Chapter Thirteen
LEENA’S PERFUME WAS a goddamn assault, sweet enough to choke a man, clingin’ to my shirt like it had a claim.
Her nails scraped down my chest, draggin’ like she owned the skin, like she had some right to mark me.
She leaned in, lips too close, breath hot and cherry soaked.
Whispered filth curled in my ear, the kind that might’ve done it for me once.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she was just noise. A screech I didn’t wanna hear.
Ever since I laid eyes on Sable—those wide, haunted eyes, all that dark hair and quiet that cut deeper than any scream—every other touch felt wrong.
Like tryin’ to sleep in a bed full of sand.
Didn’t make a bit of sense, but hell, not everything’s supposed to.
“Thunder, baby,” Leena purred, draggin’ her tongue slow across her lip like she was puttin’ on a damn show. “Let’s go to your office so I can lick you from head to toe.”
“Not tonight.” Came out rough, flat. “Can’t leave the floor.”
“C’mon,” she teased, leanin’ closer, “I promise the boss won’t mind one bit. He may even want to watch.”
And for some reason—hell, maybe it was the sheer stupidity of it, a quick grin tugged at me. Not ‘cause of her, but ‘cause it was ridiculous.
I shoved her off, already gettin’ to my feet when somethin’ twisted in my gut. Movement by the back door. A flicker of dark hair. Eyes that didn’t belong down here in this pit of noise.
Sable.
Shit.
I stood all the way, Leena’s whinin’ nothin’ but static in my ears, and headed for the door. My boots hit the floorboards heavy, warnin’ anyone in my way to move. I shoved the door open, empty hall. A soft click echoed, basement door easin’ shut.
I followed.
Not outta duty. Not even curiosity.
It was the look on her face. Wasn’t shock. It was judgment. And for some damn reason, it got under my skin.
The stairwell was cold, shadows crawlin’ the walls like bad memories. I hit the top, pushed through to the hall, and there she was, standin’ stiff in the pale wash of moonlight through the window. Arms crossed so tight I wondered if she was holdin’ herself together.
“Sable,” I said low, steppin’ out onto the porch. Didn’t wanna spook her.
She didn’t answer at first. When she finally turned, her face was locked down, flat as a closed door.
I tipped my head, narrowed my eyes just a touch. “Why’d you come downstairs?”
Her voice was calm. Too damn calm. “I was curious. You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone down there.”
I moved closer, slow, easy. “What’s runnin’ through your head right now?”
She hesitated, then, “Nothing. I was just… surprised. Is this what they call a brothel?”
The word hit like a slap.
“What the fuck, Sable?” It tore outta me before I could catch it. “No. That ain’t what that is.”
She dropped her gaze, fingers bitin’ into her arms. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Zeke. What I saw… it reminded me of a teaching I once heard. About flesh. About the lust of men.”
Her tone chilled me. Too calm, too far away, like she wasn’t even standin’ there but recitin’ somethin’ burned into her bones. I’d heard voices like that before—folks that’d seen too much darkness and been told to call it holy.
“You talk like you’re quotin’ scripture,” I said, my drawl rougher than I wanted.
“I’m not.” A beat. Then softer, almost to herself. “Not exactly.”
I stepped in closer. “You wanna tell me what that means?”
Her eyes flicked to mine, then away. “No.”
The word dropped between us like lead. She exhaled slow, then added, “What I saw was base. Fleeting. Empty. No connection, no purpose. Just lust.”
I nodded once, jaw tight. “I’m a single man, darlin’. Ain’t hurtin’ nobody. But that don’t mean lust’s all I’ve got. There’s more to a man than that. Just takes the right woman to drag it outta him.”
Her face turned, steel in her voice. “Is that supposed to make it better? That you let yourself fall until someone else decides you’re worth saving?”
Heat flared in my chest, but I swallowed it back. She wasn’t talkin’ about me—not really. So I let it hang.
She studied me hard, then muttered, “You can dress it up in silk and excuses, but rot is still rot.”
That hit deep.
“That’s real damn easy to say when you ain’t told me shit about your own past,” I snapped, steppin’ forward, my voice sharp with the South in it. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, Sable. And sure as hell ain’t got the right to judge me.”
Her eyes flickered—fear? guilt?—then she let out a long, tired breath.
“I’m sorry, Zeke. This isn’t about you. It’s just… I’ve seen what temptation does. I’ve watched men twist it into a weapon. Bless sin and call it holy. Use flesh to wash away guilt and shame. Over and over. Same sickness, different names.”
“You runnin’ from a church?” I asked, though I already figured as much.
Her gaze cut to mine, quick as a blade, then shuttered again. “I wish it was only the Church. What I’m running from is worse than sermons.”
I didn’t push. Just nodded. “You can trust me, darlin’. Ain’t lookin’ to own you. Just wanna help.”
Her eyes searched mine like she wanted to believe, but couldn’t. “It’s too dangerous,” she whispered. “You don’t want the kind of trouble I bring.”
Moonlight brushed her face, catchin’ the faintest tremble in her jaw. Whatever hunted her, it was bad enough to still have teeth in her bones.
“You think I’m rotten,” I said, voice like gravel dragged low. “Maybe I am. But even rot’s got roots that run deep. Let me help you.”
Her mouth curved in the saddest damn smile. “I don’t think that, Zeke. I just… I can’t drag you into my problem.”
Then she turned, slippin’ back inside quiet as smoke, gone before I could stop her.
And me? I stayed planted, fists flexin’ empty at my sides, starin’ at the dark.
Damn woman had me offerin’ promises I’d never made to a soul. Wasn’t like me. Not at all.
***
THE RIDE BACK to the clubhouse was a blur.
Didn’t remember shiftin’ gears or slidin’ through traffic.
Couldn’t tell ya what song was playin’ or what color the sky had turned.
My head was still back there with her—Sable.
Every word she’d said, every silence she left hangin’, kept circlin’ like smoke I couldn’t clear.
She’d looked at me like I was somethin’ she didn’t wanna touch.
Worse than that, I saw the same damn thing in myself.
The clubhouse came into view, lights glowin’ gold against the dark, bass thumpin’ low through the brick walls. Friday night. Another party. Figures.
Out back, the fire roared high, greedy flames reachin’ like they were starvin’.
Brothers sprawled in foldin’ chairs and on makeshift benches, beers in hand, smokes burnin’ down steady.
Air was thick with weed, sweat, and ash.
Sweet Butts moved through it like perfume and trouble—laughin’ too loud, brushin’ up close, hungry for attention.
I pushed on through, noddin’ here and there, clappin’ a few shoulders, but didn’t stop. Didn’t want the talk. Only one man I needed, and there he was—Gearhead, staked in his usual spot, boots stretched long, fire paintin’ his face in orange cuts.
His eyes found me quick, brow liftin’ just enough to say he’d already read the storm sittin’ in me.
“You’re later’n usual,” he drawled, holdin’ a beer out my way.
I took it, twisted the cap clean off, and dropped down beside him on an old busted cooler. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the fire, lettin’ the bottle sweat between my palms. My boot heel tapped steady against the dirt, like maybe I could stomp down the restless hum ridin’ me.
Gearhead waited. Always did. Man had known me longer’n anyone. We’d swapped enough whiskey-soaked truths to know when to shut up and when to dig.
After a spell, he let out a breath, casual as sin. “Boy, you look like somebody pissed straight in your gas tank.”
I huffed a dry laugh. “Feels worse’n that.”
He nodded slow, sipped. “You gonna spit it out, or you want me to start guessin’?”
I shrugged, jaw tight. “Ain’t even sure I know what it is.”
Gearhead’s mouth tugged at one side. “Well… does it got tits?”
I snorted, beer halfway to my lips. “Yeah. And a face that won’t let loose of me.”
He grinned. “Knew it. Always comes down to that.”
The fire popped, sparks shootin’ up into the black. I dragged a hand back through my hair, fingers scratchin’ my neck, like I could ground myself in skin.
“She was broke down on the side of the road. Her and two kids.”
“That the junker you had me tow?”
“Yeah. She’s stayin’ in the house above The Pit. Just ‘til you get it fixed.”
Gearhead leaned in, elbows on his knees. “You like this girl.”
“It ain’t that simple.”
“Hell, it never is.”
“She’s runnin’ from somethin’,” I muttered. “You can hear it in the way she talks. Like she’s quotin’ scripture, but the faith’s gone.”
He went quiet, lettin’ that sit. Then: “And now she’s stuck in your head.”
I nodded, eyes burnin’ from the flames. “She walked in on me with Leena. Nothin’ bad—just Leena bein’ Leena. But it was enough. Felt like Sable saw every dark part of me in that second. And instead of bein’ scared, she just… froze. Like she slammed a door shut inside herself.”
“Maybe she’s been taught to do that.”
That one landed deep. My fingers squeezed tight on the bottle, knuckles white, but I didn’t answer.
“She ain’t like the others,” I said after a while. “There’s a crack in her, but it’s clean. Controlled. She only lets what she chooses in.”
“And you wanna be the one she chooses.”
Didn’t answer right off. Boot kept tappin’ in the dirt. Finally muttered, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.”
Gearhead clinked his bottle to mine. “Then maybe stop lettin’ Leena climb you like a damn tree, brother.”
That dragged a real laugh outta me, low and rough. First one tonight. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He cut me a look. “Ain’t no maybe. If she’s different like you say, don’t fuck it up.”
I knew what he meant. Wasn’t just me he was speakin’ on. His tone was full of ghosts—Fiona. Tillie. The kind of losses that carved a man hollow. Gearhead didn’t believe in fairy-tale endings. But he could spot rare ones. Knew the cost when you lost ‘em.
The fire cracked loud, like it wanted in on the talk. Behind us, the party noise lifted, cheers, laughter, maybe a Sweet Butt earnin’ her patch on somebody’s lap. Used to be the kinda thing that made me grin, maybe join.
Tonight, it felt like watchin’ somebody else’s life.
My world had tilted.
And her name was Sable.