my mind a storm of tangled thoughts, secrets, and half-truths. And for the first time since all of this started, a terrifying question takes root in the back of my mind.
If Swag’s keeping this many secrets…
If Ricky’s coming for me…
Then maybe I can’t wait for someone else to save me.
Maybe I have to start saving myself.