Page 8 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Ember

Royal Road wasn’t the only stage I knew.

Before joining Eve’s band, I played honky tonks on Broadway and dive bars all over Nashville, stringing heartbreak into fiddle solos under neon signs.

Well, Eve used to lead the band before she ran off with Kingpin’s brother Beau Strick.

Country royalty. Well, my girl Eve didn’t run off like that.

She had a chance to see the world and took it.

As far as I know, Beau was happily married to Kingpin’s ex and Eve’s smitten with Prez.

And she’d come back. But she wasn’t back, back.

She was still in her husband’s bed. Catching up, she called it.

I hadn’t told her I’d been catching up with Villain.

She’d sent me texts from the road, dusty motel selfies, tour buses, the kind of wild fame that made me both jealous and relieved.

When Eve was gone, Rome took over the band, even though we were called the Lower Broads.

Which meant I saw him more often than I wanted.

And less than I needed.

“You’re late,” Rome said as I walked into the soundcheck at Hiss & Vinegar, the bar we played Monday nights. His guitar was already slung across his chest, inked fingers tapping against the strings, restless.

“I was at the clubhouse.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked me over, jeans, crop top, hair tied up with a red bandana. No lipstick tonight. No boots. Just me and my red Chucks.

“Wasting your time with those patched dicks again?”

I arched a brow. “That what we’re calling Villain now?”

“Villain’s not serious about anyone, Ember.”

I ignored the sting. Walked past him to plug in my amp. “You worried about me, Rome?”

He followed. “You used to let me worry.”

“You used to earn it.”

That shut him up.

We played hard that night. Like something old was clawing its way back to the surface. Rome shredded the guitar like he had something to prove. I let my bow slide across the strings, breathing through each note like it was the only thing keeping me from screaming.

After the last set, I wiped the sweat from my chest and headed for the alley behind the bar. Needed air. Space. Silence.

I didn’t get it.

Rome followed, leaning against the brick wall like he’d been waiting for a reason to explode.

“You fucking him?” he asked, through tight teeth.

“Excuse me?”

“Villain. You letting him claim you while you pretend, you're still part of my band?”

I crossed my arms. “That what this is about? You jealous?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “I’m warning you.”

I laughed. “Of what? Of a man who actually calls me when he says he will?”

“He’s not gonna save you, Ember.”

“Who said I needed saving?”

“You don’t see it yet, but I do.” Rome’s voice lowered, almost tender. “You’re falling for him.”

I looked away. “So what if I am?”

“He’s not built for soft. And you… you’ll burn.”

The silence between us cracked like ice under pressure.

And then he kissed me.

Fast. Hard. Messy.

I gasped into his mouth but didn’t push him away. Not right away. His hands were familiar. His mouth knew mine too well. And for one breathless second, I remembered what it felt like to be wanted by someone who used to know how to love me.

Then I shoved him back.

“Don’t,” I said. “Not when you’ve had every sweetbutt in the club on your lap these past few months you’ve been a prospect.”

“Don’t act like he’s any better.”

“He’s not,” I said. “But at least he doesn’t lie about what we are.”

Rome looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

He turned, grabbed my wrist, and tugged me down the alley, fast and silent like he didn’t want anyone to see.

“Rome…” I started, but he spun me around, pinning me against the cold brick wall.

His mouth crushed mine.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishment.

And I let him.

My head tipped back as his hands slid my pants down, rough palms dragging across my ribs, my hips, until they found the place he used to own. I gasped, legs parting instinctively, memory firing through my skin like lightning.

He lifted my thigh up, hooked it around his waist. “You still taste divine,” he growled against my lips.

“And you still lie like it’s a goddamn art,” I whispered.

He entered me hard, fast, like this was the last time. It wasn’t about love.

Still wanted.

Still hated him for it.

“You love him?” he rasped, breath hot against my ear as I bit back a moan.

“I don’t know,” I panted. “Maybe.”

“Then why’d you let me do this again?”

“Don’t I always? Because I’m stupid. Because you make me feel…” I didn’t finish. I couldn’t.

We were reckless thunder in a storm of old feelings and bad decisions, slamming together like we never broke at all.

When it was over, I leaned back against the wall, shaking.

He rested his forehead against mine. “You’re gonna stay quiet, Ember.”

I blinked. “About what?”

“You know what.”

“You mean your secret?”

His eyes were hard now. “I’m not playin’. If you tell Villain what you know about me. If you say one goddamn word, you’ll regret it.”

My stomach turned. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

I pushed him off me. “You don’t get to fuck me and threaten me, Rome.”

His jaw clenched. “Then stop making me.”

I didn’t answer. Shame flooded me. This was exactly why I was trying to make Rome jealous. So, he’d act out. So, he’d find me and fuck me. Threaten me. I pulled my pants back up, tugged my shirt down, buttoned my jeans, and walked away, knees wobbling, heart pounding.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I tossed and turned in my tiny apartment, listening to the buzz of the ice machine outside, the occasional train whistle, the crackle of the record player I forgot to turn off.

Villain’s scent was still on my skin from two nights ago, leather, smoke, and something darker, savage.

I tried not to think of his hands on me.

Or Rome’s mouth. About how Rome would always find me after I fucked Villain and take what he wanted.

Or how long it had been since my last period.

The next morning, I stared at the calendar taped to the fridge. Circled dates. Little red Xs.

I was late.

Over a week late.

My hands started shaking before I even grabbed my keys.

At the corner drugstore, I stood in front of the pregnancy test aisle like a woman on trial. A kid from the neighborhood walked past, did a double take, and then looked away like he’d seen something private.

I grabbed two boxes and left without making eye contact.

Back home, I sat on the bathroom floor in my underwear, holding the test like it was a stick of dynamite.

I’d done this before. False alarms. Close calls. That night in Rome’s truck when the condom broke.

Now here I was again. Alone. Bare-legged. Bare-souled.

The dangerous games, I was playing with two outlaws, I hadn’t seen a condom in months. I was on the pill but late was late.

I peed. Waited.

Minutes passed.

Then two pink lines.

My head dropped to my knees, and I exhaled.

No sobbing. No dramatic scream.

Just… a quiet kind of thunder.

Because I didn’t know if it was Villain’s.

Or Rome’s.

And the truth?

I didn’t know who I wanted it to be.