Oaks
I know it’s Pearly Gates before Royal even opens his mouth.
It’s the way he looks at me. Not angry. Not surprised. Just tired, like he’s been carrying the same ugly truth all morning and he’s sick of being the only one holding it.
We’re at church at the clubhouse, doors shut, officers only. Legend sits at the head of the table, forearms braced on scarred wood. Holler leans back in his chair, but he ain’t relaxed. Nobody is.
Royal slides a clear evidence bag across the table toward me.
Inside it is a scrap of fabric. Pink. Lace. Small.
My stomach drops before my brain catches up. It’s Brittany’s panties. The ones I tore behind the cabin. We left them out there like litterbugs.
“This was found,” Royal says evenly. “About a few yards down from where Bethany went under.”
Went under. Not fell. Not disappeared. Went under, like it’s already decided.
“Bullshit,” I say automatically, because she wasn’t wearing them.
Legend’s eyes flick to me. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I growl.
Royal doesn’t blink. “It was snagged on a broken dock plank. Along with disturbed mud. Along with footprints.”
“Whose?” I snap.
He holds my gaze. “Size matches Brittany.”
The room goes quiet in a way that feels dangerous.
Holler mutters a curse under his breath. Legend’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the calculation behind his eyes. Royal stays still, the way he does when he’s holding the line and daring anyone to step over it.
“That ain’t proof,” I say.
“No,” Royal agrees calmly. “But it’s a start. And if the police had this instead of us.”
Legend leans back in his chair. “There’s more.”
Of course there is.
Royal slides a second bag forward.
Inside it is a folded piece of paper.
I know the shape of that handwriting before I see it.
WATCH OUT.
The same phrase that showed up in Brittany’s car weeks ago written in blood. Only this one has something added underneath, the kind of extra that turns a warning into a promise.
Beth.
My jaw tightens so hard I taste blood.
“That was planted in her Beth’s saddlebag,” Royal says. “Anonymous tip to the Sherrif said to look there. Thankfully, we got there first.”
Anonymous.
Pearly Gates doesn’t do chaos. They do narrative. They do planting. They do making the story so loud nobody hears the truth.
Legend studies me. “You got anything you want to tell me.”
I hold his stare. “No.”
Because I didn’t push Bethany. Because Brittany didn’t either. Because I saw the look in her eyes when she ran back to that lake edge. That wasn’t guilt. That was fear, raw and honest and panicked.
And it ain’t that I don’t trust my President and my brothers. I do. I can’t bring this heat down on them either. The less they know the better. For now.
Royal folds his arms. “We’ve got a witness.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Of course we do.”
“Man from Official,” Royal continues. “Says he was fishing. Claims he saw Brittany swing a board. Says he saw Bethany fall.”
My vision narrows. “And he waited how long to say that.”
Royal doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
Legend rubs a hand over his face. “Sheriff’s bringing her in.”
My chair scrapes back before I realize I’ve moved.
“Where,” I demand.
Royal’s voice drops. “Already happened. They picked her up at Lottie’s twenty minutes ago.”
Everything in me goes cold and violent at the same time.
I’m out the door before anyone can stop me.
The sheriff’s office in Official, Paradise, Kentucky is small, brick, and self-important. It smells like stale coffee and paperwork that’s been touched by too many hands. I push through the front doors hard enough they bang against the wall.
Deputy Wilson looks up from behind the counter. “You can’t…”
“Where is she?” I ask in a growl.
He stiffens. “Interview room.”
“Lawyer?” I bark.
“She waived.”
Of course she did.
Because Brittany still thinks truth matters more than strategy.
I shove past him.
She’s sitting at a metal table under fluorescent lights that make her look smaller than she is. Her hands are folded in front of her like she’s trying not to shake. There’s a red mark on her wrist from where someone held her too tight.
She looks up when I step in.
Relief hits her face so fast it makes my chest ache.
Then confusion.
Then something worse.
“Why are you here?” she whispers.
Sheriff Dix turns toward me. “This ain’t a spectator sport.”
I ignore him and look at her. “Did you tell them anything?”
Her brows knit. “I told them what happened.”
“Exactly what happened,” I press.
“I ran for help,” she says, voice trembling now. “When I came back she was gone. I didn’t push her in the lake, Oaks.”
I know.
But that ain’t the problem. The problem is Pearly Gates doesn’t need truth. They need doubt.
The sheriff clears his throat. “Oaks, unless you’re here to…”
“I am,” I cut in.
I look at Brittany and see the edge of the cliff we’re standing on.
If she gets charged, whoever’s framing her wins. Pearly Gates wins. And she becomes the story. They’ve already planted evidence. They’ll plant more.
I won’t let that happen.
“She didn’t push her,” I say calmly.
Sheriff raises a brow. “You were there?”
I hold his gaze. “Yeah.”
Brittany’s head snaps toward me. “What…”
I don’t look at her.
“It’s my fault,” I say evenly. “I did it,” I lie. “Not Brittany.”
The room freezes.
The sheriff blinks. “Excuse me.”
“I’m the reason my wife fell into that water,” I repeat.
“She came at Brittany. Pulled her hair, slapped her. I got between them. Brittany ran off. I yelled at Beth. She was pissed that I fucked Brittany. Bethany backed up. She slipped. I didn’t catch her in time.
I dove in after her but couldn’t find her.
Brittany never knew. I told her Beth ran off. ”
The lie tastes like rust on my tongue, but I keep my voice steady because this ain’t about my conscience.
It’s about her not going down for something she didn’t do.
Brittany stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Oaks,” she breathes, and it sounds like a plea and a punch both.
I finally look at her.
Just once.
And I try to say everything I need to without speaking.
Don’t fight me. Trust me. Let me do this.
The sheriff leans forward. “You’re admitting you pushed her into the water.”
“No, I’m admitting,” I say slowly, “that if anyone’s responsible for her going over that edge, it’s me. She slipped and I couldn’t save her in time.”
Wilson is already reaching for cuffs.
“You understand this could be manslaughter,” the sheriff says.
“Could be.”
“You’re willing to put that on record.”
“Yeah.”
Because I know something they don’t.
The evidence someone planted wants Brittany to be guilty. It means they killed Bethany. The club will keep looking for the real killer. I’m buying Brittany time.
Wilson snaps the cuffs around my wrists.
Cold metal.
Brittany stands so fast her chair tips over. “No,” she says, voice breaking. “He’s lying. He didn’t…”
I cut her off with a look.
“Sit down,” I tell her quietly.
Tears flood her eyes.
“Why are you doing this,” she whispers.
Because I can take it. Because you can’t. Because they already expect me to be a monster.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I smirk like it ain’t any count, like I’m bored and cruel and careless, because I need the sheriff to believe I’m capable of anything.
“Didn’t like my wife much anyway,” I mutter.
The sheriff doesn’t smile.
They lead me toward the door.
As I pass Brittany, I brush her shoulder lightly with my cuffed hands. Just enough to ground her. Just enough to tell her she ain’t alone.
“I’ve got this,” I murmur.
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s about to fight the entire building. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”
I meet her eyes.
There’s fire in her I haven’t seen before.
Good. She’s going to need it.
The cell door clangs shut behind me an hour later.
Concrete bench. Bars. Thin mattress that smells like old sweat and urine. I sit down and lean my head back against cold cinderblock.
Royal will handle that evidence. Legend will manage optics. And Pearly Gates will think they won this round.
But if they framed her, they just made a mistake.
Because I can take a charge. I can take cuffs. I can take whispers. What I won’t take is Brittany going down for something she didn’t do.
The only thing that bothers me as the lights buzz overhead ain’t the cell. It ain’t the arrest.
It’s the look on her face when I said it was me.
Fear. Anger. And something deeper, like she finally understood exactly how far I’m willing to go.
If Pearly Gates staged this, they’re about to escalate. My brothers will handle it.
Let them lock me up. Let them whisper. Let them think I finally snapped.
I can live with that.
As long as she doesn’t have to.