Chapter 36
Becki
It smells like rain on old buildings and a whole lot of trouble in Louisville. A city built on old blood and older ghosts.
Royal drives us through the window dressing first. Past big glass buildings, clean streets. Past a row of Victorian houses painted in shades of pastel. Past the big bat, reminding me of the night I walked out of my trailer to follow the man in the ghost mask.
Royal. My Biker Boo.
Royal said I was his. Royal let me off the chain and took me out of the clubhouse. I’ve gotten exactly what I’ve wanted from him. It’s almost time to run. But part of me knows, I’m not just playing him.
And I wish I was.
But soon, we make it to blocks where the streetlights flicker like dying fireflies, past boarded windows and burned-out sedans tagged with warnings in spray paint.
Rust-eaten chain-link fences sag beneath crooked wooden crosses hammered into them like makeshift wards.
The sky hangs low and bruised, leaking a kind of darkness that feels personal.
A kid no older than thirteen sells dime bags on a stoop.
Royal doesn’t blink.
Neither do I.
We are deep now, too deep, into the parts of Louisville even sinners whisper about.
The church appears like it clawed itself out of hell.
Tall gothic arches. A leaning steeple whispering secrets to the night wind.
Broken stained glass that glows faint purple under moonlight.
The sign out front should read HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD, but someone slashed a pentagram across it in red paint.
It drips like fresh blood even though it is not fresh at all.
Royal kills the engine.
The silence between us throbs.
“This the place?” I ask, though my bones already know it is.
Royal doesn’t answer me right away. He just steps closer. Slow. Intentional. A predator’s pace. My back hits the side of the truck before I even realize I’m retreating. The cold metal shocks through my thin tank.
I regret leaving the flannel in the truck. But it was getting hot in there. Royal’s body heat swallows my chill immediately as he crowds me in, bracing one tattooed arm beside my head.
“This is the address from Joey’s purse. Once we go in,” he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate through my ribs. “Don’t wander. You don’t question. You don’t breathe without me knowing.”
His hand wraps lightly, dangerously, around my throat. Not squeezing. Just claiming the space.
“Royal” I whisper, but his breath is already sliding across my cheek, hot and furious.
“No games,” he warns. “No running. No smart mouth. Not in there.”
I swallow. His thumb drags over my pulse, catching the tremor.
“Why?” I ask, breath unsteady.
His eyes fall to my lips and darken. “Because if you walk more than two steps away from me, I’ll think you’re running.”
Is he onto me? His hips press into mine, pinning me with the entire weight of everything he is. Want. Rage. Restraint stretched thin like barbed wire. I tilt my head a fraction, just enough to let him think I’m not running. His jaw flexes like he is fighting a war.
Then he growls, “Get inside, Becki. Before I forget why we are here.”
My knees almost buckle.
We don’t speak again as we enter the church. But my body is still pressed to that truck. And so is his warning.
Underneath it, simmering through my ribs, is something worse than honest desire.
Joey.
His missing girlfriend.
The girl he used to touch. The club bunny he fucked in front of me. The woman he’s here to find. To save.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, but jealousy moves through me like a slow, sharp poison. Royal already carved his damn name into my skin. Royal already told me with his mouth and his hands and his voice that he can’t stop wanting me. That I’m his.
Yet we are here searching for her. I feel guilty for hating that. I feel guilty for hating her. I feel guilty for wanting him to forget her completely. And I feel guilty for feeling guilty at all.
Royal’s jaw works once before he nods. “I did a little digging. Crowley used to preach here before Pearly Gates. Before he found better ways to hide things.”
I hug myself tighter. “Charming.”
Inside, the door groans like something dying. The air tastes like mold, incense, and rot. Pews overturned. Graffiti curling across the walls like bruises. A hole in the ceiling pours moonlight onto cracked tile like a spotlight meant to summon something.
We move through the nave quietly, stepping over hymnals turned to mush and broken glass that catches the moonlight like teeth.
Then.
SCRAPE.
Scratch.
Something dragging itself along the roof.
Royal snaps the flashlight off.
“Do not breathe.”
I freeze. Air locks in my lungs until panic pricks my ribs. The darkness folds around us like a second skin. My heart kicks harder when the floorboards above groan again, slow and deliberate. Something is up there. Something that is not Joey. Something that doesn’t walk like a person.
My breath hitches. Just barely.
Royal moves instantly. His hand clamps over my mouth. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just absolute.
His body presses into mine, pinning me to the wall so tightly I feel the knife in his waistband dig against my hip. His breath hits the shell of my ear, low and furious.
“Quiet,” he whispers. “Or I’ll gag you.”
Heat curls low in my stomach. Shameful. Hungry. Wrong.
I nod against his palm, trembling.
Above us, the creature, or man, scrapes slow circles around the rafters. Royal doesn’t move. His hand stays over my mouth. His lips drift dangerously close to the corner of it. Every shaky breath I take brushes his fingers.
His grip tightens slightly. “If you make one more sound,” he murmurs, voice thin as smoke, “I swear to God, I’ll put you on your knees in the dark until you learn to obey.”
My body lights up like a struck match.
He feels my reaction.
His cock hardens against me.
His thumb sweeps the seam of my mouth. My tongue darts out to taste his skin.
A thump.
The shadow moves.
Royal’s hand slides from my lips to my jaw, holding me still. But he doesn’t kiss me. He draws near enough to make the retreat more painful.
Another scrape.
Heavier this time.
My mouth falls open. “Royal”
THUMP.
It’s as if something lands directly above us.
Royal grabs my hand, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.
“Move.”
We run to the stairs, through the gutted sanctuary, pushing out into the night where the cold feels like knives. The church groans behind us as if it hates letting us go.
We sprint two blocks before he yanks me behind an abandoned gas station. I bend over, gasping, clutching a stitch in my side.
“Did you see anything?” I choke out.
Royal’s breath fogs the air. “No. But something was there. Someone.”
“What the fuck was it?”
He doesn’t answer because he can’t. Because the truth scares him too.
And somewhere under that fear is a wound I can’t ignore. Joey is missing. She might be dead. She might be part of whatever is stalking us. And I’m here wanting him so badly it burns. Wanting him to choose me first. Wanting to forget she ever existed.
The guilt tastes thick.
The rooftop glistens with mist as Louisville neon bleeds red into fog. We run again, back to the truck.
Soon we collapse into the motel room like we broke in. We did. Well, Royal took out some tiny tools out of his backpack, and did the deed. The place smells like bleach, cigarettes, and despair. Water stains drip like veins down the wall. A couple next door screams in Spanish.
Royal has not touched me since the church. He has not spoken either. He seethes quietly like a storm choosing what to destroy first.
I shower immediately. On auto pilot, I scrub while sounds from the church haunt me.
Afterwards, I sit on the bed in the towel, legs trembling, and study my wrist. The cuff rubbed it raw. Skin torn and swollen. It throbs.
Royal appears with his first-aid kit.
“For Joey? If she’s hurt?”
“For your back.” He explains why he brought it. “Let me,” he says.
No softness.
Just command.
I offer my wrist. His rough fingers turn gentle in a way that steals breath. He dabs antiseptic. It burns. I grit my teeth.
Royal looks up. Right at me. Into me.
“Why are you fussin’ over me,” I whisper.
His jaw shifts. “Because you’re mine to deal with.”
“And if I don’t want to be dealt with?”
His fingers tighten around my wrist just enough to make my pulse jump.
He leans closer. “Then run.”
A breath against my mouth.
“But next time, I will not chase you.”
His eyes go dark.
“I will hunt you.”
The air clots. Heat, fear, hunger. And jealousy. Ugly and sharp. I don’t know if he is thinking of Joey. I don’t know if he is touching me because of her or in spite of her. I don’t know why I care so much that he is here running with me instead with his brothers.
I lean in.
He doesn’t move.
Our lips brush. Just barely. The spark is violent. A wildfire lighting dry earth.
He shoves the kit aside and drags me against him. His mouth crashes into mine. Teeth catching, anger and need tangling into something untamed. I claw at his shirt. He tears it over his head. His muscles rigid. His breath ragged.
He lifts me and slams me back onto the bed without breaking the kiss. My towel falls away. His weight pins me. Danger, dominance, desire wrapped into one impossible man.
His hands skim my belly. Fingers hot. Claiming. I arch without shame. Without thought. Wanting all of it. His hard cock. Finally. Wanting him to forget her name entirely. Wanting him to stay mine instead.
Then he stops.
He breaks the kiss like it hurts him.
“Why?” I whisper.
He drops his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
“Because I want this too much.”
A tremor moves through him.
“And if I don’t stop, Becki,” he says, voice breaking, “I will not stop.”
His restraint shakes him. Not fear. Want. The want he is terrified of. The want he is not supposed to have I guess, while Joey is missing. The want that ties us together in ways neither of us truly understand.
I finally see the truth.
Royal doesn’t want to break me.
Royal wants me.
Really wants me.
And that terrifies him more than any demon.