Page 55 of Property of Thrasher
“You don’t get to run from this with a text,” he murmured. “You want out, you say it to my face. You give me that respect. Don’t hide behind a damn screen.”
“I was scared,” I whispered.
“I know.” His breath warmed my skin. “But you’re mine now. You don’t need to be scared of bullshit like Maria. You hear me?”
I nodded, a shaky exhale leaving me.
He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Say it.”
“I hear you.”
His mouth hovered close, his breath mingling with mine, but he didn’t kiss me. Not yet.
Instead, he pulled me into his chest, wrapping me in an embrace that was more anchor than cage. His hand smoothed down my back, slow and steady, like he was taming a storm inside me.
For the first time all night, my tears didn’t feel so heavy.
The clock ticked on. Minutes, maybe hours passed—I couldn’t tell. Thrasher didn’t push me, didn’t demand more than I could give. He just held me while the remnants of fear and doubt bled out of me.
Eventually, my breathing steadied. The silence no longer suffocated.
“Why’d you come here?” I asked softly, cheek pressed to his chest.
“Because you’re mine,” he said simply. “And because I’m not lettin’ you walk away over some bullshit from a bunny or because you got up in your head about some shit. Been around the block, baby, don’t say that to upset you, but women get in snits sometimes, doesn’t mean it’s all tossed out.”
I thought of the text, the finality of it, the cowardice behind it. Shame burned in me again.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You will be,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it. “You do this again, I’m gonna redden your ass and make you beg for me.”
Despite myself, a small laugh broke through. He caught it, and I felt the rumble of his answering chuckle against my cheek.
The tension dissolved, replaced by something fragile and precious.
I let myself sink into it.
For once, I didn’t fight.
His arms stayed wrapped around me, steady and strong, like he was holding the pieces of me together so I wouldn’t scatter again.
“You listen to me, Melody,” he said, voice low, vibrating through his chest into my bones. “If I have to, I’ll stand on the damn table at church and tell every single brother you’re my old lady. The bunnies are gonna know too. That’s how serious I am about this. About you.”
I froze, my breath catching.
Old lady.
It was a title I’d heard tossed around the clubhouse with a mix of respect and edge, heavy with meaning. It wasn’t just a girlfriend, not just a fling—it was permanence, protection, belonging.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yes, I do,” he cut in, pulling back enough to tilt my chin up so I couldn’t look anywhere but into his eyes. “Because you don’t get it yet. You’re mine. And I don’t give a damn who knows it.”
A shiver rippled through me, part fear, part relief, part something that made my stomach twist in ways I couldn’t name.
“And Maria?”
His mouth curved into something darker, dangerous. “She won’t be near you again. She crossed a line, and she knew better. Confrontin’ you? Making you doubt me? That shit doesn’t fly. She’s done. Out of the club, out of the hotel. She can take her games somewhere else.”
