Page 15 of Sins of the Hidden

Knight's arms wrapped around Faith's waist before she could move, restraining her from what would certainly be a fatal confrontation. "Let me go! I swear to God, if you Neanderthals think you can just?—"

V's head turned, the mask catching the light in a way that made him look otherworldly. Knight's hands tightened on Faith's waist as she lunged forward. "Whoa, babe. Sarge ain't the one you wanna fuck with."

"I'm not the one Sarge should fuck with," she spat, struggling against Knight's hold. Her leg swung back, and something dark flashed across Faith's face when his hand pressed against her thigh. The fight drained from her instantly, replaced by something haunted, something distant. He immediately pulled back.

Across the room, the hood of Sarge's sweatshirt hung low, obscuring the left side of his face—a habit born from the need to hide the brutal landscape of scars that mapped his skin like frozen lightning. His arms encircled Joslyn with desperation, pressing her against his chest as if trying to absorb her into himself, to keep her safe in the cage of his scarred body.

Most people flinched away from those scars, but Joslyn leaned into his scarred chest, fingertips tracing the rough,healed wounds tenderly—like navigating scars only she knew the map to.

The fire had broken something fundamental in him, leaving behind a need to constantly reassure himself of her presence. She'd told me about finding him tearing their cabin apart in a blind panic when she'd stepped out to watch the sunrise one morning.

Now she left notes by his pillow:"On the porch with my coffee"or"In the garden"—paper lifelines to quiet the panic of waking up alone.

I couldn't imagine needing someone like that. Or letting them hold me like that. Not without shaking. The way he touched her like she was salvation—what would that feel like?

"What are you doing here?" Joslyn asked, sinking into his embrace.

"You said the class ended at six thirty." His voice carried an edge of barely contained panic.

She glanced at the clock, confusion evident in her furrowed brow. "It's six thirty-one."

"Still late." His attention dropped to her exposed skin, and a growl vibrated through his chest. "Where's your fuckin' shirt?"

"I don't wear one when I work out with you."

"Yeah, me." The word came out like a threat as his eyes cut to Tyrant and Knight. He shrugged off his cut, wrapping it around her dominantly. "And me only."

The air turned arctic as V approached. My body tensed, responding automatically to his presence. The top of my head barely reached his collarbone, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. One hand rested in the pocket of his black hoodie while the other gripped the bat with familiarity.

"W-What are you doing here?" The question was pointless—I already knew.

He didn't answer. Just took a step. Then another. A slight tightening at the corner of his masked mouth, barely noticeable, gave away more than words ever could. I kept stepping back until my back hit the mirror. He lifted the bat again, poised like an executioner, then drove it down, cracking the floor inches from my toes. Message received: my question didn't deserve a response.

His presence erased mine, dominating every inch of space around us, trapping my breath in my throat until my vision swam. The mask flexed subtly with his breath, reminding me of calculated patience before a strike.

"Who are you?" Faith's challenge shattered the moment. My heart stuttered. She had no idea what he was capable of, what that bat had done to those who defied him.

"That's V." Knight cautioned as if trying not to spook a cornered animal. "He's the enforcer for our club."

"Enforcer, huh?" Faith's head peeked around V's massive frame, only to be blocked as he shifted again. A rumble built in his chest—the kind of sound that led up to violence. "Why are you so close to Oakley?"

Sheer terror clawed up my throat as V's attention fixed on me with laser focus. His hand advanced in slow motion, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The scent of charred wood overwhelmed me, making my head spin.

"I-It doesn't bother me." The lie tasted like ash.

V raised the heavy weapon, eyes locked on mine as he drove it into the floor. The impact cracked the wood, leaving a crater behind. Without hesitation, he swung again, precisely hooking and snapping Faith's necklace from her throat. He stared at her impassively, as if she were already dead, alive only because he allowed it—for me.

Faith's fingers scrabbled at her throat, eyes widening, breath hitching sharply in disbelief. "You son of a bitch?—"

Knight and Tyrant exploded into motion, side by side, all brute force and blind urgency, grabbing Faith's arms as she kicked out at V. Her screams echoed off the walls, each one a potential death sentence.

I moved before my brain could process the danger. I stepped between them, hands raised toward V like I could somehow hold back an avalanche with bare palms. "V..." My voice fractured, words brittle as that night he'd dragged me across splintered wood and broken doors. "I-It's okay."

Something shifted in his eyes—not softening, but recalculating. The bat lowered slightly. I seized the moment. "L-Let's go?"

The signature head tilt followed my stammered suggestion. His grasp flexed around the bat, wood creaking, then relaxed slightly as his eyes met mine. I headed for the door, shame burning in my chest as I caught Faith's devastated expression.I'm so sorry.

The evening air hit my face like a slap as I fled the studio. I stumbled along beside him, my obedience burning shame deep into my chest. I walked quietly—compliant, passive—like the fight had drained out through Hellbound's cracks in the walls, leaving nothing behind but hollow fear and quiet submission.

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