Royal’s shirt rides up my stomach, but I don’t pull it down.Let him look.Let him see the bruises he caused.The ones he didn’t.
Let him want what he shouldn’t.
Because I ain’t done.
Not with him.
Not with the Reverend.
Not with the ghost that hunts girls in Hell, Kentucky.
I close my eyes and let exhaustion drag me under.
This time, when the dream takes me, it’s not the Demon waiting there.
It’s Royal.
I’m on the same bed unchained.His pants are off, his cock out.His eyes molten.
He kneels between my legs, hands tracing slow paths up my thighs.His touch is fire, hungry, claiming, barely restrained.He’s breathing hard, like he’s fighting himself.
He leans down, mouth at my throat.
“Be strong,” he murmurs.“Or I’ll break you myself.”
Heat explodes in my chest.
My back arches.My fingers curl in his hair.He crushes his mouth to mine.
I wake with a gasp, shaking, sheets tangled around my legs, breath coming in ragged bursts.My skin is flushed, my thighs slick, my pulse out of control.
I stare at the ceiling.
Not for wanting him.But for wanting more.Wanting the danger.Wanting to be broken.By him.Wanting the man who cut me so I’ll moan only his name.
I want him to come in here and burn me down.
Even if it kills us both.
And the worst part?
Somewhere in this twisted nightmare, a real monster is out there stealing girls.
Chapter 33
Royal
The clubhouse is too quiet when I hit the top of the stairs.Not normal quiet.Wrong quiet.The kind that settles on a man’s shoulders like the weight of a loaded gun.
Whiskey is pacing by the pool table, muttering curses under his breath.Oaks is standing near the bar with his arms crossed tight, the veins in his neck popping.Even Legend looks wired, like he is holding back something ugly.
I know before anyone says a word that something is bad.Real bad.
“Who died?”I ask.
Whiskey flinches.Oaks looks away.Legend lifts his gaze to mine, steady and grim.
“Joey,” he says.“Your girlfriend.Remember her?”
