Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lettie
The question hung in the air between us. My irritation grew as I waited for him to answer, but he just stood there, his hand rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty child.
“What vote, Brock?”
“The one that makes you my old lady.” His hand dropped. He stood taller, as if he’d suddenly developed the courage he needed to tell me the truth.
The struggle to keep my expression serious nearly did me in.
He’d called me his queen from the beginning. But being his old lady?
That was different.
That was permanent.
The day after the funeral, after I’d learned about everything Rhea’s children and grandchildren had been through, I’d asked Kytten why she would wear any item of clothing that called her a man’s property.
And Indie. After the way she’d been abused. After the things Mimic’s grandfather had done to her when she was a child. I didn’t understand how she could be okay being owned by someone else again.
“It’s not how it sounds,” Kytten said as she sat across from me in my kitchen. Cash and Mimic had gone into town to give us some time alone. They’d be leaving tomorrow, and I was going to miss them.
Miss the laughter and the early morning talks on the back porch. Miss the friendship that was growing with these two women I had nothing in common with, and yet so much at the same time.
“You see the way Cash makes his coffee so Kytten can enjoy a sip here and there. The way he asked her if she wanted to leave the funeral before he decided for both of them.”
I had seen it. The small intimacy of him adjusting the cream and sugar without asking because he already knew coffee made her happy, but she’d given it up for the pregnancy.
The way he’d offered to bring her back to my house if she didn’t want to attend the funeral of the grandfather she barely knew.
Like her comfort mattered more than club protocol.
“That’s what it is,” Indie continued, her dark eyes holding mine. “He takes care of her. Not like she’s helpless. Like she matters enough that her needs come before his pride. Before the club, sometimes.”
Something raw threaded through her voice when she said it. Something that came from surviving years of no one giving a shit whether she lived or died. “Protection isn’t control, Lettie. It’s choosing someone else’s safety over your own comfort.”
Kytten had nodded, but her expression held something more complicated. “Some guys take over. They think because you wear their name on your back, they get to decide where you go, who you see, what you do. But that’s the guy, not the patch. I still live my life.”
She rubbed her stomach and smiled. “Well, right now I don’t, but that was a decision we came to together.”
I’d been watching Indie and Mimic all week.
The way they moved together like they shared the same nervous system.
A glance across the room and he knew what she needed.
A touch on her lower back and she melted into him.
No words. Just understanding. The kind of connection that came from surviving hell together and choosing each other anyway. That was what she was describing.
Not ownership.
Belonging.
“Kytten’s right though,” Indie continued.
“Cash consults her. But he also protects her. He doesn’t let other men disrespect her.
He doesn’t let her carry burdens alone.” She paused, something vulnerable flickering across her face.
“That’s the part I didn’t realize I needed.
Someone who cared enough to protect me. Someone who made me understand that I matter. ”
Now Hades was telling me the club had voted on my life. Made a decision without asking me. Without even consulting me.
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
My chest tightened.
My hands curled into fists.
This man, this dangerous, beautiful man who made me feel things I’d never felt before, had just claimed ownership over me in front of his entire club. Without asking if I wanted it. Without giving me a say in what happened to my own life.
I’d spent twenty-five years building walls. Creating distance. Making sure no one could touch me, or control me, or tell me what to do. I’d poisoned men who tried to take that from other women. I’d killed to protect their autonomy. To protect their choice.
And now he’d taken mine away with a single vote.
“You voted on me?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Like you get to decide what happens to my life without asking me first?”
“It’s not like that,” he said, reaching for me.
“Then what’s it like, Brock?” I stepped back, putting distance between us because I needed space to think. To process. To figure out what the fuck this meant for my life. If I let him touch me, let him kiss me, my brain would turn to mush and I’d agree to whatever he asked.
“Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like a bunch of men sat in a room and decided what happens to me. Without asking if I wanted it.”
His jaw tightened. I watched the muscle jump as he fought for control.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “We did. And I won’t fucking apologize for it.”
The honesty surprised me. Most men would’ve tried to soften it. Make it sound better than it was. But Brock just stood there and owned it.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re my fucking queen,” he said.
Simple.
Direct.
As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And I protect what’s mine.”
Something twisted in my chest.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Something more complicated. Fear and desire and resentment all tangled together into a knot I couldn’t untie.
I’d spent my entire life building my own world. My own business. My own rules. I answered to no one. Took care of myself. Made my own choices.
And now this man was telling me I belonged to him.
The fucked-up part?
Some dark corner of my soul liked it.
Because Indie’s words kept running through my head.
“That’s the part I didn’t realize I needed. Someone who cared enough to protect me. Someone who made me understand that I matter.”
Wasn’t that what I wanted?
What I’d been craving?
“I have my own life,” I said quietly, still not willing to give in to the one thing I’d always wanted. “My own house. My own business. I’m not some woman who needs a man to take care of her.”
“I know that.” He stepped closer. Not crowding me. Just closing the distance I’d put between us. “I’m not trying to take that away from you, Lettie. I’m trying to give you something more.”
“What? A target on my back?”
His eyes darkened. “Protection. The club’s protection. No one touches you now. No one threatens you. No one hurts you. Because if they do, they answer to me. And then they answer to every brother in this club.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I didn’t need protection. That I’d been taking care of myself just fine.
But that would have been a lie.
Because I knew what I did. Knew the risks I took. Knew that eventually, someone might figure out what I was.
What I’d done.
And when that happened, having an outlaw motorcycle club at my back might be the only thing that kept me alive.
“I need to check on my mom,” I said instead. Deflecting. Avoiding. Buying myself time to think.
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m coming with you.” Not a question. A statement.
I wanted to fight him on it. Wanted to assert my independence. But the truth was, I didn’t hate the idea of him coming with me. Didn’t hate the idea of not being alone.
And that scared me more than anything.
Letting someone in was terrifying. Trusting them with your heart when it was already so fragile from being rejected by the one person who was supposed to love you unconditionally.
We walked outside together. Cerberus padded beside me, his massive body a comforting presence against my leg. The afternoon heat was suffocating. Oppressive. September in Texas meant the sun was relentless, the air thick and humid, wrapping around you like a wet blanket you couldn’t shake off.
Hades walked me to my truck, his hand settling on the small of my back.
Possessive. Claiming. He opened the passenger door and waited while Cerberus jumped in, the dog’s massive frame swallowing most of the space.
Then Hades turned to me, his dark eyes scanning my face like he was memorizing every detail.
Like he needed proof I was really there.
“Get in,” he said quietly.
I climbed into the driver’s seat. He leaned in and kissed me hard before closing the door with a soft click.
Through the windshield, I watched him walk to his bike.
All leather and chrome and raw masculine power.
He threw his leg over the seat and the engine roared to life, the sound vibrating through my chest and making something low in my belly tighten.
He pulled up beside me before we left the parking lot, caught my eye through the window, and nodded once.
A silent promise.
I followed the road home with his headlight burning in my rearview mirror the entire way. Two miles had never felt longer. Every time I glanced back, there he was.
Following.
Watching.
When I pulled into my driveway, Hades parked his bike beside my truck and cut the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy, weighted with everything that had just happened at the clubhouse. Everything that had changed.
He reached my door before I could grab the handle and opened it for me. Cerberus jumped down after me, his huge paws thudding against the gravel. Hades’ hand found the small of my back again as we walked toward the house. That possessive touch. That claim.
The screen door slammed behind us as we stepped inside.
“VIOLET!” My mother’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. Sharp. Demanding. Exactly what I’d expected.
I turned to Hades. “I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond. Just walked down the hallway toward my mother’s room, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack. I could feel the anger building in my chest, hot and bitter. Ready to spill over.
My mother sat in her recliner, exactly where she always was. The television on but muted. Her eyes fixed on me with that look. That accusatory, disappointed look that had become so familiar over the years.
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.
“I told you I wouldn’t be home,” I said quietly. My voice was steady. Controlled. Everything my anger wasn’t. “You knew I was going to the clubhouse. You knew exactly where I was.”
“That doesn’t mean I expected you to stay out all night like a whore.”
The words hit like a slap.
I stood in the doorway, hands curling into fists at my sides. Part of me wanted to scream at her. To tell her exactly what I thought of her judgment. Her laziness. Her complete inability to take care of herself or anyone else.
But I didn’t.
I took a breath instead, reminding myself she was my mother.
She shifted in her recliner, her face twisting with something that might have been concern or might have been resentment. With her, I could never quite tell the difference. “Those men—they’re dangerous, Violet. They’ll use you and throw you away.”
I wanted to tell her I could handle myself. That I’d been handling myself just fine for years while she sat in that recliner and did nothing. That the only danger I’d ever faced had come from people I was supposed to trust.
Instead, I said, “I’m going to make you lunch. I’ll bring it to you in a few minutes.”
I turned to leave before she could say anything else. Before I said something I’d regret. My hands shook as I walked back down the hallway toward the kitchen. Toward Hades. Toward the man who’d just claimed me in front of his entire club and was now standing in my kitchen like he belonged there.
I wanted nothing more than for him to belong there.
And that was the truly terrifying part.