Page 34 of Sins of the Hidden

For one endless moment, he stood completely still, every muscle in his body tensed like he'd forgotten how to move. Then his calloused hand gripped my hair roughly, sliding down my spine that stole breath from my lungs. What started as gentle pressure turned savage as he crushed me against his chest, the force of it driving the air from my lungs in a broken whimper. But I didn't pull away. Even as his hold on me became cruel enough to make my ribs protest, I found myself melting into him, drowning in his ruin.

Safe.The realization should have horrified me—finding comfort in the arms of the club's most feared enforcer, even as his hands threatened to crack my ribs. Instead, it felt right in a way that should have terrified me. I tilted my face up, another whimper escaping as his hold turned possessive, desperate. His eyes void of mercy, as final and cold as a gravestone's inscription, locked onto mine before dropping to my parted lips, his grip becoming punishing at the sound I made. One of his hands slid up my spine to curl around the back of my neck, holding me in place as he stared down at me with an intensity that made me tremble. His fingers dug into my skin hard enough that I knew I'd find bruises later, evidence of how desperately he held onto this moment between us.

The front door crashed open. "Oakley, we brought?—"

One second. That's all it took for this moment to shatter. Mom's gasp sliced through the air as grocery bags hit the floor, contents spilling across the threshold. Time froze as my parentssmiles withered and died, taking in the scene before them—their daughter wrapped in V's punishing embrace, his hands gripping me like he'd never let go.

Dad's eyes locked onto V's grip on my waist, the way I was pressed against his chest. "Get your fuckin' hands off my daughter before I break them."

The sound knocked me back inside myself as I stepped out of his arms. V remained motionless, his posture frozen, arms still outstretched where I'd been, and something dangerous crept into his stance as he stared down my father. His hand reached for me, pulling me subtly but definitively behind him.

Behind Dad, Mom's hand covered her mouth, disbelief etched into every line of her face. But beneath that maternal shock, I caught the almost imperceptible shift in her stance—how she edged sideways, blocking the exit. The air turned knife-edged as they stared each other down. Dad's hands curled into fists, V's fingers twitched at his sides, a muscle jumping dangerously in his jaw, veins prominent on his forearms. The hatred my father had always harbored for V filled the space between them. Their glares met like blades crossing, with me trapped in the sharpened air between them.

Dad's face darkened dangerously, the vein in his neck throbbing. His eyes locked onto the leather clutched in my hands. "Why are you holding his cut?"

"Calm down, Trevor." Mom's voice sliced through the tension, though her usual warmth had frozen solid. The look she leveled at V could have turned blood to ice.

"H-He-I-" My voice quavered as I grasped for words that wouldn't ignite this powder keg. "H-He was just coming by to check on me." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

"He was coming by to check on you." Dad's flat tone made me shrink back. "V? Thoughtful? Try again, sweetheart."

Dad only witnessed how I used to flinch when V's shadow darkened a doorway, how I'd duck my head and try to vanish. He missed what I was beginning to recognize—the precisely prepared coffee that materialized when anxiety gripped me, the way V remembered weighted pressure grounded me during spirals. My jaw clenched as I watched his eyes darken behind his surgical mask. These small considerations had always existed, concealed beneath the surface that terrified everyone else. But Dad saw only the predator who made his daughter shiver.

Maybe the mitts would make them see him differently. Make them understand.

I stepped back, gesturing frantically toward the lavender mitts on the couch. "He just bought me oven mitts."

"He did what?" Dad's jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly.

"In lavender, too," I added, watching V from my peripheral vision. He remained unnaturally still, but his focus never wavered from me.

"Your favorite color," Mom observed, her tone careful, searching.

"It doesn't matter what color they are, Claudia. He doesn't get to buy your trust with fucking oven mitts." Rage dripped from every syllable Dad uttered.

I glanced at V, my heart racing as I waited for him to snap, to show my parents the violence I knew he was capable of.

"She smiled at me."

I turned to him. Whatever I witnessed shattered as his dark eyes went cold.

"And?" Dad's scoff filled the room.

V's gaze found mine. "She's never smiled at me before," he said quietly, eyes fixed intently on mine.

"Because you terrify her, asshole!" Dad's voice thundered through the small space. I flinched, but V stood like stone, his posture deceptively relaxed while tension coiled beneath thesurface. His fingers twitched at his sides, control evident in every taut line of his body.

Dad's eyes narrowed to slits. "Her smiles should never be directed at you!"

The words were a direct attack on the confession V had just made about my smile affecting him so deeply.

My stomach twisted as tension crackled between them. I recognized the telltale set of Dad's shoulders—that hardened stance I'd only discovered was connected to the MC world eight months ago when I’d found out that he was part of a motorcycle club. V's subtle shift in posture mirrored it perfectly. Cold dread pooled in my stomach at the thought of what would happen if these two men decided to tear into each other in my small apartment.

"I-I don't mind him being here." The confession burst from my lips before I could stop it, surprising even myself. My ribs strained against each breath as I continued, "S-Since Nyla left, it's always too quiet here."

Mom shifted beside Dad, her sensible flats barely making a sound as she took a measured step forward. "We could've come over more, sweetheart." Mom's voice was gentle with concern, but her eyes cut to V with mixed emotions. "Or you could come over to our house more."

Mom's perfume mixed with lingering smoke from V's cut, the scent-heavy tension pressing against my skin. My mind flashed to moments ago, to those lethal hands moving with impossible tenderness down my back, to the way his heat had enveloped me. But beneath that memory lurked another—V carrying me over his shoulder to that basement, his grip unyielding as Dad fought against the brothers holding him back.

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