Chapter 41
Royal
The club vote is still ringing in my ears as the brothers scatter, muttering about traitors, demons, Crowley, the upcoming war, and how I must’ve lost my mind over the Reverend’s daughter. Maybe I have. Maybe that is the first thing in my life that feels right.
Becki stays close behind me, bandaged wrist tucked against her chest, still bruised from where she was dragged. Every time she winces, something in me snarls. She is mine to protect now. Mine to command. Mine to ruin if I choose. Mine to save whether she wants saving or not.
Legend ends the meeting with a slam of the gavel and a look that says we are all one breath from hell.
But he let her go.
He let me have her.
He said it without hesitation.
That alone feels like a fever is breaking.
I don’t speak as I guide Becki down the stairs toward the basement. My brothers part around us. Whispers rise. Some jealous. Some scared. Some curious.
None of it matters.
Becki descends the last step and pauses at the doorway. She looks around the concrete room like she is seeing a familiar nightmare with different eyes.
“You bringing me back to my cage,” she asks quietly.
“No,” I say. “I’m bringing you home.”
Her breath trembles. Just a little. Just enough to hit me in the ribs.
I close the door behind us. Lock it. The click echoes, but this time it doesn’t sound like punishment. It sounds like a pledge.
Her back hits the wall as she watches me stalk toward her. Slow. Intentional. Dangerous. The same way she watched me walk toward her always. The same way she watches the dark and thinks it will swallow her whole.
I will.
“You sure,” I ask. “You sure you want what comes next.”
She lifts her chin. “I have been sure since the first night you locked me in the clubhouse.”
That is all the permission I need.
I grab her by the hips and drag her into me so hard her breath punches out. My mouth crushes hers, filthy, hungry, the kind of kiss a man gives when he’s past redemption. Her fingers claw my shirt, yanking it, dragging me closer like she’s starving for everything I’ve been holding back.
“Royal,” she gasps into my mouth.
Fuck, the way she says my name. My name. I’m slayed.
My knife is in my hand before either of us breathes again.
She doesn’t pull back.
She watches the blade rise, her multicolored eyes blinking, her chest rising fast. Her body leans into the danger like it’s the only thing that ever held her steady.
“Arms up,” I growl.
She obeys instantly. God help me, the obedience alone almost undoes me. I peel her shirt off slow, letting the cold air hit her skin a second before the knife does. Her bra comes off next. Her pants, everything, until she stands bare in front of me, trembling, but not from fear.
From hunger.
I trail the flat of the blade across her pierced nipples, watching them harden under the kiss of steel.
Fuck me.
She gasps, arches, pushes herself into the contact like she needs more.
“You want this,” I murmur, dragging the knife down her ribs.
A shiver rolls through her.
“Yes.”
“You want my danger.”
“Yes.”
“You want the man who would level this whole county just to keep you.”
“Royal… yes.”
My control snaps.
I shove her firmly onto the bed, spreading her out with my hands, mapping every inch of her bare skin with the knife’s flat edge. I make her feel every cold inch, every slow, sinful drag.
The letters carved into her back, R.O.Y.A.L, calls to me like a prayer.
“You remember how it felt?” I ask. “When I cut my name into you?”
Her eyes flutter shut. “Yes.”
“You want more?”
“God, Royal… please.”
I flip the knife in my hand.
“Turn over.”
She obeys without hesitation.
I touch it with the blade. Soft. Worshipful.
Her breath breaks. Beautiful. Ruined. Mine.
The whelps shine faintly in the low basement light. My name cut into her softness like it belongs there. Like she was born waiting for it.
I bracket her hips with my knees. My hand spreads gently across her lower back.
And I carve again.
Slow. Deliberate. Just deep enough to mark, not deep enough to damage too bad. Her breath hitches, pain tangled with pleasure so tightly like she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
A single letter.
P.
Right over my name, exactly where it will one day spell Property of Royal.
Her body shivers, a broken sound slipping out.
“That’s it,” I rasp. “Take it. Take every mark I put on you.”
A bead of blood rolls down her spine. I catch it with the tip of the blade… and lift the steel to my mouth.
I lick it clean.
The taste is metallic, sharp, pure devotion.
She shudders like the sound alone pushes her over an edge.
“You are mine,” I murmur over her skin. “Mark by mark. Drop by drop.”
I kiss the new carved line, slow, reverent.
Her body jerks, a broken moan ripping out of her, pure pleasure laced with the sting.
“You’re taking it so good,” I murmur. “My girl. My mark. My fucking property.”
She whimpers like she’s about to come undone just from this.
When she turns back over, tears cling to her lashes, not pain. Something deeper. Something that scares even me.
I take out my cock and stroke it. “You see what you do to me?” I rasp. “You see what this pussy does to me without me even touching it?”
Her thighs fall even wider. I drag the knife from her inner thigh up to her hip, stopping just shy of where she’s soaked.
Her breath breaks on my name.
“Royal…”
“You want this dick in you?” I ask, smirking. “Want me to ruin your pussy the way I ruined your pretty back?”
She nods, eyes glassy. “Yes… please…”
I lower myself over her, my body pinning hers to the bed, our mouths inches apart. She’s shaking, desperate, ready to take every dark piece of me.
“Tonight,” I say, voice shaking with how hard I want her. “There’s no stopping. No rules. No fucking Legend to tell me what I can’t do.”
Her nails sink into my shoulders. “Don’t even say his name.”
I laugh. “That’s right. And this pussy,” I murmur against her mouth. “Belongs to me. Every soaking inch of it.”
She gasps, her whole body arching.
I kiss her again, filthy, devouring, claiming, my hand sliding between her thighs, but I stop just shy.
She whimpers.
Begging.
“Royal… please… I want…”
“What do you want?” I growl.
She grabs my face in both hands, dragging me into a kiss that devours everything, fear, restraint, doubt. Her breath shakes against my lips.
“Royal,” she whispers, voice barely a sound. “I want… I want to make a baby with you.”
The words hit like a match to gasoline.
My entire being becomes wild. I lower my forehead to hers, breathing her in, my hands shaking on her waist like I’m barely holding myself together.
“You want that?” My voice is raw. “You want mine?”
Her chin lifts. Brave. Beautiful. Reckless.
“Yes. I want yours. Only yours.”
Something inside me breaks clean in half.
“Then whatever you want,” I whisper, voice shaking with the weight of it. “You’ve got it. Everything. Always.”