Biker crosses the room in three strides, steals my chin, drives my head up.His breath sweeps my lips, sore from screaming.I’m on the verge of collapsing.
“You want to be broken?”he growls.“That your problem?”
“No,” I whisper.“I want you to break me.”
His eyes burn.“You do?You fucking sure about that?”
“More than sure.”
At my words, he shoves me away so hard I stumble.Before I can catch myself, he yanks open the old wooden closet, the one with the slats that let air in but keep secrets contained and grabs a roll of duct tape from the shelf.
My heart stops.
“Royal!”
He grips my jaw again, not gentle, cruel, just final, and presses the tape over my mouth.I let out a quiet, muffled gasp.
“You don’t get to taunt me anymore,” he says.
Before I can twist free, he drags me into the closet.My bare feet scrape the floor.The chain rattles against my wrist.
I say his name but all that comes out is, “Mmph…”
He locks the closet door.Darkness swallows me except for the thin slats letting in pale strips of light.I can see out.He can’t see in.My pulse shakes the walls.He leaves.Goes where he can no longer hear my screams.
Eventually, outside, I hear voices.Laughter.Music.A party.The kind of club night I’d sneak into when I wasn’t welcome.Girls hanging on bikers.Beer bottles clinking.Bass shaking the floors.
Any other time, I’d be out there at the Lockup partying with the Kings of Anarchy MC in my “Property of No One” shirt.Not locked in here like a secret mistake.
The door to his room opens again.I freeze.Royal ain’t alone.Footsteps.Soft.Feminine.A breathy giggle.
A fucking club bunny.The one who freed me.Her name is Joey.One of the ones who wears short skirts, longer lashes and knows how to make men forget themselves.Glitter and sunshine on a fucking stick.
Not Royal’s type at all.She’s all giggles to his goth.
Royal’s voice comes out low.Controlled.Too controlled.Heated.“Shut the door.”
She laughs.“You finally calling me in, baby?Thought you forgot I existed with that preacher’s daughter taking up all your attention.”
My chest caves inward.The tape muffles my involuntary cry.Royal doesn’t correct her.He doesn’t say I ain’t his.He doesn’t say it’s not like that.He doesn’t say anything.
But I hear clothing rustle.What the hell?
My vision blurs as I watch him undress her.I hear her breath hitch.I hear the bed creak under her weight.Hear the belt as he takes it off.His cock is out.Blinking through tears, I watch him shove it down her throat.
He’s doing this on purpose.Not because he wants her.Because he wants me to see.Because he wants to punish me for wanting him.Because he wants to remind himself, he doesn’t need me.
Once he finishes, her giggle cuts through me like a knife.His low voice follows, saying something I can’t make out, but I know the tone.
Detached.Self-hating.Cruel to himself first, and now to me.I press my forehead to the slats, fingers gripping the wood until the edges cut my palms.
The bed creaks again.Her long pink nails scrape his back.Her moan fills the room as he enters her.
Then I recognize the blade.He slices her shoulder, barely.Blood trickles.Sticking out his pierced tongue, he laps it up.
And I break.
Hot tears spill over.My breath comes ragged behind the tape.The closet walls close in.My pulse slams in my ears so loud I feel sick.
