Chapter 7
Becki
The hallway outside my room has been quiet for a long time.
Too long.
Royal stormed out earlier like the door offended him, and I expected him to come back almost immediately, vibrating with guilt or lust or both. But he hasn’t. The silence grows heavy. Claustrophobic.
And that’s when I hear it.
Footsteps.
Not his.
Heavier.
Slow.
Dragging.
Someone stops right outside my door.
I sit up, chain rattling softly. My heart thumps harder, anticipating his shadow… but the voice that spills into the crack beneath the door ain’t Royal’s.
It’s Oaks.
“Christ,” he mutters to himself. “What the hell is he doin’ still keepin’ her locked up in here like this… all to himself…”
There’s a shuffle. Like he’s debating whether to open the door. Or he’s drunk.
Typical Oaks. Can’t keep his damn nose outta anything.
Can’t keep his secrets straight, either.
Half the club already suspects something’s going on with him and that skinny little twenty-year-old who works down at the pawn shop.
Marriage of convenience or not, he’s sloppy with his sins. What’s her name… Brittany.
The handle clicks.
He’s actually opening the door.
And something wicked inside me wakes up.
I slip off the cot, stand near the cracked-open door, letting the chain pull my wrist forward so the metal glints in the low light. The shirt I’m wearing hangs just enough to hint without giving away the whole show. Bare legs, bruised knees, ankles crossed like I walked out of a sinner’s daydream.
When the door cracks open, Oaks freezes in the doorway.
For a moment, all he sees is me.
Bare legs. Rumpled shirt.
Chain pulling taut.
Breath catching just slightly from the shock of someone other than Royal walking in.
His eyes widen.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re. Uh. You’re awake.”
“No kidding,” I deadpan.
He glances back over his shoulder like he’s checking to see if anyone’s watching him be stupid. The hallway is empty.
That’s when his gaze drops to the chain, then to my face.
Then lower.
And lower.
He swallows, cheeks flushing with something between shame and interest.
Good.
I take one step closer, slow, deliberate, letting the chain scrape along the bedpost like a dare.
“You looking for something, Oaks?” I ask.
“Just, uh… just checking.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Royal usually don’t leave you alone this long.”
Now that gets my attention.
“Is that worry I hear?” I tease.
“No.” Too fast. “No. I ain’t worried about you. I’m worried about him.”
He steps farther inside without meaning to, just enough that the door swings more open. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw. Oaks likes his secrets. Likes other people’s secrets more.
And he likes temptation best of all.
“Worried about him and Joey.”
My brows lift. “Joey? Joey Donut?”
He nods, eyes glued to my thighs like he can’t help himself. “She’s been sniffin’ around him again.”
Interesting. I remember seeing her with him before. She’s dyed her pink hair blonde.
Oaks steps closer. Too close. His eyes flick to my mouth. To the chain.
“Tell me something,” he says quietly. “Has he touched you?”
The question hangs heavy between us.
Not jealous.
Not concerned.
Curious. Like he’s collecting intel he shouldn’t be asking for.
I tilt my head. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he lies. “But if he has… it’s gonna cause trouble.”
I smirk. “You saying Royal can’t control himself?”
“I’m sayin’ nobody can control you,” he mutters.
And that’s when I know I have him.
Men like Oaks are predictable, weak to shame, weaker to boredom, and absolutely defenseless against a pretty girl locked where she shouldn’t be.
I lean one shoulder against the wall, letting the shirt slip off one side. My voice drops.
“Tell me something, Oaks… How badly do you want to be the hero who gets me out of here?”
His breath stutters. “Becki…”
“What would you trade for the favor?” I ask, biting my lip, letting my gaze drag down his chiseled chest. “Open the door a little wider… loosen the chain… maybe forget you ever saw me.”
He hesitates.
So I step closer, close enough that my breath brushes his throat.
“I could make it worth your while.”
Oaks’ mouth works like he’s chewing on a whole damn sin.
Finally, he lets out a crooked laugh. “You’re trouble.”
“Always have been.”
He leans against the doorframe, cocky now, like the devil on his shoulder just won. “You want out that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Then you pay like everyone else pays.”
I arch a brow. “Meaning?”
His eyes drag down me slow enough to be rude. “You get on your knees for me, I’ll open the door.”
Blunt. Filthy. Exactly who I knew he was.
“But,” he adds, raising a finger, “I ain’t promising I won’t rat your ass out after. Fair’s fair.”
I laugh, low, dark, amused. “You’d sell me out?”
“In a heartbeat.”
At least he’s honest.
We stare at each other, two wolves testing teeth. I let the silence stretch until he’s practically vibrating with want.
Then…
A shadow fills the hallway.
Oaks doesn’t even notice at first. He’s too busy staring at my legs. My wrist. The damn chain.
Royal’s voice slices the air apart.
“Get the fuck out.”
Oaks jumps like he’s been shot.
He turns halfway, caught between guilt and denial. “I wasn’t. Royal, I was just checkin’…”
Royal doesn’t look at him.
He’s looking at me.
Only me.
His knife is still clipped at his hip. His hand hovers near it, the muscle in his forearm twitching.
Territorial doesn’t begin to describe the look in his eyes. He steps into the doorway, towering over Oaks without raising his voice.
“Move.”
Oaks backs up immediately, hands raised like he ain’t sure if Royal’s gonna punch him or cut him.
“I didn’t touch her,” he blurts.
Royal doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t breathe.
Doesn’t break eye contact with me.
“Good,” he says. “Because I would’ve noticed.”
A dark thrill curls low in my stomach.
Oaks mutters something under his breath and bolts down the hall, too rattled to hide how shaken he is.
The second he’s gone, Royal shuts the door.
Hard.
I lift an eyebrow. “Jealous?”
He doesn’t answer.
He stalks toward me, slow and deadly, like he’s fighting the urge to throw me over his shoulder and drag me into his shadows.
“Don’t bait them,” he growls.
“Why not?” I ask, stepping closer. “Afraid someone else might see what you won’t touch?”
His breath stutters. He's gritting his teeth. His fingers twitch toward the knife again.
“Becki,” he warns, but it sounds more like a plea.
I grin. “You walked in here like you were gonna kill him.”
“I was,” he says.
“Your V.P.?”
The truth lands between us like a blade.
Heat. Fear. Desire.
Indistinguishable.
My pulse spikes. And his eyes flick to my wrist, to the chain pulled tight from how close we now stand. If he takes one more step, our bodies will touch.
He doesn’t.
Not yet.
But his control stretches thin as paper.
I can feel it.
So can he.
Finally he shoves himself backward, away from me, away from the chain, away from the insane desire clawing at both of us, and storms out for the second time tonight.
But this time?
He locks the door behind him.
And I’m left smiling in the dark.
Because Royal wasn’t jealous of Oaks.
He was territorial.
And that’s more dangerous.
But who the fuck is Joey?