by S. Nelson
“You don’t have to constantly touch him the way you do,” he seethed. Although their talk was quiet, it drew the attention of the man behind the bar. He stepped around and quickly walked toward the two of them.
Glancing around, I noticed everyone’s focus was on the scene unfolding in front of us—the president of the club, the man standing behind me, was no exception. I heard him sigh loudly, his warm breath cascading over my cheek and making me feel something. I wasn’t sure what, but it wasn’t terror.
Pinning my gaze back on the couple across the room, I pricked my ears to make sure I didn’t miss a word.
“What’s going on here?” the older man asked, reaching for the woman’s arm. Was he her old man? When she didn’t answer, he turned his gaze onto the blond man. “Are you angry with my niece for some reason, Stone?”
Oh . . . she’s his niece.
Biting his lip, Stone stalled to find the right answer, I was sure. “I just don’t know why she’s always here. That’s all, Trigger.”
“She’s here tending to a fellow brother. You know he’s not out of the woods yet.” Her uncle, this Trigger, looked pensive for a moment. “Wait . . . Are you jealous?” Before Stone could utter a complacent reply, the man cut him off. “No, that couldn’t be possible,” he gritted, “because that would mean you feel something for my niece, and you know better. You know better than to mess with my family, don’t you?” He continued on as if he hadn’t just asked him question after question. “You might not be able to feel pain, you fucker, but that doesn’t mean I won’t put a bullet in your ass if you touch one hair on her goddamn head.” Stepping so close they were chest to chest, he practically spit in his face as he yelled, “Do you understand me?”
That’s the second time someone made reference to this man not feeling pain. What the hell does that even mean?
“Uncle Trig,” the woman interjected, “there’s nothing going on between me and Stone. He’s probably just pissy there’s a woman constantly around, messing up the testosterone flow you all have going on up in here.” She tried to joke to relieve some of the pulsating tension, but it was lost on her uncle. And on the irate man standing next to her.
The man behind me spoke up and his deep voice startled me. “Trig, Stone,” he commanded. “Lock it up. Enough.” His words were short and to the point. Both men glared at each other before moving aside. Stone gave the woman another hard leer before pushing past both of them, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.
At least the focus had been taken off me for a short time.
Marek
I swear to Christ! If we didn’t have enough shit to worry about, now I had to concern myself as to what the hell was goin’ on with Stone and Adelaide . . . and Trigger, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t enough that we’d just ambushed the Reapers’ compound, kidnapped Psych’s daughter, Vex’s alleged woman, but then I had to worry about Trigger putting a bullet in my VP.
Can I not get one night of rest?
I ain’t gonna lie. We were all intrigued to see what was gonna unfold between Stone and Adelaide, then Trigger stepping in, but I was tired and needed to get some sleep. But first, I had to take care of the woman still shackled in front of me.
My captive.
The newest permanent addition to the Knights Corruption.
Yeah, no way in hell I was releasing her back to them, no matter how much she begged, or how hard they came at us to retrieve her.
I ushered the tiny woman ahead, directing her down the hallway and to my room, which was the last one on the left. Turning the handle, I guided her inside and turned on the light so I could finally gaze at her uninterrupted.
Spinning her around to face me, she hung her head low so she didn’t have to acknowledge her current situation. Well, fuck that—I wanted her to watch me as I watched her. Pulling my knife from my waistband, I cut the ties from her wrists. As they fell to the ground, I saw her chest expand with a heavy exhale. Little did she realize those ties falling loose meant nothing. Going forward, she was property of the KC. She was my prize for all of the wrongs her club had committed against ours.
She rubbed at her wrists even though I knew the restraints hadn’t cut into her flesh or stopped the blood flow, although they did leave a slight red mark on her skin. It was while looking at the faint lines that I noticed a bruise higher up on her arm, then another . . . and another. Without warning, I reached for her chin and jerked her head upright so she had no choice but to look at me. A faded yellow contusion covered the right side of her cheekbone. If I had to guess, I would have said someone had clocked her about a week ago, judging from the color of the mark.
Something inside me snapped and before I realized what I was doing, I yanked her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the ground before she could protest. Her hands instantly covered herself, but because her tits were so large she spilled over her tiny fingers. I had no idea she had all that hidden underneath the damn shirt. To say I was pleasantly surprised was an understatement. While she did her best to conceal herself from my view, I raked my eyes down the rest of her, stopping when I saw the first scar. It was four inches in length across her lower abdomen, jagged and raised. Then I saw another one just underneath where her left hand was currently covering her tit. That one was smaller, but just as rough. She was littered with marks, some dark and fresh, while others appeared faint, her body healing itself and discarding the evidence of obvious abuse.
The majority of her torture was on her torso, although there were a few marks on her thighs. As my eyes moved lower, they stopped on those tiny-ass black shorts she wore. Lower still, I took in the remainder of her front. For as small as she was, her legs were long and lean, her body trembling the longer the silence lingered between us. Making a circling motion with my finger, I silently told her to turn around. She shook her head no—it was subtle, but I saw it.
Gripping her shoulders, I forcefully turned her around so her back was facing me, a small gasp falling from her pouty lips and quickly distracting me. Ignoring her disbelief, I inspected her further and discovered what looked like two small burn marks on her lower back. Fury coursed through me that someone could do that to a fragile woman. Granted, I had no idea what kind of strength she possessed, but she was a woman nonetheless, no match for the likes of a man.
My gut told me that fucker Vex had something to do with the way she looked. His reputation preceded him, and I had no doubt he thought he owned her, marking her as he saw fit.
With my hands still resting on her trembling shoulders, I tried my best to calm the anger raging in my throat. I didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was. “Sully, is it?” I asked, sure that was the odd name I’d heard was attached to the woman standing before me.
She nodded once.
“Who did these things to you?”
Silence.
I tried to remain calm, but the more she chose to ignore my question the more irate I became. Before I could stop myself, I yelled for her to answer me.
“Tell me right now who did this to you!” I whipped her back around so I could see her. Her lip quivered when her eyes landed on mine. She possessed the darkest brown eyes, the color so rich it was like nothing I’d ever seen. I knew she held back her tears, no doubt internally demanding she not cry in front of the big bad man, who’d stolen her. Her jet-black hair was long, a tangled mess from the night’s events. She was a little dirty as well, definitely in need of a shower very soon.
If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought she was homeless, had suffered from bouts of hunger and abuse at the hands of strangers on the street. The longer she stood before me, in all her pitiful beauty, the more she intrigued me. I longed to know her story but I also knew I had to keep my distance, my inner voice warning me about getting too close.
I shook her shoulders. “Tell me or so help me God . . .” I warned.
As her lips parted to speak, there was a loud knock on the door. “Prez, you better get out here!” Zi
p yelled from the hallway.
“Why?”
“Trigger and Stone are about to come to blows.” Fuck! I can’t handle this shit right now.
“Sully, you need to go take a shower. Everything you’ll need is in the bathroom.” Her body never moved, but her eyes followed me when I walked to my dresser and pulled out a pair of boxer shorts and a Knights T-shirt. “I know these are gonna be big on you, but it’s all I have until I send someone to buy you a few things.”
Zip banged on the door again. “Marek, you need to get out here. Now!” he hollered.
“Jesus Christ! I’m coming.” I looked away from her sadness and opened the door, staring at Zip so harshly he backed up a step. “What the fuck?” I mumbled, pushing past him to walk down the hall.
When I entered the common area, I saw all the men huddling around a commotion. As I moved closer, I saw Trigger and Stone standing toe to toe, both of them looking as if they were gonna kill the other. Adelaide stood off to the side, desperately trying to convince her uncle to back away. Trigger had a good twenty years on both Stone and me, but the man had a right hook that had knocked out many a man. Stone, however, was not your typical opponent. The man was skilled in not only boxing but some mixed martial arts as well. What can I say? My VP was a badass, although I would never admit that to him. His head was already swollen enough.
Then there was the little thing about him never feeling any pain. It was true. I’d heard all sorts of rumors about him before, everything from he was immortal to he’d been shot a thousand times and never once flinched. All of it was bullshit, although there was some truth to the tales.
Stone had what was referred to as a congenital insensitivity to pain. The only reason I knew the medical term was because he’d told me, otherwise, I would’ve probably fallen into the trap of believing some of the rumors. The man had been in some nasty wrecks, his leg dangling behind him as he crawled off to the side of the road on one of those occasions, and he never even balked. Instead, he was pissed off because he knew he had to wear a cast and couldn’t ride until he was completely healed. I’d also seen him take the brunt of a blade as well as a bullet—twice. Luckily never hitting any major organs. Although the man laughed it off when that shit happened, he could still die if the damage was extensive enough. Though sometimes, I thought he bought into his whole immortal bullshit himself.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, pushing through the crowd of men and coming to stand right next to the both of them.
“I saw your VP with his hands all over my niece,” Trigger spit, shoving Stone as the last word left his angry mouth.
“Don’t put your fuckin’ hands on me, Trigger. You don’t know what you saw, so just calm the hell down.” The look in Stone’s eyes was volatile, and I would surely have a mess to clean up if they decided to tear each other apart.
We should be fighting our enemies out there, not fighting each other in here.
“Uncle Trig, please . . . You don’t understand. It’s not what you think. Really,” Adelaide cried, taking a step toward her family. “I tripped and Stone was simply holding me until I regained my balance.” She tugged on his arm. “Please, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Is that right? Is she telling the truth?” Trigger asked Stone, careful not to back down until he confessed. Adelaide had given Stone an out, yet he hesitated to take it. The flaring of his nostrils and the tick in his jaw told me he was about to make a stupid mistake. But before he opened his mouth, a high-pitched yelp from down the hallway pulled all of our attention.
“Now what the hell?” I yelled.
Zip appeared out of nowhere, but instead of walking toward us like a normal fucking human being, he crawled along the floor, cursing and screaming with every slow inch of surface he covered. It was then I realized he’d come out of my room. The same room Sully was in, practically naked.
I swear to God, if he touched her, I’m gonna kill him.
Stalking toward him, I reached down and yanked him to his feet, his hands covering his crotch and continuing to double over in pain. Seething, I growled in his ear, “What did you do?”
“I . . . I didn’t . . . do anything,” he spurted, his breaths not fully carrying his words. They were short and choppy, probably because of the pain he was in. It didn’t take a genius to see he’d obviously been kicked in the balls, but why? What had he done to warrant such a viscous attack? And I said vicious because it was one of the most excruciating, painful things to happen to a man. Although, getting shot was no walk in the park either.
“Well, you must have done something.”
“I . . . I just . . . was trying to convince her to kiss me. That’s all. I . . . I swear.” Shoving him back down to the ground, I abruptly turned toward my entire club, most of the men still present after our little retaliation trip.
“Hear me now,” I roared. “If anyone so much as touches a hair on Sully’s head, you’re gonna have to answer to me. And it won’t be goddamn pretty. Trust me on that shit!”
Kicking Zip in the leg on my way back toward my room to check on her, I heard a few of the men grumble under their breaths. I didn’t care if they thought she was gonna be passed around for their own amusement. She’d been through enough.
The evidence was scarred all over her body.
Sully
I heard shouting in the hallway, and I thought I heard my name, but I’d shut the bathroom door soon after I’d defended myself against one of the club members. He wasn’t doing anything different than any other man in my life had done—always wanting to touch me, to taste me—but, for some reason, I’d snapped. Again. The only explanation for my bouts of bravery must be that I was still in shock, not in my right frame of mind. Because if I were, I would have never done any of the things I had since I’d been kidnapped.
There was no way I was going to get away with fighting these men as much as I had been. Maybe they were gearing up for something awful, counting my insolent acts up to warrant the attack which was surely coming at me.
Maybe I’d finally fought back because I didn’t know them. I had no frame of reference of how they would react, therefore leaving me to my own self-justified—or delusional—world of denial.
The bathroom I was now trapped in boasted nothing special. A cream color washed over the walls of the small room. There was a silver rack next to the toilet, a beige towel hanging haphazardly from it. A single vanity with an accompanying wooden mirror was set in the middle of the intimate space.
Like I said, nothing to write home about, but it was the most enticing room to me. It allowed me a sliver of solitude, and after being ripped from the only life I’d known, it was comforting to be alone.
Turning on the shower, I waited patiently while the water heated up, steam quickly fogging the small mirror. Stripping off my shorts, I slid the shower door open and stepped inside, instantly feeling a smidge better. The power of hot water cascading all over my tired, worn-out body was the best therapeutic release. All my demons were put to rest, all my self-loathing taking a backseat to the warmth I suddenly found myself enveloped in.
Reaching for the combined shampoo and conditioner bottle, I squeezed a healthy size into my palm before massaging it into my tangled hair. The soft repetition of my fingers on my scalp was quite relaxing, making me forget for a brief moment just where I was.
In the Knights Corruption’s compound.
Naked in the president’s shower.
My captor.
Once my long hair was rinsed free, I grabbed the shower gel and spread an ample amount on a washcloth, scrubbing my body clean. The masculine scent filled my nose and while it should have put me on guard, I noticed it had the reverse effect. The aroma calmed me. I’d smelled it before . . . on him. I first noticed it when he was standing behind me, guiding me toward his bedroom. Then again when he was inspecting my body, his hands holding me close to him as if he feared I was going to flee. And why shouldn’t he think such a thing? Any normal person who’d
been stolen away from her family—no matter how abusive and dysfunctional—would try and run given the opportunity to do so.
So, why wasn’t I devising a plan to escape?
Focusing back on the task at hand, I almost didn’t hear the bathroom door open, then close; the soft click of the handle was swallowed by the heavy flow of the water.
My head was immersed under the spray when I suddenly heard a gruff voice slice through the otherwise silent air.
“If you stay in there any longer you’re gonna turn into a damn prune.”
His deep voice startled me, my body’s reaction completely involuntary. I jumped and slipped on the shower floor, my arms bracing myself against the tile so I didn’t fall on my ass. Before I could reply, he quickly slid the door open and stood in front of me, a brief worried look passing over his handsome features.
I’m learning there’s absolutely no sense of privacy when it comes to this man.
Reaching to take my hand, he pulled me toward the edge of the shower, keeping his eyes on my face and not my naked body. Not in the beginning, at least. His touch was soothing, but he also made me extremely self-conscious. Not simply because I was nude, but I felt he could see into the deepest parts of my soul. His blue eyes entranced me, blinking in slow motion as he seemed to memorize every aspect of my face. He stared so intently at my mouth that I could do nothing but lick my lips out of nervousness, biting down on the corner to sate my thumping heart. A low growl erupted from his throat, his hand tightening over mine as his gaze flew back up to meet my own.
Soon, he raked his eyes over the rest of me, being sure to take in his fill rather quickly.
“Are you all right?” he asked, licking his own lips while he waited for my answer. But I’d become mute all of a sudden. The chill of the room hardened my nipples, making them painfully erect. An ache shot through me while my heart pounded against my chest. But all I could focus on was his eyes . . . and that delectable mouth of his. He had the most perfect Cupid’s bow, his lips full and inviting. A neatly trimmed beard coated his strong jaw, and the flare of his nostrils told me he was excited, although it was the only reaction which indicated so.
