Page 17 of Sins of the Hidden

He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

The walk home stretched before us, each step measured by the rhythmic tap of V's bat from him dragging it against the concrete. Streetlights cast our shadows in distorted shapes—his form dwarfing mine entirely. The evening air hung heavy with the promise of rain, mixing with the leather-and-blood smell that clung to him like a second skin.

Fear prickled icy needles down my spine, vertebrae locking one by one. The bat hung at his side, a reminder of what those hands were capable of. Yet those same hands had never left a mark on my skin.

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, heavy with all the fear and confusion that haunted my sleepless nights. "Why me?"

He stepped closer, positioning his body between me and the street, shielding me from the headlights of passing cars. "I protect you." The words rumbled from behind that mask like distant thunder, his posture saying what his sparse words didn't.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces that threatened to scatter under his intense focus. "I don't need?—"

"Yes." His free hand rose, hovering near my face without touching. "You do."

My breath hitched as his fingers traced the air along my jaw, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"You don't understand," I whispered, hating how my voice trembled. "People like you don't... you wouldn't want..."

One tear betrayed me, sliding down without permission. Turning away, furiously trying to wipe it away before he saw it.

Yeah, that was stupid. His fingers caught my chin, forcing me to face him. The weight of his tender caress crushed my soul more thoroughly than any blow ever could. My throat closed around unspoken words as tears fell, betraying everything I tried to hide.

"No one else sees you." His fingers dragged down my chin before pulling away, leaving a pressure that lingered long after the contact ended. "No one else keeps you safe."

The bat hit the pavement with a violent crack, sending a shockwave through my chest. In the next heartbeat, he was everywhere—palms slamming into the wall on either side of me, caging me in heat and quiet threat. My breath vanished. I couldn't move, couldn't think—pinned by a man who handled death as naturally as breathing, yet touched me with devastating restraint.

When he finally spoke, the words were low, dredged up from some dark place inside him I hadn't known existed. "No one touches what's mine."

His silhouette swallowed the streetlights, leaving me trapped in his shadow, inhaling nothing but the bitter scent of blood and him. His hand slid down from the wall, fingertips brushing my jaw, tracing lower until they reached my shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, they moved down my arms, leaving trails of fire along my skin. My heart thundered as he settled his grip on my waist, neither pulling me closer nor pushing me away—just holding me there, branding me.

"I'm the only thing that gets to scare you." His voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be—it filled every inch of space between us. He tilted my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his. "No one touches you. No one looks at you. No one breathes near you unless I allow it. If they do, I'll make sure they never do it again. I see everything, Oakley. And I forget nothing."

He watched me closely, cataloging every shiver, every unsteady breath.

"Home," he ordered simply, pulling back just enough for me to move.

We walked in silence toward my apartment, his hand returning firmly to my elbow, steering me away from the curb and positioning himself between me and the passing cars. I felt numb, hollowed out. By the time we reached my apartment, exhaustion had sunk into every muscle.

Inside, I collapsed onto the couch. The reality of the evening crashed into me all at once, making my eyes sting with tears I refused to let fall. Through the window, I could just barely see him standing outside, watching and waiting.

From the window, V didn't just watch. He stood motionless, so quiet I wondered if he was even breathing. Then two fingerslifted.Tap. Tap.Against the glass. Not a knock. Not affection. Just a reminder. He was there. And he always would be.

The curtain fell from my trembling fingers, but it didn't matter. He'd seen my tears, my weakness, my truth. He saw everything.

The truth cut deeper than any knife could: in Hellbound, he'd stolen my freedom by force. Now I feared something worse—that somewhere between his hands branding my skin and the cold bite of the basement brick, I'd started handing it to him willingly.

And maybe that was what terrified me most of all—not that he saw me, but that a part of me didn't want to be hidden.

She could've been a saint. But I touched her, and now she was mine—too stained to save, too perfect to let go.

The mask didn't hide me—it held me back. A mercy for those too fragile to witness what lay beneath. That was what made me useful to Prez: an unleashed thing he could point at enemies like a loaded gun. But he never saw the full extent of what I carried. It writhed just beneath the surface, desperate to leave proof behind. To make them remember what happened when they forget what I was.

The devil's traits without his charm. Unkempt hair, hollow eyes—a face that warned of danger without a sound. A giant's frame, stretched tight, always close to breaking.

I watched my brothers from the shadows, old habits making me memorize every flaw, every vulnerability. The way Tyrant exposed his throat when he laughed. How Sarge's knee betrayed him with every step. My fingers itched, muscle memory tightening like a trigger, but the urges felt hollow now. Everything before her felt like dust.

Oakley.

Her name pounded like war drums in my veins, silencing the fury that never stopped screaming. She was the only one who'd survive if the thing inside me ever got out. The rest, even these men I call brothers, would fall beneath me if they ever threatened her.

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