Page 112 of Sins of the Hidden

"You touch her?" His question was directed at me, but his eye sought Joslyn's. "You think not feeling pain makes you a god?" he growled, his voice vibrating with barely controlled rage, muscles in his jaw jumping visibly beneath his skin.

"I don't think it." My fingers tightened around the bat, knuckles bleaching white as I leaned forward, closing the space between us until I could see my reflection in his good eye. "I am one."

Sarge stepped closer, face twisted with fury. "I'll teach you pain ain't the worst thing a body can know."

Without warning, he grabbed a chair and threw it across the room—not at me, but close enough that the crash silenced everyone as wood splintered against the wall, the legs skittering across the floor like broken insect limbs, showing just how close to snapping he truly was. The air itself seemed to recoil with the violence of the gesture, dust particles dancing in the shafts of afternoon light streaming through the windows. The crack of wood splitting echoed like a gunshot, making Joslyn jump and Oakley flinch, her eyes squeezing shut for just a second.

Grim appeared from the hallway, his cold gaze taking in the scene. His boots struck the floor with methodical precision, each step a measured threat. "Someone want to explain why my clubhouse sounds like a fuckin' war zone?"

His eyes narrowed when they landed on Nyla, noting her exhaustion. He put his hand on her arm gently, and she flinched—the motion slight but unmistakable. Their eyes locked in a loaded stare that communicated volumes—her silent accusation, his unspoken regret. Grim dropped his hand like her skin had burned him, hanging back just long enough to assess whether she wanted him there.

"They're trying to take my wife," I said, the word 'wife' deliberately emphasized.

"Because she didn't marry you willingly!" Victoria snapped.

Grim tried to reach for Nyla again, a protective gesture in the rising tension.

"Don't." Nyla's voice cut through the room as she refused to even look at him. The weight of their broken trust hung in the air—her father, the old club President, now on the run, hunted by the very club her husband now controlled. Everyone knew if he was found, Grim would have to kill him. Grim backed off, his face a careful mask, but something flashed in his eyes—a pain deeper than physical.

The tension in the room escalated as Victoria and Faith stepped closer to me, their postures becoming more aggressive. Victoria's fists clenched at her sides while Faith's eyes darted between Oakley and me, her breath coming in quick, angry bursts. Joslyn moved to Oakley's side, whispering something in her ear that made Oakley's shoulders stiffen. The air crackled with unspoken threats and accusations.

"Stop it!" Oakley's voice cracked through the room like a whip, shocking everyone into silence. She never raised her voice. Ever. She stepped into the center of the tension, tears glistening but not falling, her body vibrating with a strange, desperate energy. The air around her seemed to ripple with the force of her unexpected outburst. "I am so sick of everyone thinking they know what I want."

"Oakley—" Faith began, arm outstretched, fingertips reaching.

"No." Oakley cut her off with a sharp gesture, the movement slicing through the air between them. "I married him. Me. No one forced my hand." Her voice strengthened with each word, her back straightening, shoulders squaring as if bracing against an invisible weight. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, trembling slightly. "I'm tired of everyone treating me like I'm some fragile doll without a mind of my own."

Doubt flickered across Faith's face. "But you were scared of him?—"

"I was scared of what I felt!" Oakley's voice broke slightly, her performance flawless. She glanced at me, something unreadable in her eyes. "It's... intense. What's between us. It always has been."

Grim studied her face, then mine, his jaw tightening as his eyes held a knowing darkness. The weight of what he'd witnessed earlier—me forcing the pen into her trembling hand, the unspoken threat hanging in the air as she signed those papers—passed between us in silent recognition. His fingers drummed once against his thigh, a private code of complicity.

"You're saying you married him willingly? No coercion? No threats?" His tone was careful, measured, giving her an opening she was too terrified to take. The question hung in the air, poisonous and heavy, each word carefully chosen to sound concerned while revealing nothing.

Oakley's eyes darted to Grim's face before quickly looking away, the memory flashing between them like electricity—his impassive expression as V forced the pen into her trembling hand, how he'd simply watched, arms folded across his chest, while she'd silently pleaded for intervention that never came.

A muscle in her jaw twitched involuntarily. Her body angled slightly away from him, revulsion plain in every line of her posture. "Yes." Her answer was firm but hollow.

She walked over to me, sliding her hand into mine with deliberate purpose, her fingers cold and stiff against mine. I felt her pulse racing against my palm even as her face remained composed.

"I chose this. I chose—" her voice cracked, betraying her for just an instant before she swallowed hard and met Grim's eyes with unnerving intensity, her gaze no longer afraid but burning with silent accusation. Something passed between them—her condemnation of his betrayal, his unspoken acknowledgment of his role in her nightmare. "I chose him."

"Bullshit," Faith whispered, but uncertainty had crept into her voice.

"Enough." Oakley's tone was final. "I'm going home with my husband. That's my choice."

The silence that followed was broken by Nyla suddenly turning away, walking toward the door without a word. Grim watched her go, his face unreadable, but his fingers curled into a fist at his side. He made no move to stop her. Faith exchanged a look with Joslyn before following Nyla out, her hand gentle on the other woman's shoulder as they disappeared from view.

Oakley looked at her remaining friends, resolve hardening her features. "I need you to let me live with this. Even if you hate me for it."

I watched in dark satisfaction as doubt took root in their eyes.

The corner of my mouth twitched.

She did want this. She wants me. Everyone else was wrong for doubting. They simply couldn't understand what we had.

"Let's go," she said to me, tugging gently toward the door. To anyone watching, it would look like eagerness to be alone.

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