Chapter 25
Royal
The scrap shouldn’t weigh anything.
It is just fabric, thin, denim, stiff with dried blood, but it seems like a stone pulling me directly into the ground. I hold it between my fingers like it might bite. Becki found it first, in the cemetery dirt behind Pearly Gates, on a gravestone like the dead were trying to hide it.
She shouldn’t have been out. But if she hadn’t gone, we wouldn’t have this.
She could’ve run away. Could’ve gone to her daddy.
But she crawled back through that vent.
To me.
I sit on the edge of my bunk in the basement, elbows on my knees, studying the scrap like it’s gonna confess something.
My hoodie sleeves are shoved up, ink shadows curling down my forearms. The air in the clubhouse feels heavy tonight. Damp. Wrong. Like the walls know what we saw in that church basement and they’re waiting for the next body to show up.
I pocket the scrap and leave, locking my room behind me purely out of instinct. The hall is quiet. Too quiet. Most of the brothers are drinking, playing pool, trying to pretend Hell hasn’t turned into a hunting ground.
The map in the war room glows under a flickering light. Red string trails from pushpin to pushpin. The disappearances. Back roads. State lines. Parking lots. Boundaries of the Reverend’s reach. Used to look like coincidence.
Now it looks like a blueprint.
I slam the door on my way out.
The cold night air hits me in the teeth. Oaks and Whiskey lean against the fence, smoke curling around them. They go silent when I approach.
“Seen this?” I hold up the scrap.
Whiskey squints. “Looks like a rag.”
“Smell it.”
He hesitates, then sniffs. His face softens into dread. “Blood.”
Oaks raises an eyebrow. “So? Deer get hit all the time out this way.”
“This ain’t deer.”
His smile is too loose. “Club girl dropped it, maybe.”
I step in, close enough for him to feel the threat under my skin.
“Where were you last Friday night?”
Whiskey goes rigid.
Oaks laughs too quickly. “Here. Why?”
“You weren’t on shift. No run. No ride. No alibi.”
Whiskey whistles. “Jesus, Royal. You accusing your own?”
“Someone’s using our blind spots. Someone who knows our schedules.”
Oaks’ smirk falters. Just a flicker. But enough.
I drop the scrap into my pocket and walk away.
I don’t trust anyone.
Not now.
Not when Hell appears hungry.
My phone rattles in my pocket. It’s Joey.
Text reads, “Royal, I need you. It’s important.”
Last time she said that she ended up in my bed. I fucked her in front of Becki, cut her even. Making a choice, I block Joey’s number. A problem to deal with later.
When I reach the cell door again, my pulse spikes. Becki’s asleep.
Or pretending to be.
Her wrist is cuffed, the slack wrapped to the headboard, chain coiled over her arm like jewelry meant to bruise. She chained herself. A key, the master key is on the nightstand like an offering. I pocket it. I’ll put it back behind the bar before Legend realizes it’s gone.
My top clings to her in the moonlight, thin, slipping off one shoulder. Her legs are tangled in the sheet, one bare thigh exposed. The shadows kiss her skin like they’ve been waiting for her.
Like I have all these years.
My throat tightens.
I shouldn’t stare for too long.
But I always do.
Her lips part softly with each breath. Her hair sticks up. A reckless halo. A warning.
I remember holding her the night of the crash.
Her fingers in my hoodie. Her voice whispering Legend’s name. Her body trembling against mine.
I didn’t fuck her then. But I wanted to. Eventually did. And now I’m staring at her. I can have her at anytime. But once I do, they’ll be no going back to the way we were. A stalker and his prey.
I walk out the door, shut it quietly.
Instead of choosing her, I lean against the wall, arms crossed, letting her presence anchor me and kill me at the same time.
The fabric scrap burns in my pocket.
A thought forms.
Dangerous.
Useful.
Wrong.
If I set her loose…
If I let her wander…
Whoever is taking girls might make a move.
We could use Becki as bait.
The idea makes me sick.
But it might save lives.
I test the lock, not turning it, just feeling the mass of it under my hand.
She deserves to choose. And I don’t trust myself to ask without turning it into a threat.
Tomorrow.
Tonight, I’m…
“I know you’re there.”
Her voice slices through the steel door.
I freeze.
“I can feel you,” she whispers, barely awake but sharp enough to wound. “Breathing like I scare you.”
You do, I think.
“You watching me again, Biker Boo?” she murmurs. “Can't sleep unless you know I'm still chained?”
I don’t answer.
She smiles. I can hear it.
“I ain’t afraid of you, Royal.”
She should be.
Because I’m afraid of her.
Afraid I’d burn the world down if something happened to her. Afraid I’d enjoy doing it. I push off the wall and force myself to walk away.
Her cry chases me down the hall. “You dream of me. I hear it in the way you breathe.”
I stop breathing entirely.
Then I shove my hands into my pockets and leave before I break the door off its hinges and prove her right.
Tomorrow, we make a deal.
Tonight, I dream of the cemetery.
Of the blood.
Of the basement.
Of Becki whispering fire into my ear in a voice that was meant for another man.
And of her whispering it again, this time with my name on her tongue.