by Sophia Gray
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3) copyright 2017 by Sophia Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Also by Sophia Gray
Ride with the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Satan’s Riders MC) (Satan’s Outlaw Sins Book 2)
Ruined by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Storm’s Angels MC) (Satan’s Outlaw Sins Book 1)
Outlaw’s Lust: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Iron Bandits MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 5)
Outlaw’s Ink: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Metal Monsters MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 4)
Outlaw’s Ride: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Vicious Thrills MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 3)
Outlaw’s Kiss: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Raging Reapers MC) (Outlaw Rogues Book 2)
Outlaw’s Sins: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Violent Spawn MC)
Exposed: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (Fury Riders MC)
Ignite: Satan’s Blazes MC
Diablo: Hellriders MC
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Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3)
By Sophia Gray
She might not survive getting torn by the devil.
I’m a savage son of a b!tch with a biker’s patch on my kutte and blood on my hands.
She’s a complete f**king mystery – and also, my ex.
Jas is desperate for protection that only I can provide.
But nothing in this world comes for free.
PAX
My club, the Broken Wings MC, was the only thing I ever gave a damn about.
Except for her.
So when Jasmine comes tumbling back in my life, with no rhyme, no reason, or any memory of how she fell back into my lap, I don’t have a choice.
I gotta stop what I’m doing and find out who hurt her.
Then, I’m gonna hunt that motherf**ker down and break every bone in his body.
But Jasmine is hiding secrets behind that pretty little face.
Too bad we don’t have time to sit around and make sense of the situation.
She needs my help, or she’s going to end up six feet under.
So I do what I’ve always done.
I get ready to go hurt the people who dared lay a finger on my woman.
JASMINE
I try to remember, but there’s only darkness in my past.
Someone did something bad to me.
Something very bad.
If only I knew what.
The dark, brooding bad boy who saved me claims he has answers.
But he won’t tell me until I’m “ready to hear.”
And that won’t happen until I give him what he wants.
On my knees, on my back, in the heart of his club.
Whatever it takes.
Whatever the biker commands.
Chapter One
Jasmine
The stench of disinfectant and body odor, the heavy feeling of death lingering in the air… there wasn't anything I remembered from before, but I hated hospitals now and I was willing to bet I always had. It didn't matter that I wasn't in a hospital at the moment. Inpatient physical therapy centers had the same smell, and I hated them just as much.
My nurse bustled in. "You're all clear to go." Plump, with a warm smile, Karen had been the closest person I had to a friend recently, really the only friend that I knew of.
"Thank you." I turned my back away from the window. The day was dreary and awful, and it would be dark soon. Leaving was necessary, but it also frightened me. Physically, I was ready, but emotionally? Not even close.
"You aren't worried, are you?" Karen asked kindly.
"No." One thing I had learned since I had woken up in the hospital was that it was better to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. Better to fake a smile and try my best than to express my fears and thoughts and spiral into depression.
"You're amazing." Karen patted my hand as she handed me the signed discharge papers. "Waking up from a three-month coma… getting through months of therapy…"
All by myself. In all that time, I hadn't remembered anything about the accident or my life before that, and not one person had come around looking for me. It was enough to make me sick to my stomach, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. If only I had had some ID on me, my cell phone, something… All I knew was what I had seen on the news reports. Many months ago, a car had hit me while I'd been walking on the side of the road. Why I didn't have my purse with me, I couldn't say.
Speaking of purses, my roommate’s sat limply on her nightstand. Because our therapy times had never been at the same time, my roommate and I were hardly ever in the room together. She wasn't here now, and it was almost a relief I didn't have to say goodbye to her. Diana couldn't talk, could barely even move. She had suffered a stroke. Hardly anyone came to visit her. I felt terrible for feeling like I did, but she reminded me too much of myself when I had first woken up, trapped in my mind, so terrified and confused. It meant I should've been more compassionate to her, and I did try to talk to her some, but what could I really talk about? How therapy was going? I had made progress, while her condition remained unchanged, not moving forward. What if my hope for the future only increased her sorrow? There was no way to know.
Karen was smiling at me kindly, and I knew she was waiting for a response.
"Learning to talk and walk again was a breeze after all of that sleep," I joked, forcing a smile that had to look fake. I hadn't the strength to really try anymore. Hope for the future? Maybe a little bit. More like terrified.
"You inspire me." Karen shook her head, and her short blonde hair flew forward to
cover her cheeks. She had several years on me, in her early thirties. The best the doctors and I could guess was that I was in my mid-twenties. Another unknown; my birthdate. "I don't know if I could have been as strong as you've been through all of this."
I plopped down in the chair next to the window. It wasn't comfortable, but there was a small part of me that wanted to delay going, now that the time to leave had come. "I'm nothing special," I protested.
"I think you're wrong. Not everyone would've survived what you did. Well, gather your clothes and meds and go on your way. You have your whole life ahead of you, Jasmine. I know you'll make the most of it." Karen hugged me, warm and welcoming, then left the room, leaving me once again all alone.
I remained sitting there for a long moment, gazing out the window again. When I had first woken, the doctors had asked for my name, but I couldn't even talk. My throat had been so dry, my entire body in pain, and I could hardly think, let alone vocalize anything more than a groan.
After therapy when more time had passed, they asked me for my name again. Of course, I still didn't remember. The first thing I saw when I looked around the room was the beautiful Jasmine outside. I'd answered, "Jasmine," without even thinking about it, and now the name had grown on me.
Hopefully, one day, I could remember who I was and where I came from. Was I far from home? Could that be why no one has tried to locate me? Did I have a family? Any brothers or sisters? A boyfriend? Or maybe no one was looking for me. An orphan and an only child, with no one to wonder where I was, no one to worry. God, that was a depressing thought. And my job, what had been my profession? I had a job, right? By now, my boss must have replaced me. Too much time has passed. No job, no apartment or house to stay in, nowhere to go… If I couldn't find someone from my past, how could I ever learn who I had been?
These questions and many more had plagued me every night, interrupting my sleep and fouling my mood. I kept my feelings and depression to myself, always trying to channel my frustration into my therapy sessions. It helped to some extent, and the doctors had been impressed by my outlook and my recovery. But inside, I was troubled, always wondering if these feelings would fade with time.
But right now wasn't about the past. It was about what the future held for me, and the fact that I was leaving the hospital with nothing but the clothes on my back and a bag full of Tylenol and Advil that Karen had given to me in case I had any more headaches. Nothing else. I didn't have money for any other medicine, not that I thought I would need anything stronger, but that was just one more thing to worry about. I had to pay for the hospital bill and for physical therapy. If I had been able to, I would've only needed outpatient physical therapy, but since I had nowhere to go, inpatient it was. Which, of course, meant that the amount I would owe was that much more astronomical. I had to find a place to live and a job immediately, but without a work history, what place would want to hire me?
Trying to shut my brain up and stop thinking, I grabbed the bag, shoved the signed discharge papers inside, and made my way to the elevator bank and the front doors. They opened automatically for me, and I was free. For the first time that I could remember, I was outside, breathing the fresh Louisiana air.
All I wanted to do was rush back inside, find a corner to hide in, and not move. My body had been shut down for so long that my first instinct was to run away. But I could do this. I could be strong. After all, I could walk again. I had survived the car accident, and I liked to think that I survived for a reason. I just had to find out what that reason was.
Take a deep breath. You can do this. It's just like when you were holding onto the railing to learn how to walk. One foot in front of the other. Don't be a coward, Jasmine. Don't you dare cry.
There were no railings in life, and I didn't need no freakin' training wheels either. So what if I had nowhere to go, no money, and no friends? I'd think of something.
By the time I reached the end of the block, the clouds had ripped open, and rain drenched me. You have got to be freakin' kidding me.
Could this get any worse?
There had to be a place I could lay low in until the rain stopped. Maybe a small restaurant… if the hostess wouldn't kick me out because I wasn't a paying customer. Besides, if I waited for the rain to stop—which didn't seem like that would happen anytime soon—it could be dark, and I sure didn't want to be walking around the streets alone at night. If I could just find a homeless shelter… Should've thought to ask Karen about the nearest one before I left. Too late now.
The storm made the night come so much quicker than it should've, not that I had a watch on to know what time it was. Clutching my bag to my chest, I quickened my pace. There were a few restaurants on this street, stores too, but I bypassed them all. I needed to find shelter for the entire night, not just an hour or so.
At least there were bright lights and people. I didn't feel quite so alone anymore, even if everyone around me were strangers. They were all passengers on this voyage we called life, and I felt a kind of kinship with them. Maybe that was silly, and maybe I was getting tired and delirious. A warm, comfortable bed sounded so good right now. I'd sleep for a week if I could.
My legs were already starting to get sore. Walking on treadmills hadn't prepared me for the uneven sidewalk, or the bumping of bodies crammed together on the narrow walkway. My balance was still a little off, but I managed to not fall despite the jostling.
A few people walked on the street to avoid the crowds, and I shuddered at the sight. No way would anyone catch me doing that. Being hit by a car wasn't something I ever wanted to relive.
Unfortunately, there were only a few awnings, and the rain continued to pour on me. Most of the crowd didn't seem to care, and why should they? They weren't alone and miserable. They had family and friends. They had money to buy clothes, food, or alcohol. They had homes to return to.
All I had were the clothes on my back, and they weren't even mine. Karen had gotten them for me since the clothes I had were too torn and bloodstained to be salvaged. I wished she didn't live in a cramped apartment, that she had room for me, but my life was my responsibility. I wasn't a mooch; I fucking hated that word.
I also wished my own raincloud of depression would just disintegrate.
It was disheartening to think that maybe I always suffered from depression. The doctors had run tests on me and determined that I did not suffer from any chronic physical conditions; my mental state was another issue. It felt like a tight blanket of self-loathing was suffocating me. The more I tried to ignore it or bury it deep inside of me, the more I felt it taking over me.
Even though my leg muscles were screaming from exhaustion, I picked up the pace, walking up one block and down another. Slowly, the crowd thinned out. The streetlights were farther and farther apart. It was getting harder to see the cracks in the sidewalk, and the rain just wasn't letting up at all. I almost fell at one point, and at another, I did, scraping my knees and palms. I climbed to my feet, brushed off the dirt, and kept on going. What choice did I have but to move on? Looking back wouldn't help any.
But maybe I should turn around and go back to where there were people. I could ask someone for directions to the nearest homeless shelter. I couldn't stop shivering, and at this point my teeth were chattering. It wasn't that cold out, but I felt as cold as ice.
Before I made it more than halfway back up the block, a van pulled up alongside me. The door opened.
Maybe my luck was finally turning around. I offered the man a wide smile. "Excuse me, sir, could you tell me—"
"Get in the van," he said, his voice gruff as he gestured violently to the vehicle.
"What?" I backed up a step and almost fell again.
He lunged forward and grabbed my arm, so tight I cried out. The man was strong, and he jerked me around easily, trying to drag me inside.
My scream pierced the quiet drum of the rain.
Chapter Two
Pax
I couldn't believe my eyes. No! It couldn'
t be her. No way. No way in hell. After so long? Why here? Why now?
Before I could ride my bike up the block to get a better look, a van pulled up, blocking my sight of the woman I could swear was Allie, the one woman whom I truly hated.
Just thinking about her made me want to punch something, kill someone. She was the last person on earth I wanted to see. Abandoning me after all we had been through together. Leaving me as if I was worthless. Saying I wasn't good for her. Please. As if she ever wanted me to be good.
I should just turn around and continue my routine patrol. Why should I bother with Allie when I wasn't sure it was her in the first place? Besides, even if she was Allie, she had been out of my life for months now. No way in fuckin' hell would I want her back in my life, not now, not ever.
But it was my self-imposed duty to stop sexual predators in their tracks. A little rain never stopped them from their crimes, and that van looked suspicious. As if to confirm my fears, a scream ripped through the air. A scream I knew. A scream I recognized. It was Allie all right. Normally when I heard her scream, she was calling out my name. Visions of us tangled together quickly filled my mind: in the bedroom, in the kitchen, on countertops, or in the shower… Now was not the time for this!
