Brittany
I hear about it before I really hear about it. That’s how things work in Hell. News don’t travel fast, but it travels crooked, bent around corners, passed through mouths that sound sweet and mean at the same time.
I’m at Slice of Paradise with Lottie, stirring sugar into coffee I don’t want, when a girl two stools down laughs too loud and says his name like it’s candy she’s been sucking on all night.
“Oaks.”
My spoon rattles against porcelain. My spine stiffens before my brain catches up. My body always knows first.
“He was upstairs with her,” the girl says. “Didn’t even shut the door good.”
“Bless her heart.”
A couple men snort. Somebody whistles low. I don’t look right away. That’s the trick in Hell. You never show the first hit. Lottie’s hand stills over her plate like she’s bracing for me to crack.
When I finally turn my head, they ain’t looking at me directly and that’s worse. It’s sideways glances, the way words slow down when they notice I’m listening, like I’m a lesson somebody else already learned.
“That ain’t news,” another woman mutters. “Man cheats on his wife with all the club whores.”
Whores.
The word hits different when it’s not just meant for others. And when it’s got stairs. A room. A woman crawling into his lap. I can’t get the picture out of my head. I push my coffee away before my hand starts shaking.
“You okay, Brit?” Lottie asks, quiet.
“Fine,” I lie, because that’s what women do when their insides feel scraped raw. “I just didn’t know it’d be so fast.”
Her mouth tightens. “Baby,” she says, and it ain’t comfort.
It’s warning. I stare down at the counter, tracing a crack in the laminate like I could fix it if I press hard enough. “I didn’t even do anything,” I whisper. “I danced. That’s it.”
Lottie’s voice drops. “You don’t get it yet.”
“Then explain it,” I snap.
Her eyes flick to the door and back to me.
“You didn’t just dance with him. You got seen.
Folks decide a story and then they act like it’s law.
It’s my fault I was caught up with Holler.
That man don’t take later for an answer.
” She blushes. “They say you grabbed Oak’s you know what.
That you dry humped him. Twerked on him. I don’t believe all that. Not you.”
There it is. Just like from my nightmare. Confirmed. I swallow the humiliation. I don’t tell Lottie the awful truth.
“Bethany?” I ask. “Do I still need to worry?”
Lottie doesn’t answer.
That’s my answer.
Outside, the sky hangs low and gray like it’s listening. Hell always feels smaller after moments like this, like the roads fold in on themselves and the whole town leans closer just to watch you bleed.
At the pawn shop, Becki’s behind the counter, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Lottie asked her to cover when I didn’t show, and now I’m in danger of losing hours. She doesn’t smile when she sees me. She studies me like I’m a headline she already read.
“You piss someone off again?” she asks casually.
My stomach flips. “Why?”
She slides a receipt toward me but keeps her fingers on it, leaning in. “Somebody’s been asking about you. Pearly Gates side.”
My pulse spikes. “Who?”
“Didn’t give a name,” Becki says. “Just smiled like they already owned the answer. They asked about where you work, where you go, who you’re seen with, and how often you’re alone.”
The air goes thin. “Maybe they’re just curious,” I say, and I can hear how weak it sounds.
Becki snorts. “Pearly Gates ain’t curious. They collect.”
The word settles ugly in my chest. “You were a member,” I remind her.
“Yeah,” she says. “You know my daddy’s the Reverend, right?”
“No, I didn’t.” Beckie’s older than me by a bit, like Lottie. “There’s too much I don’t know about the town. I’m learning, fast.”
“So, I know how they move.” She lowers her voice. “They don’t go after the loud ones first. They go after the ones who don’t think they matter.”
“Did you tell them anything?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow. “Only what I had to.”
I take the receipt from her. There’s a phone number on it.
“My number. If you ain’t seeing Oaks, you ain’t really safe. His President, Legend may be in the business of protecting Paradise Falls lately and its inhabitants, but he still answers my call.”
I smirk at her mention of Sophie Montgomery. Even I’ve heard about how our town’s ruling family’s prized thoroughbreds are turning up dead and her old flame who happens to be the Kings of Anarchy MC president is on the case.
Everyone knows Becki’s jealous. Those whispers are louder than the ones about me. But suddenly, I stop smirking.
I reach out and touch Becki’s hand. “You care about the President, don’t you?”
She takes her hand away quick to wipe an unshed tear.
“It’s complicated. Just like you care about the VP.”
That lands harder than anything from the diner. Becki leaves. The rest of the day drags, every bell jingle making me flinch, every truck engine making my heart spike. By the time the sun starts bleeding out over Main Street, I’m exhausted from pretending I don’t care. And like I’m not scared.
I lock up at sunset, keys clenched between my fingers the way Daddy taught me. The parking lot’s empty except for my car.
Something’s wrong the second I see it.
The driver’s side door is cracked. Not wide. Just enough. My breath goes shallow.
I don’t touch it. I circle wide, scanning shadows, checking under the car like I’ve seen in movies. Nothing moves. No footsteps. No engines. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that feels arranged.
I edge closer.
Inside, on the seat, there’s a folded piece of paper.
I know better.
I pick it up anyway.
It sticks slightly to my fingers. Two words. Written in dark, sticky red.
Watch Out
My vision tunnels. The metallic smell hits a beat later, and my stomach drops like I missed a step. Not ink. Blood, again. Like they weren’t sure I saw the first one and made it bigger. Put it on my seat instead of the window.
I drop the note like it burned me and stagger back from the car, bile climbing my throat. My hands shake so bad I have to sit on the curb just to breathe.
This ain’t gossip. This ain’t Bethany’s pride. This is something else.
Something deadly.
I don’t call the cops. I call Lottie.
She’s there in ten minutes flat, Holler’s truck fishtailing into the lot behind her. She hops out before it fully stops, hair pulled tight, fury carved sharp across her face.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathes when she sees the note.
I tell them about the first one on a napkin.
“Why didn’t you call right then,” they scold me. “Where is it?”
“In the landfill by now. I thought if I ignored it, I could believe it ain’t happening.”
Holler doesn’t touch the note. He squats down, studying it like it’s a weapon. “This ain’t a jealous wife’s scare,” he says finally, voice low. “This is a warning.”
“That makes it worse,” I croak. “Then who?”
Holler stands slow. “Bethany plays loud. This is too quiet and too weird. Creepy shit.”
Lottie looks at him. Something passes between them. She swallows and turns back to me. “Say it,” I whisper.
“Pearly Gates don’t like girls from Official drifting,” she says finally. “And they sure as hell don’t like girls like you drifting toward the Kings.”
The air feels too thin. “Like me?”
“Virgins?” Lottie says like it’s a question.
I roll my eyes. “Not me. There was that one time or two at summer camp. I just turned eighteen.”
Holler laughs like that doesn’t count.
Lottie rolls her eyes and jokes, “So not extra virgin. Lightly fucked.”
He says, “Innocent enough.”
“For what?” I ask, looking between them.
Holler answers, “It ain’t a fact yet, but we think that cult’s trafficking girls. We used to think they just wanted to ruin us. Pin sins on us that would stick. Or that they were really running girls who wouldn’t join them clear out of town. But things around here are starting to stink.”
“Yeah, like dead bodies. Girls are turning up dead, Brit,” Lottie says, flooring me.
“They wouldn’t,” I start, and my voice cracks because I know what I’m saying is a prayer.
“They already have,” Becki’s voice cuts in from behind us.
I jump. She must’ve followed Lottie. Becki steps closer, staring at the note on the pavement like she’s seen it before. “Three girls in the last year,” she says. “All of ’em thinking they were stepping out from under daddy’s thumb. All of ’em warned first. All gone. One dead. One as far as I know.”
My stomach drops to my knees. “Warned?” I whisper.
Becki nods once. “Always a warning.”
Silence falls heavy.
Holler straightens. “You ain’t staying alone tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I protest automatically.
Lottie whirls on me. “You’re not fine.” Her eyes are glassy, angry.
“You think this is about who Oaks takes upstairs? You think this is about what folks are saying at the diner? That’s the bait.
That’s the story they want you chewing on while somebody else does the real work and blames the Kings and their wives. ”
“This is about territory,” Holler says quietly. “And somebody marking you and it ain’t Oaks.”
Marking. Like livestock. Like prey. I wrap my arms around myself without meaning to.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.
“No,” Becki says softer. “But you got noticed.”
Lottie squeezes my shoulder. “You call him?”
The question hangs there. We all know who she means. Oaks.
I feel my jaw clenching up. “No.”
Holler’s eyes narrow. “Might be time.”
I shake my head. “He’s busy.”
The words taste bitter. Upstairs with her. Didn’t even shut the door good.
“Busy,” Becki repeats flatly. “Or strategic?”
I don’t want to think about that.
Holler speaks, and it’s final. “Go home, but the club will be watching out.”
“Not Oaks,” I say, asking for a favor.
“Not Oaks,” Holler agrees.
That night I scrub my hands until my skin stings, like I can wash off being counted. I double-lock every door, check every window twice, leave the porch light on even though Daddy hates the electric bill creeping up.
I sit on the edge of my bed staring at my phone.
I don’t call him. I don’t have his number.
If he wanted to know I was safe, he’d find me. He’d ask. If he cared, he’d just show up like he has before.
Men like him don’t save girls like me. They ruin them, apparently.
And maybe that’s better than disappearing.
I lie down eventually, staring at the ceiling. When I finally fall asleep, it ain’t Bethany in my dreams. It ain’t the blood. It ain’t Pearly Gates.
It’s Oaks.
Not touching me. Just watching like he’s already decided something.
And I don’t know yet if I’m about to be protected.
Or taken.