CHAPTER THREE
I WAKE UP with a weight on my chest that takes a second to place.
It’s not the ache of grief—though that’s always there, humming in my veins—but a literal weight. A heavy arm flung across my ribs. A thigh pressed to mine. Warmth at my back.
Billy.
His breath saws in and out behind me, shallow and steady. He’s still asleep.
Every morning is a disappointment. Every morning, for a split second, I forget where I am, and then reality catches up, and the ache sets in.
But the mornings I wake up in Billy’s bed are the worst. His closeness is a physical reminder of everything I’ve lost. The warmth of someone’s body against mine, and then realizing it’s not one of them. I’m so much more aware that I’m imprisoned when I wake for a moment thinking I’m free.
I’m exhausted. Bone tired. For the past few nights, ever since the party where he fucked me in front of everybody, it’s me he’s wanted in his bed.
No other girls to show off in front of me, just me.
He’s still riding high off that performance, but alone between us, it’s been something even worse. Clumsy and intimate.
“Max,” he kept whispering last night as he fucked me, between long, deep kisses where he forced his tongue into my mouth. “Oh, Max. Oh, Max.”
Now his leg is tangled with mine, his hand curled just under my breast.
I stare at the ceiling and count rust spots in the metal. He smells the same as always—a kind of leather and stale beer smell that used to mean home.
Now it makes my stomach turn.
I inch my fingers toward the edge of the blanket and tug it higher over my chest. My skin feels raw this morning. I feel exposed when I’m near him, even if I’m covered.
I can’t believe I used to crave his touch. His voice. His affection. Now, even asleep, just being close to him is suffocating.
He shifts beside me, mumbling something. His fingers twitch against my stomach. I hold my breath and close my eyes, praying that I get a few more minutes of silence before he wakes up.
A groan, low in his throat, as his hand slides over my hip. His fingers spread across my stomach. He murmurs against my neck, voice rough with sleep.
I stay still. Maybe if I don’t respond, he’ll fall back asleep.
But his palm slides higher, finding my breast. He cups it, thumb flicking across my nipple, and then he shifts closer. I feel him hardening against the curve of my ass.
“Missed this,” he whispers. “Waking up with you.”
I close my eyes. Try not to flinch when he presses a kiss to my shoulder. When he tilts his hips toward me, rubbing his erection against me.
He groans. “I’m hard for you again, baby.”
I breathe in. Out. Then turn my head just enough that he sees my profile.
“I need a shower.”
A pause. Just a beat. “You can shower after.”
I shake my head. “I need one now.”
“C’mon.” He wraps an arm around me, pulls me tight against him, and panic flowers in my belly. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good?”
“I’m serious, Billy.” My lungs feel tight. I can’t breathe. “Just let me shower.”
He sighs, and relaxes his arm, easing the pressure. I squirm out of his grasp.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Go ahead.”
Then, sharper: “Leave the door open.”
Of course. I always have to leave the door open.
No privacy.
I slide out from under the blanket, the rush of air over my bare skin feeling like oxygen I’m sucking into my lungs. Out of Billy’s grasp, I can breathe. The plywood floor is cool under my feet, the rough boards slightly warped from years of humidity and neglect.
Billy’s private bathroom is barely more than a closet with a toilet and a tiny shower stall. Inside, I catch my reflection in the broken mirror. Skin so pale it’s almost gray, cheeks hollow.
My eyes are bloodshot. Hair clings to my cheeks in greasy strands. My body’s thinner than it used to be, thin from not caring—from not eating unless someone hands me food. From not sleeping until I’m so tired I collapse.
I reach up, unfasten the thick leather collar, and set it gently on the edge of the sink with a sigh of relief.
Then I step into the shower and turn the tap all the way to hot.
The pipes rattle. Water blasts out in a sharp, hissing stream, and steam curls around me.
The water beats down on my scalp, my shoulders, my back.
The heat seeps into my skin, loosening the cold knots in my muscles.
For a few minutes, I almost remember what peace feels like. I lather shampoo through my hair and rub my skin vigorously with soap, then, when the water starts to get a little cooler, I reluctantly turn off the tap and step onto the bathmat.
I dry off and pull the towel tight around me. Then I brace myself, lift the collar, and fasten it back into place.
By the time I step back into the bedroom, Billy’s sitting up, underwear on, bent over his phone. He points to the outfit he’s laid out for me on the chair—a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a small gray tank top—and I pull them on with practiced detachment.
He puts down his phone and watches me as I sit down on the edge of the bed to pull my hair into a knot.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Just taking it in,” he says with a small smile meant to be sweet.
I cross to the interior window that’s been cut into the wall beside the door, and lift it open. A breeze drifts in, cool and faintly metallic, carrying the scent of grease, coffee, and bacon from the hangar below.
It’s midday maybe, based on the light, and the main floor is buzzing with activity. From Billy’s second-story bedroom, I can see almost everything. It’s like looking out at a whole village below from a castle turret.
Word’s gone around that a crew is coming back tonight—guys who’ve been gone for a few weeks, running something cross-border.
Smuggling, I think. Guns, probably. Something profitable and illegal and impressive enough that everyone’s been talking about it for days.
The success has made Billy smug. Smug and keyed-up.
A party’s been promised, and that means something bigger than the usual club nights. This will be a blow-out.
A couple of girls string up lights overhead, duct-taping them to the beams like they’re decorating for prom.
A man in a leather vest is hauling crates of liquor behind the bar, while another rips open bags of ice with his teeth, dumping them into a metal tub.
Music is already playing louder than usual for this time of day.
It’s hours before sundown, but party prep is already well underway.
A woman I’ve never seen before draws my eye.
She’s perched on a barstool, barefoot, long-legged, wearing an oversized band tee and a pair of jeans.
Her hair is wild and coppery, tied up in a messy knot that looks like she did it without a mirror.
She’s laughing—a big, open, teeth-flashing laugh that makes the older man beside her grin back at her, looking completely entranced.
She’s magnetic.
Confident. Unbothered. Free.
I watch her for a long moment, something aching behind my ribs. She reaches up and wipes something from the man’s face and then tosses the napkin at him with a wink.
I swallow hard.
I don’t know who she is. Don’t know her story. But to me, she looks like everything I’m not. Everything I wish I could be.
Billy comes up behind me, too close, and follows my gaze. “You staring at that girl?” he asks, amused.
“She’s pretty.” My voice is surprisingly even.
“Boobs aren’t as good as yours,” he says dismissively, and yawns.
I don’t say anything. I keep my eyes on her, letting myself imagine what it would feel like to be her, loose and laughing and alive in your own skin. I wonder if I’ll ever feel anything like that again.
I stare for a second longer and then wrench my eyes away and close the window.
Longing is dangerous.
A knock at the door drags me all the way back to the present.
“Come in,” barks Billy.
The moment Silas walks in, my body locks up, shuttering itself against him. I can’t breathe without reminding myself to do it.
The man who murdered Ryder in cold blood.
I died too the day he pulled that trigger.
My hands curl into fists. My skin crawls. I want to scream. I want to launch myself at him and claw his fucking eyes out.
But I do nothing, as always. Because I know better.
“Shipment’s in early,” he says. “Pluto’s doing the count, but he says we’re missing two crates.”
Billy’s jaw ticks. “Fucking hell. Who signed for it?”
“Cipher was on the gate. Says the guy didn’t give him shit.”
Billy swings his legs over the side of the bed, suddenly alert. “Okay. Sit tight with our girl here while I go down.”
A smirk flickers across Silas’s face. “Wouldn’t dream of letting her out of my sight.” He glances at me—too long.
Billy stands and drags a hand through his hair, and then grabs his jeans from the floor and pulls them on. He leaves, shirtless, without another word.
Silas doesn’t say anything. He just takes up position, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
I lie down on the bed and turn my back to him, closing my eyes.
I never feel safe around him, but nothing’s ever happened when we’re alone—despite the way his eyes are always dragging over my body. Billy’s made it clear that I’m up for grabs, but always on his terms. I don’t think anyone, even Silas, would dare go against his wishes when he’s not around.
The collar presses into my neck but the noise of the clubhouse below fades away like I’m sinking underwater as I breathe low and slow and focus on being anywhere else but here.
If I think hard enough, I can remember a version of Billy who didn’t treat me like his property. A version of Billy I wasn’t afraid of.
I was thirteen when we met. Billy was seventeen. Already tall, and walking with that insouciant swagger, like the world owed him something and he intended to collect.
Our foster home was a shitshow. Dirty and full of kids. The walls were thin and the locks on the doors were more for show than safety.
Dan was the kind of foster father who drank too much and hovered too close, and Billy slept on my floor at night to protect me from him, curled in a sleeping bag beside the bed. He never touched me, never asked for anything in return. He just protected me.
And after he aged out, I ran to him.
He was crashing in a shitty apartment with too many people and too little space, so it only made sense that I shared Billy’s bed.
He never forced it—not then. Never even asked. But I was young, and I was grateful, and I didn’t know the difference between safety and salvation yet. I thought I owed him something. Thought maybe love could grow from a life raft.
And for a while…he felt like family.
He used to brush my hair. Bring me breakfast in bed when we had it. Used to make me laugh—real, deep, belly laughs.
I loved him.
And I think he loved me too.
But somewhere along the way, that love got twisted.
Billy got bigger. He started the club, bought the hangar, and then the tenderness dried up.
Protectiveness curdled into control. Affection became ownership.
And I didn’t even see it happening until it was too late.
Not until I wasn’t allowed to say no anymore.
Something breaks my reverie.
A laugh.
Downstairs—deep and rich. It slices right through the haze of memory like a scalpel.
The sound of it is comforting and familiar. Like family.
I leap up, swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, crossing to the window. I don’t even know what I’m hoping to see, but the laugh is already gone.
Behind me, Silas speaks, his words calm and cool and rancid.
“Looking for someone?”
I don’t answer. I search the floor below looking for something familiar—I don’t even know what anymore.
But Silas continues, his voice oily and slick. “Hope you put on another show tonight,” he adds casually. “You did real good the last time.”
A pause.
“Almost made me think you liked it.”
I turn just enough glare at him, and he meets my eyes, smiling coldly.
“Relax,” he says. “I didn’t touch you.” He smiles wider. “Yet.”
A beat.
“Billy’s still in the honeymoon period now that he’s got you back. But trust me, he’s getting bored. You won’t be off-limits forever.”
My mouth is dry. My skin itches like it’s too tight for my body. If he ever touches me, I’ll kill him. I swear to god, I’ll kill him.
But I’ve learned how to survive. I don’t look at him again. I just lie back down and disappear.
“I’m patient,” he adds, voice cool as ice. “And I like my girls broken.”
It’s not real. I’m not here. I’m laughing with that girl downstairs. I’m racing in a car with Damian. I’m leaning my head on Wyatt’s shoulder. I’m falling asleep in Ryder’s arms.