Chapter 20
Sophie
I wake up and the bed's freezing.
Legend used to sleep there.
He rarely actually stayed the night, not officially, not long enough for the pillow to remember the shape of him, but my dreams don’t care about reality. They conjure him anyway. Huge hands on my hips. Hot voice in my ear. The low, sinful laugh he only let me hear.
I blink awake, breath catching in the dawn light spilling through the sheer curtains. The bedroom at Paradise Falls looks too big, too empty. A room meant for a marriage, not a woman sleeping alone with a mere memory.
My fingers drift to the engagement ring on my left hand. Sunlight dances off my mother’s diamond and onto my comforter. Legend put it on me. Biker kissed my knuckles after.
God, how is any of this supposed to work?
Legend running the Kings like a wildfire held together with duct tape and brotherhood. Me set to inherit a horse empire that’s older than Hell, Kentucky itself. Two worlds that never should’ve touched.
But they did.
My thumb brushes the ring again.
“I miss you,” I whisper into the empty room.
It hangs in the air, pathetic and honest.
I sit up with a groan and shove the blankets aside. The cold hardwood stings my feet, but I welcome it. Something sharp to drag me back into the waking world. Because dreams aren’t helpful. Dreams make me soft. And Paradise Falls doesn’t tolerate softness, not in a Montgomery.
By six a.m. I’m out behind the barn, clipboard in hand, hair shoved into a messy bun, still wearing my pajama top under a fleece vest because the temperature in Kentucky does whatever it wants.
“Morning, Miss Montgomery!” one of the stable hands calls as he leads out a bay gelding.
“Morning,” I answer, already checking off his feed schedule.
The farm’s not just a farm. It’s a business.
A legacy. The beating heart of Kentucky’s horse world.
There are auctions to prep for, bloodlines to track, medical checks, vet appointments, meetings with trainers, PR calls, Derby committees, sponsor dinners, and a million people expecting the Montgomery name to stay polished and perfect.
I jot notes, adjust a medication order, and answer three texts from the farm manager, two from the accountant, and one from a reporter who somehow got my private number.
My phone rings again.
I silence it with a sigh. The to-do list is already a mile long, and the sun isn’t even high yet. Sometimes people think all this money means carefree.
Rich just means the stakes are higher when you screw up.
I’m double-checking the hay delivery in the ledger app when footsteps crunch on gravel behind me.
James.
Of course.
He strolls up wearing that smug, perpetually unimpressed younger brother look above his designer suit. He’s got a mug of coffee in one hand and judgment in the other.
“Well look at that,” he drawls. “Princess of Paradise Falls actually slept at home for once.”
“I always sleep at home,” I mutter. Legend swears the Lockup is my home now, too.
“Sure,” he says, taking a sip. “Except when you’re playing house in Hell with the devil... I mean at the clubhouse with that biker fiancé of yours.”
My spine stiffens. “I wasn’t at the clubhouse.”
“Should’ve been.” He shrugs. “Thought that’s where wives stay. At home with their husbands.”
“We’re not married yet.”
“And how’s that gonna work, Soph? You here running a multimillion-dollar operation while he’s out there running a bunch of outlaws?” James raises a brow. “Who moves? You or him?”
I grit my teeth. “Legend’s a good man.”
“He’s a dangerous man.”
“And Daddy’s alive because of him.”
James flinches, caught. He can’t argue with that one.
“I didn’t say I don’t appreciate what he did,” he mutters. “But he’s tied up with that Pearly Gates mess. Those crazies had pitch forks and torches on our front lawn. Too close for comfort. The whole town is buzzing. How long until it gets out?”
I open my mouth to argue, tell him Legend made a bargain to call them off, but a soft voice interrupts us.
Annie, our housekeeper, hurries toward me with the morning paper folded under her arm. “Miss Sophie,” she says, voice trembling just slightly. “You should see this.”
She hands it over.
James leans in as I unfold the front page.
The headline punches the air out of my lungs.
PARADISE GIRL FOUND IN LOUISVILLE AUTHORITIES INVESTIGATING “ANIMAL-LIKE” MUTILATION
My fingers go cold, as the memory of disfigured horses cross my mind.
The article mentions a young woman missing from Hell. Last seen near the Kings’ clubhouse. Body discovered on the outskirts of Louisville. No suspects. No answers. No peace for her family.
James whistles low. “Christ.”
I swallow hard. “They identified her.”
He nods grimly. “Yeah. Says the family confirmed it this morning.”
Something inside me fractures, quiet, sharp. A girl from our town. A girl whose mama probably prayed Pearly Gates would save her. A girl who vanished into thin air, turned up torn apart like something hunted her.
I fold the paper slowly and hand it back to Annie, my hands shaking. Legend is tangled in this. Hell, too. Becki especially. And now. Another girl dead.
My phone starts ringing again. Same number as before.
“A reporter, maybe.” James retreats, giving me an expression of almost pity. “You sure you wanna marry into this?” he asks softly.
I don’t answer.
Because the truth isn’t simple. I love Legend. I miss him. I want him.
But Pearly Gates is bleeding, and Hell is losing women. I’m standing right in the middle with a ring on my finger and a future that’s starting to look like a warning instead of a promise. I stare toward the rolling hills where the county line cuts the world in two.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
But it sounds like a prayer.
Or a lie.
Rumors start in whispers. In Official, what the locals call the side that ain’t Hell, they grow legs fast.
I never believed in demons. Not the literal kind. But there’s something that ain’t explained by sermons or police reports. Things that crawl between logic and faith. And it’s taking girls no one looks for until it is too late.
Town calls it the Demon Leaper.
A shadow in the trees. A blur of bone and smoke.
A nightmare that hunts what it wants. At first it was folklore.
One of the favorites of Pearly Gates. Something to scare kids out of leaving to find a better life in the city.
Whispered about behind barns and bonfires.
But now it is debated by grown men at gas stations, and old women in checkout lines.
Now it feels almost real. Tangible. Wrong.
Especially because the girls disappearing are tied to the Reverend. And tied to us. The farm. And to the club. Another girl is missing. This one from a trailer park in Crooked Creek Hollow. Her mother cried until she threw up.
Legend said he would take care of it. But Becki Crowley is still here. Still in that room. Still wrapped in a chain while the rest of us are unraveling. So I do what I always do.
I figure it out on my own.
I take my beat up farm truck. No need to announce myself. My hair pulled into a low ponytail. Jeans. No heels. Boots. If I’m gonna ask questions, I can’t walk in looking like the queen of Paradise Falls.
The Fire Pit is already packed when I get there. Neon sign flickering like it is trying to spell out a warning. Inside smells like bourbon. Someone is already yelling in the back booth. Music too loud, lights too low, the whole place humming like trouble.
Perfect.
The bartender recognizes me before I sit down. Cornbread hesitates like maybe serving me means choosing a side. Like the others loyal to Pearly Gates, he’s not showed up at the farm since the near insurrection. I raise an eyebrow and he moves away.
When I look up, Krystal is staring at me from across the bar.
Two weeks ago, she fought Becki here. Becki walked out with blood on her shirt and scratches down her face, but Krystal limped out with a broken nose and fury behind her eyes.
Now she saunters toward me, hips swinging like weapons.
“If it ain’t the Horse Princess herself.”
I smile without an ounce of warmth. “Heard you got your ass handed to you.”
She leans close. “That bitch fights dirty.”
“I beat her,” I say, sip my bourbon.
Krystal flicks ash from her cigarette. “That girl don’t belong here. Acting all high and mighty, then crying in the bathroom when someone mentions her daddy. I say let the Kings feed her to whatever’s out there.”
I lean in closer. “What do you mean by that?”
She smirks. “You haven’t heard? Lights in the woods. Screaming at night. Something picking off girls like ripe apples. And maybe it’s hunting for a preacher’s daughter.”
She says it casually, like she’s just stirring the pot. But her eyes flicker with something else. Fear.
I shove a wad of cash into her open palm.
“I want to know everything,” I say, before my hand leaves hers.
She nods. And then she struts back to her friends, leaving me with the taste of dread in my mouth. I drink half the bourbon in one swallow. She could be stirring shit. But I’ve heard the whispers too. Strange lights in the trees. I’ve seen fear settle behind the bravado of the club’s ol’ ladies.
Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap. I take a slow breath and steel myself. Hiring a club bunny to be my eyes and ears is only smart. One who hates Becki and won’t hold back.
Not just because I’m jealous, leaving my biker with his old flame locked up in his clubhouse. Something’s wrong. Something bigger than Becki. Bigger than the fights and the jealousy and the old blood between her and Legend. Bigger than the Reverend wanting my land.
Returning to the clubhouse, I search for Legend. The office door is open, yellow light spilling into the hall. Royal sits on a bench, head hanging low like he’s praying, but the look on his face ain’t holy. It’s raw. Bruised. Like he left a piece of himself somewhere he shouldn’t have gone.
He looks up when I walk in. For one split second, I swear I see guilt. That alone makes my stomach twist.
“You’re still keeping her here,” I say.
Legend rubs a hand over his face. “Sophie.”
“No. Don’t calm me down this time. Don’t feed me excuses. Another girl is dead. Another one gone. And Becki is still locked in that room while y’all pretend, she ain’t the center of this mess.”
“She ain’t involved,” Royal says quietly, staring straight ahead, not meeting my eyes.
“How would you know?” I snap. “You act like she’s some helpless angel chained to a bed.”
Legend steps between us. “We’re watching her. Nothin’s getting past us.”
“Are you watching her?” I hiss. “You personally?”
He better not be.
Silence stretches like a blade. Neither of them answers. Something cold slides through my chest. Something that feels like truth even though I want it to be a lie.
“She goes,” I whine, sounding like a broken record. “Or I do.”
Legend winces. “I just need more time.”
“You’ve had enough time.”
My voice cracks. I hate that it does. I turn and leave before the crack becomes a shatter.
While Legend’s watching Becki, no one’s watching me. The fact settles heavy in my stomach.
Later that night, I leave without any protection, but the gun at my hip. Walk through Hell into Official over to the Pearly Gates compound like young women ain’t being picked off one by one. Like I’m not still recovering from being kidnapped myself.
Closing my eyes, I fight the memories of waking up in a van to beatings. And I pray I ain’t walking into a trap again as I reach the gates.
Like the sign says, Church is always open. The door is unlocked. Of course it is. Men like him never believe anything can touch them. Reverend’s office is quiet when I sneak inside. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels deliberate.
Inside is all cedar polish. The place is humble with wood paneling. Nothing but a facade. I move carefully, keeping to the shadows. Then I hear voices.
Reverend’s voice.
“No, I said no delay. We move them now.”
My stomach drops.
Them?
Not one. Not two.
Them.
He pauses, listening to whoever is on the other end of the call.
“I don’t care what you need to do,” he continues. “Just make sure you have the merchandise.”
Merchandise?
My breath stops.
He’s talking about “them” like they’re property. Like they’re livestock.
Like they’re already gone.
I can’t listen anymore. I retreat before I get caught. Back outside, I pull my jacket tighter and head for the clubhouse, my mind racing with questions. Them? How many? Where are they going?
And why the hell is Becki still alive?
I don’t want to believe what I’m starting to suspect.
But the pieces fit too well.
Of all the single girls who left Pearly Gates and disappeared, Becki’s untouched. Why is she chained to a bed in the Kings’ clubhouse while her daddy moves the other girls like product? Why? Why is she the exception? Why is she not on the list?
The answer is too easy. Because she’s the Reverend’s daughter. Maybe he planned for her to be a prisoner at the clubhouse, so she won’t be taken. Maybe she’s in on it.
A distraction.
I walk back toward the clubhouse, legs shaking. When I reach the hallway that leads to Royal’s room, I stop.
And I hear it. Her voice. Soft. Dangerous. Laughing? I move closer. Is that Legend’s voice? Low, frayed at the edges like he’s barely holding himself together as he questions her. I don’t know for sure, but a pit forms in my stomach.
I don’t open the door. I don’t need to. The tension in his voice says enough. The tremble in hers says more.
I ain’t afraid of Becki.
I’m afraid of what men do when their hearts get twisted by the wrong woman. I’m afraid of what the Reverend is planning. I’m afraid the Kings of Anarchy are standing on a fault line no one sees but me.
Even kings fall when the wrong fire gets lit.
Later, I go to Legend. I don’t question him. I need to pretend everything is fine. But I won’t fuck him. Not when his ex is here. Withholding pussy feels beneath me, but it’s not something I can give while he hurts me like this.
Lying beside Legend in his bed, I stare at the ceiling while he sleeps with his arm over my waist. Comforting me without knowing he’s the reason I feel sick in the first place.
Wonder what would happen if I opened his phone. If there are texts from Becki, or photos, or worse, memories he won’t ever let go of.
I close my eyes and whisper into the dark. “If you burn this club down for her, I won’t be here to put out the flames.”
But even as the words leave my lips. I wonder if I’m already watching the flames begin.