Chapter 25
Jo-Leigh
My hands won’t stop shaking as I walk back down the hall. Pretty Boy’s warning echoes in my head, looping tighter with every step.
Ricky’s coming for you.
Swag’s leaving for New York.
Start protecting yourself.
I shove the thoughts down, force myself to breathe, and push Swag’s door open.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, boots still on, his head bent like the weight of the world’s crushing his shoulders. When he glances up, his expression softens for just a second then sharpens when he catches the look on my face.
“Talon said he saw you go into Pretty Boy’s room,” he says, voice low.
I freeze, startled, but I cover it fast. “I went to ask him some questions.”
“About what?” His tone darkens, a warning woven into every word.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re going to New York?”
His jaw tics, but he doesn’t answer.
“Swag,” I push, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “While everything’s blowing up around us, you’re just gonna disappear? You know Ricky’s coming after me.”
His eyes flash, cold and sharp. “Don’t say Langston’s name.”
“Don’t tell me what I can say,” I shoot back, heat curling into my words. “You want me to marry you tomorrow, but you won’t tell me what the hell is going on. You lied about the nursery, you lied about Ellie, and now?—”
“Stop.” He’s on his feet in a second, boots hitting the floor hard, towering over me, every muscle in his jaw tight enough to snap. “Don’t go there, bee.”
I don’t back down.
“Why? Because you don’t want me to know the truth?”
He takes a step closer, the storm in his eyes dark enough to swallow me whole. “Because it’s the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
I hate that my throat tightens at the rawness in his voice. I hate that my body reacts even when my heart’s a mess.
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” I whisper, but the words come out shakier than I want.
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there just long enough to make my pulse kick.
“Then stop pushing me,” he says quietly. “Because I’m this close to losing it.”
Something hot and sharp twists low in my stomach, tangled up with anger and want, frustration and need. I try to hold onto my fury, I really do. But when he steps closer, when his chest brushes mine and his scent wraps around me, my breath catches.
“Swag—”
That’s all I manage before his mouth crashes against mine, hard, rough, and desperate, and suddenly my back’s hitting the door.
I should stop him. I should demand answers.
But the feel of his hands on me, sliding under my shirt, pulling me closer burns away every thought but him.
He groans into my mouth, low and raw, his hands gripping my hips like he’s holding me together and pulling me apart at the same time.
He lifts me, my legs locking around his waist as he walks us to the bed, the kiss messy, hungry, filled with everything we can’t say.
When he lays me down, his forehead rests against mine, his breath harsh, uneven.
“You drive me crazy,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. “Thinking about anyone touching you. Thinking about losing you.”
“You keep pushing me away,” I whisper back, chest heaving. “And then you do this.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, deeper, like he’s trying to brand me, make me forget every question clawing at my throat. And I let him. Because for tonight, anger and want are tangled so tightly I can’t tell where one ends, and the other begins.
And I hate myself for it.
“Damn you,” I whisper against his lips, and it comes out half-broken, half-wanting.
“Yeah,” he growls, voice rough, chest heaving. “Hate me later, bee. Right now, I need you.”
I grab the back of his neck, dragging him down until his weight pins me there, grounding me, crushing me.
He kisses me like he owns me, like he’s trying to erase the secrets between us with his mouth.
My shirt’s gone before I even realize he’s pulled it off.
His palms trace up my ribs, rough and demanding, his thumbs brushing just enough to make me gasp.
My hands map the tattoos across his chest, scars written into his skin like warnings. He bites down on my lower lip, just enough to sting, and I arch into him, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Swag—” I breathe, his name a curse and a plea all at once.
His mouth trails fire down my neck, nipping, sucking, marking me like he wants the whole damn world to know who I belong to. One of his hands fists in my hair, tugging just enough to tip my head back, forcing me to meet his dark, wild eyes.
“You’re mine, bee,” he rasps, the words broken but sharp, almost savage. “Say it.”
I hesitate for half a beat, stubborn to the core, but the look in his eyes steals the fight from me.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, breathless.
That’s all it takes.
He curses low, the sound vibrating against my skin as he drags his mouth back to mine.
We move together, tangled and frantic, his weight pressing me deep into the mattress as the rest of the world falls away.
Every touch is rough and urgent, like we’re burning alive and using each other to put out the fire.
When we finally come undone, it’s not quiet.
It’s gasps and broken moans and his name torn from my throat like prayer and surrender.
The room is quiet now, save for the ragged sound of our breathing. My body hums, every muscle lax and trembling, but my mind refuses to settle.
I’m sprawled across the sheets, chest still rising and falling as Swag lies beside me, one arm thrown over his face like he’s trying to block out the world. The heat of him seeps into my skin, and for a moment, I let myself just feel him.
But then the silence gets heavy. Suffocating.
Because sex didn’t answer anything.
I roll onto my side, propping myself up on an elbow, staring at him. “You’re still leaving next week?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even open his eyes. “Yeah.”
The ache in my chest sharpens. “You weren’t going to tell me.”
“Because you’d try to stop me,” he mutters, voice rough from exhaustion and something else I can’t name.
“Damn right I would.” I pause, the frustration bubbling up again, thick and hot. “Why, Swag? What’s so important in New York that you’d leave me here with Ricky breathing down my neck?”
That finally gets him to look at me. His gaze meets mine, shadowed and sharp, and for a second, I almost expect him to lie again.
Instead, he sighs, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Because of Ellie.”
My stomach twists hard.
“Ellie,” I repeat, flat and sharp.
He sits up slowly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like the words are costing him more than he wants to admit.
“With Langston making moves, I need to make sure she’s safe.”
“You’re going to her ?” My voice cracks before I can stop it.
He glances at me, and there’s something in his expression that guts me. Regret, exhaustion, maybe even shame.
“Ellie’s on Langston’s radar, too. Only way to make sure she’s safe is to go to New York and meet with her husband.’
I swallow hard, my chest tight. “You should have told me, Swag.”
“No, I shouldn’t have” he says quietly, voice raw. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me the way you are right now.”
The words hit harder than they should. And I hate that even after everything — the lies, the secrets, the ghosts of another woman’s name still carved into his chest — part of me aches for him anyway.
I pull the sheet around me and slide off the bed, needing space, needing air, but his voice follows me, low and rough.
“I’ll burn down the world before I let Langston touch you,” he says, steady and certain. “You’re mine, bee. Always.”
For the first time, I’m not sure if he’s making me a promise or a threat.