Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC Book 5)

by Alexis Noelle

  The stranger’s voice is low and I can't hear what he's saying, but by the way Cutter's body stiffens I know it can't be anything good. The man walks away and Cutter turns to me. "I need to go handle some stuff, but I'll be back. For now, just organize things into piles and then we can go through them later."

  I nod at him and he walks out the door.

  My stomach rumbles and I look at the clock before retrieving a sandwich and a bottle of water from my bag and eat over the bin, careful not to get crumbs anywhere. I’m left alone by everyone, but the day goes quickly. As I sort through the papers I keep glancing at the door, waiting for him to come back. There’s no doubt I’m more comfortable being in here by myself. Moving around the office with his watchful eyes on me. I don’t know what it is that he’s looking for, but it makes me nervous.

  Day moves swiftly into evening and Cutter still isn’t back. I have to get home to get Dylan’s dinner ready and if I don’t leave soon I’ll hit traffic. Unsure of the protocol, I take the notepad from his desk and write Cutter a note, letting him know I’ll see him tomorrow. I step back and look at the note before adding the time I left. I wouldn’t want him to think I’d taken advantage of his absence.

  As I drive home, I think about the club, the people there, and Cutter. We’ve barely spoken to each other and his mere presence puts me on edge, but I have this pull toward him that I know I can’t give into. He makes me want to tell him things I’ve never told anyone. I want to confide in him. It almost feels like he might help me—save me.

  A shiver runs up my back and my fingers tighten on the wheel. This is wrong. I need to try to keep as much distance between ma and Cutter as possible. He touched me and I can’t let him think that’s okay, I need to make sure I keep a safe distance between us. I don’t want him to see how damaged and broken I am.

  I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. If I hurry, I can get everything done on time. Making sure not to slam the door—push closed, bump with hip—because that’ll upset Dylan, if he’s even home, I remove my shoes and head straight for the kitchen, pulling out what I need for dinner.

  While that is cooking I move to the living room. Every surface needs to be dusted daily. Dust is the sign of a dirty home. I remember to lift the coasters and dust under there. I’d forgotten once and Dylan was livid. He threatened to kick me out if I decided I wanted to live like a slob. It was my own fault for letting time get away from me. I chance a look into the living room.

  It’s empty.

  I’m not really sure where he is right now, and I likely won’t ever know where he goes during the day, or who he spends his time with. I run my tongue over the chip in my eye tooth. I’ve learned to not question.

  The smell of steak fills the air and I run in to check on it, making sure it doesn't cook past medium. Dylan is very particular about his food and hates anything tasting burned. I stir the veggies and clean down all the kitchen counters to make sure there aren't any dirty or sticky spots. I stand back and look from three different angles.

  Nothing.

  I glance at the clock: 5:45. I have fifteen minutes.

  I run upstairs, changing out of my conservative work attire and putting on the dress Dylan has laid out for me. I steal a look in the mirror, ignoring the way the straps hang off my bony shoulders, and the sagging material where my full breasts used to be. I want to pull on a sweater to cover up, but he picks out what he wants to see me in each day and there isn’t one here. I tug at the shoulders of the dress. I don't have the best body so I need to make sure that I am always able to look appealing to him.

  It took me a while to be able to work out this schedule and make sure that all of his needs are met. There were times when I messed up completely and Dylan made me see where I’d gone wrong. He’s always trying to make sure I’m the best wife I can be. But I have this routine down now. I’ve been doing it for so long now that it’s almost robotic.

  The soles of my feet burn as I race back downstairs. They scream at me to sit down and relax but I need to show my appreciation for everything that he has done for me. I need to keep him happy so that he doesn't get mad. It would be so disappointing to slip back into my old ways; back when I didn’t pay close enough attention.

  “You stupid fucking bitch!” My back slams into the wall and I slide down it, sinking to the floor. My arms come up to cover my face, bracing myself for the next.

  Dylan stomps over to where I lie in the fetal position. I can smell the polish on his boots, see my reflection in their shine. His foot connects with my ribs and the sound of bones breaking fills my ears.

  "This is all your fucking fault!"

  His boot comes down again. More cracking. I rock forward and grab my bare foot, pain shooting up my shin bone. I don't know what he is referring to, but by the look in his eyes, he just might kill me over it.

  I look around for something to shield myself with but there isn’t anything within reach.

  “Please st—” The air is knocked from my lungs and my body goes rigid. I have endured plenty of abuse from Dylan, but it has never been as bad as this.

  His hand fists in my hair and he bends down and pulls my head toward him. My scalp burns where the hair is torn from my head as he brings his face closer to me, smashing our noses together. His breath is stale and sour. My stomach lurches.

  “You have ruined every fucking day of my life since I met you. I’ve lost my job over your stupid ass, and you’re going to pay.” His voice is low, controlled, and scarier than if he was screaming.

  I don’t know how I could have caused him to lose his job. I open my mouth to question him, but the words are knocked from my mouth when his fist connects with my jaw and the metallic taste of blood rushes over my tongue. I barely have time to take a breath before my head slams into the hardwood floor.

  “You fucking owe me some relief after this shit.”

  Dylan grabs my legs, one in each hand, and begins to pull me. When we reach the stairs he doesn’t stop but continues to drag me, not paying attention to the sickening sound as my head crashes against each step on the way up. He’s talking to me but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.

  I groan when we reach the hallway and feel the soft carpet under me, the friction between the fibers and my skin rubbing me raw. The break is short. Dylan drags me into the bedroom, dropping my legs and grabbing me once again by my hair. I’m so lightheaded that when he forces me to my feet, I can’t balance and fall to the side, sobbing as I spy long dark hair dangling from his fingers, no longer attached to my head.

  Dylan swings me so I land on the bed face down, and as my chest hits the edge of the mattress, jabbing my ribs, I cry out, blood spattering over the white sheets. "You’re going to give me what I always fucking wanted. I am going to fuck you every way possible, then, if you're lucky, I'll leave your worthless ass alone."

  He grabs the back of my sundress and tears it from my body, the fabric biting into my chafed skin. Next, he shreds my panties and his hand comes down on my ass, the force reverberating up my spine, my jaw snapping together, making me see stars. I lose track of how many times he smacks me, but my entire lower body is burning by the time he’s done.

  He backs off and goes silent. His loud pants fill the room. He’s exhausted. I hold a sliver of hope that he is done; that he has grown bored of me. That's when I feel both his fingers dig into my ass cheeks, cutting into the raw skin as his nails dig in.

  “Dylan, please, no.” I don’t even care that I’m begging. I taste the salt of my tears as it mixes with the blood and I try to stop him. “Please don’t do this to me.”

  His face is suddenly right in front of mine, and I gasp. His eyes are bulging. Sweat pours from his hairline and down his cheeks. His teeth are clenched as he bites out, “Jasmine, you belong to me. I want this ass and I’m gonna take it. So fucking deal with it.”

  I feel the bed shift as he moves behind me and I bite down on the comforter to stop myself from vomiting. Then he thrusts forward
and the breath is stolen from my lungs. My body feels like it is being ripped in half. His hands are so rough, his pace so fast, and at one point he leans up to drag his nails down my back. I can feel the blood running over my skin, see it as it drips off my back and onto the sheets, and when I hear him groan from his release, I have to hold back the bile threatening to spill out.

  There is no reprieve as he forces me to my knees on the bed and makes me suck his dick until he’s hard and ready again. The whole thing feels like a dream—no, nightmare. I’m going through the motions. It’s almost like I’m watching the scene from above. Because I’m no longer inside my body. I’m elsewhere. It’s the only way I will be able to endure the horrific scene unfolding.

  Dylan pulls out of my mouth and disappears for a second, coming back in with a set of handcuffs. He tosses me onto the center of the bed. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat and despair. I pull in air through my nose; small, shallow breaths that won’t hurt my ribs too much.

  Once he secures each of my hands to the bedposts, he situates himself in between my legs, which are too weak for me to even try to close them in protest. He fucks me raw, using my hips as leverage to drive into me. Each time he pulls on them, the metal of the handcuffs bites into my skin. Everything I feel is swelling inside of me, the pressure to release with a cry or a groan almost intolerable. But my throat is so sore and his threat looms over me so I hold back the impending screams. His hand closes tight around my throat and my breathing becomes erratic.

  “I own you. Always remember this.”

  He forces himself into me with a groan and I bite the inside of my cheek, praying that it will be over quick. Once he finishes inside me again, he climbs off. My hands hang limp in their shackles, pins and needles gnawing at my fingertips. As he walks out of the room, he calls over his shoulder, “You can stay there and think about how to fix this shit storm you fucking created.”

  I would do that if it had not been for two things:

  I still have no idea what I did.

  I’m starting to lose consciousness . . .

  He told me later that my constant mistakes and shortcomings had distracted him at work. That’s why they’d had to let him go.

  I slip on the heels that I’d left by the door and return to the kitchen, my feet aching with each step. Placing the food on the plate and arranging it so it doesn’t look messy, I place everything on the table—one plate, a knife, and a fork, his water at two o’clock to his plate.

  I look at the clock. I only have five minutes to get the dishes washed and put away. I scrub at the pans as fast as I can, cleaning and drying them before placing them back in the cabinet. When I hear the screen door open, I quickly shut the cabinet door and hurry to stand next to Dylan’s chair at the table.

  The food smells delicious. My stomach grumbles from just standing close to it, and I run my tongue over my lower lip as I remember what I think steak tastes like. My mouth waters as I imagine being able to eat it, but I know what my dinner will be. It's the same as always: peanut butter and jelly.

  When the door slams, all hope I had of this night being peaceful and quiet are gone.

  Chapter Four

  Cutter

  Fucking asshole.

  There is a reason we have rules. During a private dance, one guy started to get a little too hands-on and Melanie called out for help, meaning one of the brothers had to step in. Tracie got wind of it, though, and launched into the guy. Needless to say he didn’t take kindly to being put in his place by a woman. When he lunged at her, one of the brothers came to get me.

  Entitled asshole thinks he can come in here and treat our women however he wants? Well, I’m gonna teach him a fucking lesson.

  I walk up to him and he looks over at me. He is entirely overdressed in his button-up shirt and dress pants. His perfectly styled hair and smug look as I approach him only increases the anger running through me.

  Before he knows what I'm doing, his face is pressed so hard against the wall, there’s a chance we might have to re-plaster. Or leave the dent there so every other fucker who thinks the rules don’t apply to them can see it. Come to think of it, we should frame the motherfucking thing. My forearm pushes against the back of his neck and he tenses against me. "You're going to listen to me and listen good, fucker. I don't know who you are and I don't give a shit. You hurt one of my girls again and I will rip off your dick and shove it so far down your throat, the only blow job you'll ever get is from yourself. You hear me?"

  “Fuck you. You can’t do shit,” is what I think he says. The sound is muffled on account of his face eating Sheetrock.

  I grip his hair, pull his head back and reintroduce it to the wall. If there wasn’t before, there is definitely a hole now.

  He cries out like the pussy that he is, and I move closer, smelling the fear coming off him in waves. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size next time? Give yourself a real challenge.”

  He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “And why would I do that?”

  I pause at his words. Huh. So he likes a little power play? He only preys on girls because he feels like he can control them.

  “’Cause if I see you touching one of my girls— if I even hear of it—you’ll wish you never set foot in my club.”

  He laughs. “Dude, I was only playing.” He nods at Melanie with a cocky look on his face. “She liked it.”

  I twist his arm behind his back tempted to just snap it. "You’re lucky that I'm deciding to let you walk the fuck out of here. I don't want to see you in here again." I shove him toward the door, Brick stretches his foot out and trips him sending the asshole to the floor.

  He stands up, and for a minute I think that he might run his mouth again. A part of me wishes he would. If there’s one thing I can't stand, it’s assholes who think they can intimidate women.

  Keeping his eyes on me he adjusts his tie, pulling it back to the center, running his fingers around the collar, tugging at his shirt. When he doesn’t move immediately for the door, I feel a presence at my back, and I know it’s my brothers. Not that I couldn’t take the guy alone, but it’s a lot harder to take on five guys than it is a not even five-foot woman. He leans over a table and I’m about to lunge for him when he grabs a jacket, flinging it over his shoulder before waltzing out the door. I watch it slam shut but remain frozen in place.

  My breathing hasn’t quite returned to normal and I’m reluctant to turn around. Then I spot Melanie in the corner. Someone’s given her a shirt to put on and she has an empty shot glass clutched in her hand. Her face is downcast, but that doesn’t hide the shiver and shake of her shoulders. It’s a good job I didn’t see that before. Mel has been working here a while now, and it would take a lot to rattle her. I don’t ask what he did. I don’t want to know. Any more information could have me flying down the street after him, and another run-in with the cops is not something I need right now.

  A hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to see Whip. “I got this,” he says, lifting his chin toward Mel. I nod once, not trusting myself with anything more.

  “What the fuck happened?” His tone is clipped, his face twisted in anger. Pres doesn’t lose his cool, but this is as close as I’ve seen him come in a long time.

  “It’s taken care of.” I drop my voice so the others can’t hear. “You really need to tell Tracie to let us handle the out of control customers. One day, shit’s gonna get bad.”

  He nods at me, acknowledging I’ve spoken without actually agreeing to do as I’ve asked, and walks toward the bar.

  I’m about to head back to the office when the guys come up to me. We start to talk and go over club business and by the time I look back up it’s after five o’clock. I head back toward the office, it's long past the time that Jasmine was supposed to leave. I didn't know that this bullshit would take so long.

  When I find the room empty, I let out a curse. Where could she have gone? My gaze lands on a piece of paper on the desk.

  I’m sor
ry I left before you got back, but I had to get home.

  I hope you understand.

  See you tomorrow,

  Jasmine

  I crumple the paper in my hand.

  Damn it.

  I look around noticing the amount of work she was able to get done. She’s made a huge dent in the mess that Tracie left me. Being in here with her earlier was different, she brings a certain calm to my hectic life that I haven’t felt before.

  My door opens and Tracie peeks her head in. “Busy?”

  I waver her in, closing the file in front of me and tossing it on top of the other fifty on the desk. She takes a seat opposite me and, in true Tracie style, gets right to the point. “Sorry if I made shit worse today.”

  I push the heels of my hands against my eyes, hoping it’ll help the growing ache in my head. After a moment, I blow out a long breath and look up, running my hand through my hair and taking it up off my face. “Listen, you just need to understand there are some things you can deal with, and some you can’t. You step up to every jackass that comes in here and one day something is gonna go south.”

  “Where’s your girl?” She cocks an eyebrow at me.

  My eyes narrow at her. “Don’t start.”

  She holds her hands up and stands up, backing away slowly as if I’m a wild animal with prey in my sights. “Just making an observation.” She walks out of the office, but not before giving me a look over her shoulder. A look that sets me on edge.

  My mind goes over my different interactions with Jasmine. I can't help but feel that there is something that I'm not seeing.

  The ache in my head moves from behind my eyes to the back of my skull, squeezing my brain like a vise. I really need to go home. That, or blow off some steam some other way. But as tempting as that is, there’s too much to do here.