“You think it hunts girls like me?”
“No,” I say.“I think it hunts girls your father pretends to save.”
That lands.Hard.
She chews the inside of her cheek, jaw trembling with something she doesn’t want me to see.Not fear.Shame.
“There’s a locked cabinet in his office,” she says softly.“I’ve never seen inside.”
“Then we survive tonight,” I say, standing and grabbing my jacket.“So we can open it.”
I toss her a hoodie.She puts it on without argument.That alone scares me more than anything in the clippings.
We gear up.Walk the Louisville alleys.Climb the fire escape.Watch the shadows breathe.
And something watches back.
We find nothing.When it’s over.when the rooftop stays empty but the dread thickens.We return to the motel, silent.
Becki goes to the bathroom.Washes her face.Brushes her hair.Moves like she’s trying to shake something loose inside her.
I sit at the table again, but the words blur now.The door creaks.She’s next to me again, wrist wrapped in clean gauze.
I reach out.
Check the bandage.My fingers brush her skin.She shivers.
“You need rest,” I say.
“So do you.”
I look up.Her face is inches from mine.Her breath warm.Her lips parted.Her eyes wide enough to drown in.
I should pull away.
I don’t.
My hand slides to her jaw.Thumb to her mouth.She leans in.Her lips brush mine, soft as sin.
Then everything snaps.
We crash together like a collision we’ve been avoiding for years.Her hands clutch my shoulders.Mine grab her waist, dragging her into my lap.The chair screeches.
My breath breaks.
Her thighs tighten around me.
She grinds once.
I groan into her mouth.
“Royal…” she whispers, desperate, wrecked, wanting.
That word.My name.
It destroys me.
I tear my mouth away before I do something unforgivable.Something to get me thrown out of the Kings.
