Oaks chokes, eyes going wide.“Royal, what the fuck,”
“You broke into my room.”My voice is low.Controlled.Deadly.“You looked at her.”
“I didn’t touch her!”
“Youthoughtabout it.”
His throat bobs.His gaze darts over my shoulder like someone might save him.
No one will.
Heck’s Kitchen loves a brawl, but it respects silence more.
The entire place goes eerily still around us, just for a second, like even the dog can sense when a man is about to get killed.
“She’s a prisoner,” Oaks hisses.“I was scaring her, like any enemy.That’s all she is.I wasn’t…”
“You made her an offer,” I snap.“For freedom.For your dick.”I drag him closer.“Do you think I didn’t hear the shit you whispered through the hall?”
His eyes widen with pure panic now.
“Royal…listen… If not me, it’ll be someone else.”
“I should cut your dick off,” I murmur, hand tightening in his cut.“Shove it down your throat.Then you won’t ever reach for something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Jesus Christ, she’s not…”
“She is undermyprotection.”
The crowd erupts again as someone gets slammed into the mat.The noise rushes back, swallowing the moment, but I don’t loosen my grip.
Not yet.
Footsteps approach.Sharp.Familiar.
I turn just in time to see Sophie Montgomery, hair flowing like one of her damn thoroughbreds, lips red, pistol holstered at her thigh like proper outlaw royalty, storming into Heck’s Kitchen like she owns the joint.With the rock on her finger, most folks assume she soon will.
And towering behind her?
Legend.
Pissed off.Jaw locked.Eyes tracking her every damn step.
They’re fighting, quiet and brutal, the kind of lovers’ argument that could start a world war.Sophie’s pointing at a piece of paper.Legend’s shaking his head.She’s yelling.He’s cussing.They’re magnetic and impossible to look away from.
Like always.
The size difference alone is entertaining.
Even Oaks watches.The entire club watches.Mayor McCoy tilts his head like he’s following a tennis match.
Sophie reaches up high, jabs a finger in Legend’s chest and storms off toward the bar.Legend follows, because he always does, but not before glancing my way.
His eyes flick to my grip on Oaks.He lifts one brow.A question.A warning.A judgment.
I let Oaks go.
Not because I wish to.
