Chapter 15
Royal
Joey leaves without a word.
She knows better than to linger. She sensed what the room really was, something colder than lust and sharper than punishment. She kept glancing toward the closet like she could feel the wrongness radiating off me.
Once the door clicks shut, silence crushes me.
The bed is a mess. Sheets tangled. Wet from my cum. Bloody. My hoodie on the floor. Her perfume still in the air. Not Becki’s. Someone else’s. Someone I thought meant something. Until Becki ruined it.
And I feel sick.
Not because of what I did.
Because of why I did it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head bowed. My breathing is slow, shallow, controlled. But my hands shake.
I can hear her. Not her voice. She can’t speak with the tape over her mouth.
Her breath.
Harsh. Broken. The kind a person makes when they’re crying so hard they forget how to breathe.
A sound I caused.
I drag my hands over my face until it burns. I should not open the closet. I should leave her there until the storm inside me dies. But the longer I sit here, the heavier the air becomes.
She’s crying because of me.
And part of me wanted that. My stomach twists. I stand. The hallway outside is quiet. The party still rages in the distance, muffled bass beating through concrete. Life goes on while I spiral.
I cross the room.
My boots stop in front of the closet door.
Becki’s breath quickens on the other side. She heard me. She felt me.
I lift the latch.
I brace myself.
I open the door.
Becki
Trembling. Destroyed. Transforming into something savage. Light floods in through as the door swings wide. The cold air hits my wet face and makes every tear sting.
Royal fills the frame.
He looks like sin and regret molded into one body, shirt gone, pants still open, hair a mess, chest rising and falling like he’s been fighting a demon.
Maybe he has.
Or fucking one.
I don’t flinch. I don’t look away. I stand up slowly, the chain dragging across the closet floor like a serpent waking from sleep.
My legs shake, but I keep my chin high. The tape over my mouth tastes like glue and humiliation.
Royal reaches for it.
I slap his hand away.
Silent, his jaw flexes. He tries again.
I slap him again, harder. He grabs my wrist fast enough to bite a gasp out of me, but he doesn’t tighten his grip. Not yet.
We hold each other's gaze.
My wet eyes burn. My voice is trapped. My heart is like a raw wound.
He made me watch.
And the worst part?
He knew exactly what it would do to me.
His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a tear he caused. That is what snaps the last thread. I lunge at him. My body slams into his chest. I shove him with everything in me. The tape muffles my scream, but the rage in it shakes me.
Royal stumbles back a step. Only a step.
He grabs my arm, I twist free. I hit him in the shoulder with my chained wrist, metal cracking against muscle. He grunts.
Good.
I swing again. He catches my forearm mid-strike. His grip tightens. Not enough to hurt me. Enough to stop me.
I thrash against him, breath coming fast through the tape. He pins me to the wall and I writhe, trying to knee him, trying to claw his eyes, trying to make him feel how much he just destroyed inside me.
He’s breathing hard now too.
“Stop,” he barks.
I shake my head violently.
“Becki,” he warns.
I slam my forehead into his chest.
He exhales sharply and presses me harder against the wall, hands gripping my wrists.
I yank. I twist. I arch against him with rage and something else, something I’m too furious to name.
My muffled screams pour out against the tape.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I know what I did.”
I scream again.
He swallows hard.
“You want to hurt me,” he murmurs. “So do it.”
His voice ain’t cruel now. It’s broken. He bares his throat an inch, daring me.
I freeze.
Not from fear.
From power.
He sees it in my eyes.
“I said do it,” he growls.
Something flickers inside me, danger, heat, betrayal, want.
I slam my chained wrist against his jaw. Metal meets bone with a crack. He grunts, head snapping sideways.
His hand shoots out and catches my hair, twisting it in his fist. My breath catches hard.
We stare at each other, chest-to-chest, hearts racing, fury burning.
He rips the tape from my mouth.
My first inhale is ragged and wet.
My first words are a snarl.
“You wanted to break me.”
His eyes darken. “You think that was breaking you?”
“You think I didn’t see what that meant? You have someone?” My voice cracks on the last word, fury slipping into pain. “You want me to hurt. You want me to chase you. You want me devastated.”
His breath shudders. “Like you hurt me.”
“With Legend?” I say. “I still love him.”
His grip tightens on my wrists. His forehead drops to mine. His voice is a whisper carved from hell. “I want you destroyed.”
My knees weaken.
“But not like that,” he adds, voice breaking into almost a cry. “Never like that.”
I spit the words like venom. “You already did.”
But then my tears return, fresh and fast.
His eyes close for one fractured second. Then he shoves me back toward the bed. Not hard. Not careless. But with purpose.
“Sit.”
“No,” I sob out.
Royal grabs my waist and forces me down on the mess. The chain rattles. I fight him with everything I have left. He overpowers me anyway. I stare at him, panting, trembling, hatred and hunger twisting together.
“You’ll pay,” I spit.
Royal steps back, chest heaving, jawline bruising from my strike. “You want revenge,” he says. “Fine. Plot it.” He turns toward the door. “You want to seduce me,” he says without looking back. “Try.”
He puts a hand on the door frame.
“But you don’t walk out of this room.” His voice drops lower than I’ve ever heard. “Not until the club’s done with you.”
The door slams. The lock clicks. And I lie there, chain biting my wrist, chest rising in furious, ragged breaths…
Already planning.
Not my escape.
My vengeance.
And the next time Royal comes near me, I will not cry.
I will destroy him.
Or make him destroy himself.