Brittany #2
His eyes flare at his name like it tastes good to hear it out of my mouth, like he hates that it does.
Elijah shifts and steps slightly in front of me. “She doesn’t need you checking on her.”
Oaks’ stare turns sharp as broken glass. “You don’t know what she needs.”
Elijah’s jaw clenches. “I know she don’t need a married man causing trouble in her life.”
The words hit the air like a slap.
My breath catches.
Oaks doesn’t flinch, but something in his face shifts. A flicker of something ugly and honest.
“Watch your mouth,” Oaks says quiet.
Elijah doesn’t back down. “Or what?”
Oaks takes a single step closer and the whole temperature of the lot drops. He doesn’t have to touch Elijah to make it feel like violence is an option.
I shove myself between them before Hell gets blood on the concrete. “Stop,” I hiss. “Both of you.”
Oaks looks down at me, eyes hard. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“I’m pumping gas, not robbing a bank,” I snap. “I’m not out here committing sins. I’m living.”
His gaze holds mine. “In this town, that’s enough.”
My throat tightens because he’s right and I hate it.
Elijah looks at me like he wants to pull me away. “Brittany,” he says softer, “you don’t belong in their world.”
I whip my head toward him. “I didn’t ask to belong in anybody’s world.”
Then I look back at Oaks, anger crackling through me. “And you don’t get to show up like you own me.”
His eyes darken and his jaw works like he’s swallowing something mean. For a second he looks like he wants to say something honest enough to ruin me.
Instead he says, “Get in your car.”
I laugh, sharp. “Excuse me?”
His voice stays low. “Now.”
Elijah steps forward. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Oaks’ gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You wanna go home, Brittany?”
That lands softer than the order, like he’s giving me an out without looking weak.
It makes me furious.
Because he’s right. Because my knees feel a little shaky and my house is empty and I’m tired of being brave. I hate that I want him to tell me what to do.
I clench my keys harder. “I can take myself home.”
Oaks nods once like he expected that. Then his gaze slides to the dark stretch of road beyond the station.
His posture shifts just a little.
Predator noticing movement.
Elijah sees it too. His head turns, eyes narrowing.
“What?” I whisper.
Oaks steps closer and lowers his voice so it’s just for me. “You been followed this week?”
My stomach drops. “No.”
His eyes go flat. “Don’t lie to me.”
The words shouldn’t make heat spark, but they do, and I hate myself for it.
Elijah looks between us, tense. “Followed by who?”
Oaks’ stare flicks to him, dismissive. “Not your business.”
Elijah’s cheeks flush. “If she’s in danger, it is my business.”
Oaks’ mouth twitches, humorless. “You think you’re the kind of man who can keep her safe?”
Elijah lifts his chin. “I think I’m the kind of man who doesn’t bring danger to her door.”
Oaks’ eyes cut back to me and for a split second something in them softens like that landed where it hurts.
Then the softness vanishes.
“Get in,” he says again, quieter. “I’ll follow you. From a distance. You won’t even know I’m there.”
I stare at him. “Why?”
His jaw flexes. “Because it’s my fault.”
My breath catches.
Elijah’s gaze sharpens. “What did you do?”
Oaks doesn’t deny anything.
My face heats, anger and embarrassment and something stupidly tender all at once. “You didn’t have to do anything.”
“Yeah,” Oaks murmurs. “I did.”
We’re having a whole conversation that Elijah doesn’t get. It’s innocent. We’re talking about Oaks protecting me. But he doesn’t know that.
I stand there with my heart doing something messy and loud, caught between Elijah’s clean concern and Oaks’ dark certainty, caught between safe and dangerous, and I’m so damn tired of everyone deciding what I am.
“I can take myself home,” I say again, voice shaking a little.
Oaks’ eyes hold mine. “Then let me make sure you get there.”
Elijah reaches for my arm gentle. “Brit. Please.”
I jerk away, not from fear, from frustration. “Stop grabbing me.”
Elijah flinches.
Oaks’ gaze sharpens like he likes that.
I hate that too.
“I’m fine,” I say, breath coming too fast. “I’m just tired of this town acting like I committed a crime because I danced with a biker.”
Oaks’ mouth tilts faintly. “You didn’t murder someone.”
I stare at him. “No. All I did was dance with you.”
He holds my gaze.
Then his smile turns real for half a second, and it wrecks me worse than his anger ever could.
“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” he says again, softer.
My throat tightens. “I don’t really. Just bits and pieces.”
Elijah watches me like he can see the shift in my chest, the betrayal of my own body.
Oaks steps back half a pace, giving me space like he’s proving he can.
“Go on,” he says. “Drive.”
I swallow hard, nod once, and climb into my car.
My hands shake on the wheel.
In the mirror Elijah stands by the pump, watching Oaks like he wants to memorize him for later. Oaks stays still, eyes on my car, posture all control.
And when I pull out, I see his head turn just slightly, checking the road behind me.