I let go of her wrist. She stumbles back, clutching it to her chest like I’ve broken her bones. Tears streak down her cheeks, streaks of mascara bleeding into skin.
“You’re a monster,” she whispers. Her voice is thin, brittle, but it cuts. “You brought him to his grave.”
She turns on her heel and bolts, the echo of her sobs tearing down the hallway like sirens, then silence drops heavy.
My hands shake. Not from regret. Not from shame. From the fact that she’s half-right. Haywood is dead. And Summer?—
I shove a chair so hard it splinters against the wall. The sound makes everyone flinch, but I don’t care.
Carter exhales through his nose, deep, steadying. He nods to Mason and Grove, like telling them silently:this is what we’re working with.
And Mason, the old bastard, just leans forward, his voice gravel and hate.
“Good,” he mutters. “Because if she thinks this is about pussy, she doesn’t know what kind of hell Jackson Moore’s about to bring down. You don’t stop him now, Sheriff—every man in this room is gonna be worrying about more than pussy.”
The words settle like stone, and I know he’s right.
Chapter 31
A Life in Velvet & Chains
Summer
They drag me out of the office like I’m nothing but luggage. My heels skid across the floor, wrists bruised from where they’ve been gripping me. The black SUV waits by the door like a hearse.
“Get in,” Donnie barks, shoving me forward.
I stumble, slam into the metal, the chill biting straight through my skin. The door yanks open and I’m shoved inside. Donnie slides into the driver’s seat, keys already in his hand, humming like this is just another job.
Jackson climbs in beside me. Too close. His dark curls fall across his face, eyes catching mine like hooks. He doesn’t look tired. He doesn’t look scared. He looksthrilled.
He's seen me bare, and since that very moment his pupils have exploded—his eyes not leaving my body for more than a second.
Vince leans against the front passenger door. He’s grinning, already lighting another cigarette. “I’ll catch up later,” he drawls. His gaze slides past me to the cluster of women still huddled on the sofa inside. His tongue wets his bottom lip. “That brunette’s still got a little fire in her. I’ll put it out.”
My stomach lurches. Acid burns my throat. I want to scream, to claw his eyes out, to drag her out of this hellhole myself—but the door slams and he’s gone. And I’m trapped.
The SUV rumbles to life, gravel spitting under the tyres as Donnie pulls us away. My pulse hammers so hard I feel it in my teeth.
Then Jackson leans back, stretching out like he owns the world. His arm rests against the tinted window. The other hand drops low—landing heavy on my thigh.
I freeze. Every nerve in my body screams at once.
His thumb strokes once, slow, a mockery of tenderness. “You’re prettier up close,” he murmurs, voice dripping heat and rot. “Thought maybe he exaggerated.”
I snap before I can stop myself. I spit—hot, fast—right into his smug, flame-blue eyes.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then his palm cracks across my face so hard the world tilts sideways. My cheek burns. The sting echoes through my skull.
But he’s smiling. Wide. Wicked. “Mmm,” he hums, leaning closer, breath hot against my ear. “I love a woman with fight.”
I press back against the door, ribs aching, the taste of iron on my tongue. My voice shakes, but I force it out anyway. “Don’t touch me.”
He laughs. It’s soft, almost sweet—and that makes it worse. “Touching you is just the start, sweetheart.” His hand snakes higher, gripping, squeezing. “Where we’re going? No one will hear your screams. Not the cops. Not your sheriff. Not a single soul. There won’t be an inch of your body that I haven’t had in my hands.”
Donnie chuckles up front, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with my heart. “She’ll learn,” he mutters.
