I stayed silent.
Rubix grunted under his breath as his hand trailed possessively down my stomach. Kicking my ankle with his boot, he forced my legs to spread as his hand cupped my core.
I stiffened—I couldn’t help it.
No matter how removed I was, it was still a direct violation of somewhere only my lover was permitted to touch.
“Ah, so you are alive, after all.” Rubix’s fingers probed further, indenting my nightshirt.
I breathed harder though my nose, doing my utmost to hide my rapidly building repugnance.
His tongue lashed around my earlobe, sucking it into his horribly wet mouth.
I’m not here.
I’m far away from this.
My mind—for once—obeyed me. It skipped backward through time, trading this monstrosity of a Club for the one where I’d grown up happy and carefree. Dagger Rose was once a joyous place—a sanctuary full of love and laughter.
I’d fallen in love here.
I’d been groomed for my destiny here.
My father knew he couldn’t give the Club to me. I was a girl. But I was also his only child. Royalty within the ranks was governed by blood rather than dictated by votes. Therefore, the man I chose as mine would’ve been the next president.
Arthur would’ve been president.
My heart bled dry. Was I the reason why Rubix had done what he did? Was jealousy of his son’s future ranking enough to push him to such dreadful things?
My limbs turned to stone. The reason was so superficial—so vain. How could anyone possibly be envious of their own family?
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you, Rubix?” I said coldly.
The men around the table froze, straining to hear what I had to say.
Rubix’s fingers stopped in their appalling exploration. “What are you bullshitting about now?”
“You couldn’t stand to think your son was more man than you. More deserving to rule in my father’s stead. You had to murder my family and pin it on him to remove him from the picture.” My blood thickened until my brain swam with an overdose of oxygen, preparing to flee or fight. “What I don’t understand is why did you try to kill me? What was the point in dispatching me when I would’ve only made your claim more concrete by taking me for your own?”
Rubix glanced at the men before bending to whisper in my ear. His hands flattened on my belly, curving my ass into his crotch. “You’re very perceptive, little princess. A pity, really.” He paused. “I did want you for myself. I left you in that burning house only long enough to scare you. I was going to save you, turn your gratefulness into love and your putrid hate for my murdering son into adoration for me. I had it all planned out. Yet you didn’t wait for me to save you.”
“No, I saved myself because I could see through your bullshit.”
“Not true. You’re as blind as you were when you were ten. You’re still in love with him. Still letting him sink between your fucking legs. But no matter what you think you remember about that night, Cleo Price, he did murder your parents. It was his finger on the trigger. No matter how you twist the fucking facts.”
No matter how much I wanted to believe Arthur didn’t do it, I couldn’t deny Rubix told the truth.
I was in love with the man who stole my family.
But I had my reasons why.
I could forgive him because of what truly happened that night.
“I know what you did, asshole,” I murmured. “I know the truth.”
Rubix chuckled. “Doesn’t make a shit load of difference, though, does it? He’ll still die.” He licked my cheek. “Just like you will do, pretty little girl. Which is such a shame, as I would’ve so enjoyed your company.”
All reminiscent and favored memories of Dagger Rose evaporated. The laughter, the connection—it all vanished as if it never existed.
I hated this place.
I loathed it.
I wanted to burn every damn house to the ground with every member inside.
I wanted them to die by fire like they’d almost done to me.
Wriggling in Rubix’s arms, I managed to dislodge his touch and spin to face him. “What do you want?” I spat, gritting my teeth against his horrible touch. Everything about him—from his scruffy chin to his greasy black hair pissed me off. “I’m done with whatever you’re doing. You want something from me? Spit it out so I no longer have to be subjected to your filth.”
Men laughed.
Cobra guffawed. “Holy shit, Prez. You gonna let her talk to you like that?”
“Yeah, Prez. Give her to us and we’ll set the bitch straight.” Sycamore’s sickening drawl webbed around the room.
Rubix laughed blackly. “Oh, believe me, boys, we’ll make her fucking pay.” Shooting his hand down the front of my body, he fingered me cruelly. “And what I want from you, princess, is a fuck load more than you think.”
“Get your hands off me!” I tried to slap him but only succeeded in being slapped myself.
My cheek bloomed with fire.
He snarled, “Make me.”
I flinched as his hand gathered my T-shirt, revealing my behind to the table of disgusting onlookers. They never moved, drinking in the scene with devil-soaked eyes.
“Do you want money? Shares? Let me go and I’m sure Arthur will give you both.”
Arthur would never pay—I knew that. But I would’ve bequeathed anything if it meant I could escape. I could take his punishment. I would survive it. But I would be stupid not to fight. Hell, I would’ve pledged millions if it meant I could walk out of there and be done with this ignoramus vendetta between father and son. I would’ve promised the world, but the moment I was free, I would’ve reneged on every single one.
Murderers, liars, and thieves didn’t deserve promises.
They didn’t know the value of an oath. Why should I be any different?
I bit my lip, swallowing my disgust as Rubix marched me back to the table and held me prisoner against the wood. I flinched as his fingers entered me forcibly, but I didn’t reward him with a cry.
He smirked. “I see you’re not going to make me stop. Haven’t you figured out that I don’t want money or whatever else you think you can fucking bribe me with?” His finger drove deeper, making me wince. His head tilted as coy smugness entered his eyes. “You’re not wet … so it isn’t just the last name that turns you on.”
He pushed my chest so my shoulders slammed against the surface. Bending over me, he thrust his jeans-clad cock against the mound of my pussy.
Oh, God.
I’m not here.
I’m not here.
I’d always been the type of person who guarded herself carefully. I supposed that was why my mind had tripped into amnesia when faced with something too hard to handle. I didn’t let emotions overwhelm me—I had a natural defense that probably wasn’t healthy but I couldn’t circumnavigate.
I had the tendency to shut down.
A switch.
And if I shut down, it was over. Done. Whatever happened from that point on couldn’t affect me because there was nothing inside to affect.
“Did you hear that the father is twice the man his son is?” Rubix’s breathing was thick and fast. “Don’t you want to sample the better version?”
I bucked, trying to get him off me. The bikers who’d held my wrists before captured them again, flattening me down, turning me helpless.
“You’ll only embarrass yourself,” I snarled. “Arthur isn’t just twice the man you are—I told you, he’s a hundred times.”
Cobra and Sycamore licked their lips, watching me with over-bright eyes.
“Go on, do whatever you think proves you’re a bastard. But just know the entire time I’ll be laughing at you. Laughing at how worthless you are. How lacking you are compared to a real man.”
Oh, God, Cleo. What are you doing?
I swallowed my terror. I hadn’t meant to say that.
Too late now. I only had myself to blame.
My teeth clamped on my bottom lip. I poured every inch of hate and repugnance into my gaze.
If he wanted me scared—he’d achieved it.
If he wanted me to scream or beg or cry—he’d be sorely disappointed.
I won’t.
Cobra and Sycamore pulled my wrists, jerking me flatter against the table.
“Tell me again … what you said about Arthur,” Rubix demanded.
“Yes, tell us the part where he’s a hundred times more man than us,” Cobra chuckled, blowing a kiss in my direction.
“Yeah, the part where you’ll be laughing at us.” Sycamore’s eyes were luminescent with toxic lust.
Don’t fall into their trap.
I knew they were taunting me, but at the same time, I couldn’t let them talk ill of Arthur.
I looked at all three Dagger Rose bastards and said loudly, clearly, and with utmost conviction. “Arthur is a thousand times the man you will ever be. He’ll find and kill you. And then you will see for yourself how pathetic you truly are.”
Rubix laughed softly. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we, Cleo? We’ll see who wins this coming war.” He placed his chilled hands on the paper-thin skin of my throat.
I froze.
Our eyes locked.
With the barest of voices, Rubix ordered, “Prepare her. The sooner we do this—the better.”
I wanted to ask what would happen.
I wanted to disappear and never open my eyes again.
But Cobra moved so fast.
A blur.
A shout.
What—
Then pain.
Impossible, profound pain.
Cobra struck me with something I didn’t see.
Pain against my temple. Agony around my throat.
I moaned as the agony intensified, casting out waves of black fog. My mind sank deeper into the ink, faster and faster, succumbing to whatever they’d struck me with.
“Again,” Rubix shouted, slicing through my thick haze.
I tried to speak but my tongue wouldn’t work.
I tried to move but my body had disappeared.
There was nothing but thoughts and whispers and pain. Endless, measureless pain.
Cobra obeyed.
The agony struck again.
It smashed through my consciousness, sending me into drunken spirals.
Around and around.
I’m on a merry-go-round.
I’m slipping.
I’m falling.
It came again.
One last strike.
The world turned from solid to swimming; I was sucked down a drain into a whirlpool of sickness.
Chapter Six
Kill
Running away had a certain appeal.
If I knew he wouldn’t come after me, I’d steal a bike and put Dagger Rose in my dust. But to leave, I’d have to cut my heart out, because I’d never be whole unless I was with her.
She’d saved me all while ruining me.
And now I was trapped.
Indefinitely. —Kill, age fifteen
There were approximately five liters of blood in an average man.
Rubix owes me every last drop in his body.
Cleo had been in their clutches for fifty-five hours.
Ninety thousand seconds since she’d slept angelically beside me.
Fuck …
No, wait. That’s wrong.
Three thousand six hundred seconds were in an hour. So that made it one hundred and ninety-eight thousand seconds since I’d last seen her.
A cold sweat dripped down my spine.
Another mistake. Another mathematical solvent I’d fucked up.
Shit.
Had this injury stripped me of whatever gift I’d been given? Were all my trading sequences, tricks, and secret formulas dashed upon the rocks of my useless fucking brain?
My mind was darkness and smog.
My neurons faulty and extinct.
Snippets of knowledge were there, but not in their entirety. The codes were broken—unconnected and fragmented.
Shit, I am defective.
Fear stalked me, closing its claws around my thoughts.
I forced my bike faster.
It doesn’t matter.
I didn’t have time for self-fucking-pity.
Cleo had been held hostage for one hundred and ninety-eight thousand seconds. In order to pay the grim reaper, I had to extract the perfect amount of vengeance before killing those who hurt my woman.
My headache intensified; sludge coated my synapses. I was swimming upstream and out of breath.
There’s approximately five liters of blood in an average man.
Punishing the bike with another burst of speed, I beat my brain into submission. In a spark of intelligence, a figure came to me.
A figure of exact revenge.
My thoughts turned from chaos to calmness.
Five liters spread out over fifty-five hours.
Zero-point-zero-zero-five drops of blood for every second.
That’s how much they’ll pay when I get my hands on them.
Darkness was our ally as we purred through the sleepy township run by Dagger Rose.
With a growl of mechanical power, we slipped through suburbia.
My old family.
My old home.
It wasn’t too late—about midnight—but the streets were abandoned. There were no teenagers playing on the seesaw and swings where I’d kissed Cleo for the first time. No couples stumbling out of the diner.
Vacant.
Soulless.
Just us.
My body ached as if we’d been traveling for days, and my head—shit, my head was a damn wasp nest of agony.
Every mile we traveled, it grew worse.
I could barely move my neck to check for traffic. I couldn’t see without blinking through black spots and swallowing back nausea. Everything was a herculean effort.
The second Cleo was back in my arms, I was passing the fuck out.
And taking drugs.
Lots and lots of drugs.
We didn’t stop until we navigated our way through town and onto the outskirts. Our engines cleaved through the stagnant silence like a chainsaw through bread. My skin prickled with anxiety and adrenaline. Now that we were close, I wanted to charge into the compound and pummel to death the bastards who’d done this.
I wanted to howl and turn berserk with no regard for anything but delivering justice.
Turning into the same dead-end where I’d parked the bike when I’d brought Cleo to jog her memory, we rolled onto the grassy uninhabited verge. The undergrowth had claimed any attempt at landscaping by municipality councils, offering natural protection to hide the bikes.
The second we killed the engines, warm air chased away the chill on my skin from riding for so long without a jacket. The man’s clothing that Grasshopper had stolen didn’t invoke fear or hint at my credentials as ruthless president. The sweatpants were too short and I would’ve preferred to go bare-chested than wear the god-awful Hawaiian shirt another fucking minute.
“You look like a homeless bum, Kill.” Mo snickered, climbing off his bike once Grasshopper had jumped off the back.
I threw him an icy stare. Even that small action sent clammy sweat over my forehead, threatening to topple me into unconsciousness.
Hopper cracked half a smile. “He’s right, though. Perhaps you can kill them by making them laugh to death?”
“Shut the fuck up, both of you.” I locked the handlebars and swung my leg over the hot machine. The instant my feet touched terra firma, I wobbled like a drunk.
The night sky glittered with our intent; silver stars and waxing moon shone ready to turn bloodred in retaliation.
Grasshopper cleared his throat. “The rest of Pure are already in position. Got a text about five minutes ago.”
Turning slowly, so as not to upset the unbalanced pandemoniu
m in my head, I nodded. “Good.”
Reinforcements had been sent ahead. I’d made the call while we stormed from the hospital.
In all the years I’d been president, I’d only summoned their help twice in battle: once when fighting off an invading cartel and again when I’d wanted to expand our reach and absorb more Clubs under our name.
Each time my men had fought bravely and loyally.
Each time they’d been rewarded handsomely.
This time would be no different.
But this time everything would be different. Different because this was the start of everything we’d worked toward. The beginning of change.
I want more than this. I deserve more than this lifestyle provides.
“Let’s go.” Mo cocked his head at the undergrowth. “The sooner this is over, the sooner we can blow some shit up and get home.”
I tried to hide my slight sway and the way even the darkness hurt my eyes. But of course, he saw right through it.
Mo came closer. “You’re the prez, Kill. You’re the one pulling the strings on this party. But tonight, let us be the ones in front, yeah?”
Grasshopper froze. I was well known for being on the front line. I never asked others to do what I was afraid to do myself. I shook my head, then stopped immediately.
Motherfucker, that hurts.
Swallowing my groan, my shoulders slumped. “Normally, I’d take a swing at you for sprouting such bullshit. But … you might be right.”
Honesty was a weakness, but it was also a strength. My men trusted me because I wasn’t stupid. If they had a better idea, I listened. If they had reasons to avoid something, I paid attention.
And this was one of those times.
Grasshopper’s boots crunched a twig as he shifted. “You’re still the boss. We aren’t protecting you or doing shit on your behalf; you’re just doing us a favor by not getting in the way.”
As if anyone believes that shit.
“We’ll get her back, dude. And we’ll destroy those motherfuckers.” Grasshopper slapped a hand on my shoulder.
I winced as my headache flared, but I appreciated the gesture. Fuck, I appreciated everything he’d done—even if I was livid.
I owed him.
If it hadn’t have been for Hopper, I might’ve bled out or turned into a damn zucchini before anyone noticed. He’d been the one to pop around when he couldn’t get me on the phone. He was the one who found me passed out.
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