And Royal?
Royal is already losing this fight.I know for sure as the door clicks again.
So soon.
Not soft this time.
Not careful.
A sharp, decisive sound, like metal sliding into a sheath.
I sit up on the cot, the chain rattling as I move.Royal steps inside, hood down, face set, shoulders rigid beneath leather and tension.But this time… there’s something else.
The gleam of steel at his belt.
His knife.
Not one of the cheap folding ones some bikers carry.Royal’s favorite, the fixed-blade, black-handled one he sharpens every night like ritual.
The one he trusts more than people.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice like smoke and death.
“I wonder why?”I murmur, letting my eyes drop deliberately to the blade at his hip.“You stomp around like you’re hunting something.”
His gaze follows mine.Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
Royal’s hand settles near the knife, not touching it… but close.Too close.He always does that when he’s fighting the urge to act.The other bikers tease him about being a knife freak, using blades instead of guns, calling them “quiet sins.”
But Royal prefers knives for one reason nobody jokes about.Guns kill from far away.Knives make you get close.Knives make you mean it.
I stand slowly, letting the chain drag as I rise.My shorts ride up.My shirt clings.Royal’s nostrils flare like he’s breathing something forbidden.
“What are you doing here?”I ask.“Checking the lock?Or checking me?”
“Don’t start,” he growls.
I smile.“I ain’t starting.You are.”
His breath shortens.His hand twitches closer to the knife.
“You came here wanting something,” I whisper.“You just don’t want to admit what.But news flash.This pussy comes with a price called freedom.And I haven’t showered in goodness knows how long.”
His teeth clench.“Back up.”
“No,” I breathe, stepping closer.“Make me.”
He moves.
Fast.
One hand slams into the wall beside my head.His other hand grabs the chain at my wrist and yanks, dragging me into his chest.My breath catches.Not because of the force, but because I feel the knife press lightly against my hip where it hangs at his belt.
A suggestion.
A promise.
