He chuckles.Actually chuckles.“Girls wander.Especially the ones who confuse attention with salvation.”
“You mean girls you let slip through your hands.”My voice tightens.“Girls you scare into silence.Girls you decide aren’t pure enough to keep.”
His eyes sharpen.“Watch your tone.Most of them end up in your clutches.Seems like signs are pointing to Hell.Glory to the devil, he must have a hold.”
“You forget who you’re talking to,” I say.“I ain’t a choir boy.And I ain’t afraid of your sermons.”
“You should be,” he replies quietly.“Because you’re meddling in God’s work.”
He steps down one stair, bringing us close enough for me to smell the bitter coffee on his breath.“You’ve always had trouble with obedience.Just like your father.”His smile sharpens.“But unlike him, I know your weakness.”
“Try me.”
He turns his back, walking into the church like he owns the kingdom of heaven and hell combined.
I stand there for a long second, breathing in slow, fighting the urge to drag him down those stairs and crack his skull open on the pavement.The cicadas stop humming.Even the wind pauses like it knows something’s coming.
He’s hiding something.
And it’s not holy.
Turning, I mount my Harley and ride off the property before I do something I can’t take back.
Not yet.
Back at the clubhouse, I gather some, men I can trust.Hell, I trust all my men.I pick brothers already at the Lockup.Royal.Rye.Vandal.Oaks.
I lay it out flat.“We sweep Pearly Gates tonight.Quiet.No guns unless we have to.We look for anything that ties the girls to him.”
No one speaks.They don’t need to.
Royal stands off to the side, eyes darker than I’ve seen in a long time.Something is eating him alive.I know what it is.
Becki.
He’s thinking about her chained up in his room.He’s thinking about what she’s doing to him.How do I know?I’ve been in his shoes.At Becki’s mercy.
And Sophie?
Where’d she come from?Standing beside me, she mimics my stance.Hand to her chin like she’s thinking about Royal thinking about Becki, too.But she ain’t.Probably thinking about Becki though, no doubt.All she talks about when I’d rather forget her.
Woman storms off to my room without nary a word.
When I get to her, Sophie is pacing, arms crossed so hard they might snap.Her hair is pulled back, her boots still muddy from the farm like she stormed here straight from work.
“Is she still here?”she asks before I close the door.
“Yeah.”
Her chin trembles with fury.“You said it would be temporary.”
“It is.”
“Hudson,” she utters my name, and it comes across like a scold.She steps in front of me, blocking the room like she owns every inch of it.Every inch of me.Goddamn, this woman does.“She ain’t your prisoner.”
“The club’s, Royals.Not mine.”
“Then why is she being protected like she’s yours?Ol’ Ladies talk.They say they can’t get near her.”
