Brittany #2
Like a cop. Like a man who has to think like one even when he doesn’t want to.
I stare at him, and it hurts in a way Bethany’s slap didn’t. Because I expected Bethany to hate me. I expected the town to chew me up. But Oaks is the one person who should’ve been solid.
He sees my face change, and something sharp crosses his eyes.
“Don’t,” he says.
“Don’t what?” My voice rises. “Don’t notice that you just did the exact thing everyone does to me in this damn town? You just looked at me like I’m capable of…”
“I looked at you like this is serious,” he snaps. The curse sits right under his tongue but he swallows it. “Because it is.”
My eyes burn. “So what, you’re going to protect me until it’s inconvenient and then step back and let them have me? Just like you slept with me and then ignored me.”
His shoulders go rigid. “That ain’t what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it,” I whisper, and my voice cracks on the last word like my pride finally gives out.
Oaks stares at me for a long second, and I see war inside his face. Instinct pulling one way, duty pulling the other. He takes another step closer, close enough that my body reacts even while my heart breaks.
Then he stops, like there’s an invisible line he can’t cross in daylight.
“Listen to me,” he says, low and fierce. “You’re not going to talk to anyone without Lottie present. You’re not going to answer questions from cops alone. You’re going to stay where you’re seen, where you’re safe.”
“And what about you?” I ask, hating that I need the answer. “Are you staying?”
His eyes go flat with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. It comes from decisions you can’t undo.
“I can’t,” he says.
The word lands like a door slamming shut.
“I’m VP,” he adds, like that explains why my chest just split open.
“My wife’s missing. The club’s getting heat.
Pearly Gates is circling. If I’m seen hovering around you right now, it looks like motive.
For both of us. Either of us. It looks like guilt.
It looks like I’m choosing you over the patch. ”
A tear slips out before I can stop it. I wipe it away with the back of my hand like I’m ashamed. He sees it anyway.
“This is for your protection,” he says.
I laugh, sharp and broken. “That’s what men say when they’ve gotten what they want.”
Oaks’s eyes flare. He takes a breath like he’s about to say something that would hurt both of us.
Instead, he says, “I’m going to handle this.”
“You’re going to handle it without me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t deny it.
That’s the answer.
My throat tightens until I can barely speak. “You got what you wanted.”
His head snaps up. “Don’t.”
“Don’t say it?” I spit, anger finally giving me something to stand on. “Don’t make it ugly? Because it already is. You pulled me into your mess with warnings and looks and showing up everywhere like you couldn’t help yourself, and the second it gets real you turn into a ghost.”
His nostrils flare. He steps closer again, and for one wild second I think he’s going to grab me, kiss me, tell me he’s sorry, tell me I’m wrong.
He doesn’t.
“I didn’t pull you into shit,” he says, voice rough. “Hell did. Pearly Gates did. Bethany did. And I tried to keep you from getting eaten.”
I shake my head, tears burning hot now. “Then you fucked me. I let you. You acted like it meant something. You threw your wedding ring.”
“Exactly, Brit,” he says. “Listen to how guilty that makes us sound. That’s exactly why we can’t do this.”
“Why does it feel like I’m the one paying for it?”
Oaks’s eyes drop to my mouth. His hands flex at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.
“Because you’re the soft target,” he says. “And I’m the one everyone already expects to be a monster. I’m the one they want.”
The words hit deep, because there’s truth in them I don’t want to carry.
I take a step back. “Go,” I whisper.
His gaze snaps up. “Brittany…”
“Go,” I repeat, louder this time, and my voice shakes but it holds. “If you’re going to back off, then back off. Don’t stand in this kitchen and look at me like you’re saving me while you’re leaving.”
Something hard crosses his face. He nods once, like a man accepting a sentence.
“Lottie will keep you close,” he says. “If anything feels off, you call her. Not Elijah. Not your daddy. Not anybody else. You call her.”
He pauses at the door.
Then, without looking back, he says, “And don’t tell anyone you fucked me.”
The words turn my blood cold.
Then he’s gone.
The door shuts, and the house feels empty in a way it didn’t five minutes ago. I stand there in the middle of Lottie’s kitchen, shaking, and I realize something that makes my stomach roll.
Bethany disappearing didn’t free me. It tied me to Oaks tighter than any rumor ever could.
Because now everyone needs an ending. And Hell, Kentucky doesn’t like mysteries. It likes blame.
I press my palm to my chest like I can hold my heart in place, and I make myself a promise through the ache and the anger and the humiliating fact that I still want him even after he walked out.
If Oaks is going to choose the club, then I’ll choose me.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it means letting go of the one man who ever made me feel safe without asking me to earn it.
And if I can’t let go, then I’m going to learn what it costs to love a biker who belongs to the patch first.