Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3)

by Sophia Gray

  Before I could help myself to some bacon and eggs, Allie appeared. Her minute had probably passed, but that didn't bother me so much as what she was wearing. I was pissed, on one hand, to see she'd taken the liberty of putting on one of my shirts without asking and pissed, on the other hand, for being turned on by it. Because she just looked so damn good in it. It wasn't the first time she’d ever wore my clothes, and the last time, she'd just been wearing a flaming skull shirt that hung to her upper thigh and nothing else.

  Yeah, at this rate, my morning wood wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

  "Help yourself," I grumbled as I heaped some eggs onto my plate and grabbed a stack of bacon.

  There weren't any more clean plates on the table. I had taken the last one. She glanced around uncomfortably then walked over to me and plucked a piece of bacon from my plate.

  "Don't tell me you hate bacon thieves." She grinned at me, and some of her sauciness from last night had returned.

  Damn it. Damn her. She was not going to go away easily, was she?

  Well, then. I'd planned on giving her a name of a homeless shelter. One that was actually half decent. No way was I about to call her sister. She never liked me with Allie. Doubt she would like me with Jasmine. Besides, the two of them hadn't always gotten along in the past. Her sister might not be the best person for her to turn to.

  One thing was for sure, the best person for me wasn't her, not after the heartache she'd put me through.

  But if she thought that after one night of spreading her legs, she could pick up where we left off and use her memory loss as an excuse to get me to forget the pain she caused me, then she was sorely mistaken.

  Change of plans. Maybe it would be better to scare her off, scare her away from me and my now throbbing cock for good.

  She tore into the bacon like she was starved and I begrudgingly let her eat from my plate. No clean dishes, the guys knew better than that. They had better fix that before I get back, because I had somewhere to go, and I was taking Jasmine with me.

  And afterward? She'd never want anything to do with me again. Which suited me perfectly.

  Once we had finished eating our fill—which was quite a bit actually, since sex always made me hungry, and Jasmine was eating as if it were her last meal—she turned to me. "What are you going to do today?" Her hand reached beneath the table and landed on my upper thigh.

  The woman was sex on a stick, even if she was a little skinnier now than I thought she should be. My cock hardened even more, which I didn't think was possible. It had betrayed me last night. It wasn’t going to again, not now. As much as I did still want her. Fuck it all. I had to get away from her.

  I wanted to say, "Not you," but I couldn't. Even if she had broken me, I wasn't going to be mean for the sake of being mean. So, instead, I said, "I have a mission."

  Her eyebrows furrowed. "Mission? What kind of a mission?"

  My smile was so wide my cheeks hurt. "Wanna find out?"

  "Sure!" Her bubbly enthusiasm reminded me of last night when her head had bobbed up and down on my cock. Shit. A drop or two of pre-cum oozed out.

  "Just let me get changed." I didn't wait for her to respond. I just ran to the nearest bathroom and ripped off my jeans. My cock was in my hand a second later. Thoughts flooded my mind of all the times I'd had Allie before, and of last night with Jasmine. It was strange to think of her as two different women, but she was. Until she remembered who she was and her new experiences meshed with her old life, she wouldn't be able to connect the two. Either way, as Allie or as Jasmine, my cock wanted her all the same. I was so damn hard I had to find release right this second or else I would find her and claim her and fuck her brains out. No. Last night had to be the last time my cock ever touched her sweet, wet pussy. Her orgasm had made her so tight…

  Cum fired out of me, landing in the shower stall. Oh, God, yes! But the feeling of being satisfied only lasted a few moments. Jerking off never was enough. I needed the full experience of sex, of a pussy, or a woman's mouth on my cock. Even nutting on tits was preferable to this.

  But since the only pussy nearby was Jasmine's, my hand had to suffice. I showered quickly and dressed. I was back downstairs, in the dining room in no time.

  Jasmine smiled at me, and I frowned. It wasn't fair for me to be in fresh clothes and for her to be in those wet jeans. There was nothing more uncomfortable than damp jeans, and I couldn't bring myself to be an ass to her.

  "One more second." I raced back up to my room. In the bottom back corner of my closet, I dug out the box of possessions of Allie's I still had, that she had never taken back. Near the bottom, I found some clothes and pulled aside a white bra, black panties, a tank top with a bike on it I'd bought her, and a pair of tiny denim shorts. Damn. She'd be looking mighty fine in this, but she had no other shirts or bottoms.

  Even I wasn't that heartless that I'd force her back out onto the streets in still damp clothes. Plus, this stuff was hers anyhow. So many times I'd contemplated burning the box. Never had. Probably just as well I hadn't.

  I put the clothes on top and lugged them and the box to her. "Here, change into these, and we'll go."

  "What's in the box?"

  "A few of your things."

  She took a moment to rifle through it eagerly, but there were no notes, no papers, just some clothes, makeup, a stuffed animal, and little else, nothing to help reconnect to her past. A sigh escaped. Then she stood, glanced around, and quickly stripped right in front of me. She wasn't doing it to tease me, at least I didn't think she was since it wasn't overtly sexy, but anytime a woman undressed in front of you, it was arousing.

  I turned around, not wanting to see her naked body, but when she was dressed again, she was still sexy. My cock twitched at the sight of her in those tiny shorts. I just wanted to peel them off of her, push her panties aside, and shove myself inside her and—

  "I'm ready," she said.

  "No, you aren't." I smirked, trying to calm my cock down so I could think. "You're going to see who I really am. My missions are everything to me."

  She shivered, and I knew the look of fear creeping into her eyes would only grow once she learned just who I was.

  Yes, when I'm done, you won't want anything to do with me, just like I don't want anything to do with you.

  It hurt to somewhat have her again, but at least I was going to be the one to push her away this time.

  Chapter Five

  Pax

  Her arms were around me again, straddling me from behind on my bike. We flew down the streets. I never did ride anywhere slowly.

  "Where are we going?" she shouted at me at a red light.

  "You'll see."

  A half hour later, she asked again.

  "Halfway there."

  "Where—"

  "You'll see," I repeated, taking off a split second before the light turned green.

  Finally, we arrived. I parked a little way down from the playground across the street.

  Jasmine started to climb down, but I shook my head. After a moment, she settled back against me. "What's going on? What kind of mission is this?"

  I smirked and grabbed my cell. The pics might not be as crisp as those from a hi-tech camera, but I couldn't really cart one around on my bike. "You'll see."

  "Say that phrase again and you'll see what I do," she mumbled as she crossed her arms.

  "Is that a threat?" I laughed.

  She was staring out at the playground now. "They look so carefree," she commented, sounding happy.

  Not for long.

  "They're screaming banshees."

  "Don't you like kids?"

  I paused, not sure how to respond, and ended up not saying anything.

  We only had to wait another ten minutes before my target showed up. He parked about as far away from the playground as we did, but he stared intently at the kids, the expression on his face enough to churn my stomach.

  Jasmine must've noticed my attention on him because she asked, "W
ho is he? Someone you know?"

  I ignored her and snapped a few pics of him and his car. Couldn't get his plate from this angle but I had several of it already. Every move he made, I noted, and it didn't take me long to realize he was staring at one girl in particular. She broke away from the others to chase after a runaway ball and his head turned as if he was focused on her and her alone. That was the first sign of a guy getting ready to making a move—picking his mark.

  "He gives me the creeps," Jasmine said.

  "That's because he should." I growled out the words, pissed at the guy even though he hadn't touched the girl yet. Just knowing he wanted her was enough for me to want to knife him.

  "Why?" She flopped back, and I glanced over my shoulder to see her glaring at me as if I was the one to blame for another man's crimes.

  "He's a pedophile."

  "You know that for certain?" She glanced at the guy again.

  I shrugged. "Either he is already, or he will be if given the opportunity."

  His body started to jerk rhythmically and then a little faster. I'd just done this earlier and watching him do it, knowing what he was thinking about, made me want to march over to his car, yank him out through the glass, and beat him bloody.

  Shortly after he stilled, he drove off. We trailed him, but he didn't head toward his place. He went to a restaurant.

  Perfect.

  My tires squealed as I made a U-turn and zoomed along to his apartment. I parked a block down and jumped off my bike.

  "What is your mission, Pax?" Jasmine asked quietly.

  "Like you said, we don't know for sure he's a pedophile. I just know he haunts that playground every day, usually for much longer than he did today. If he is, or is seriously planning to take advantage of an innocent child…" My throat grew too tight. "Stay here or come along. Either way, keep quiet."

  I ran to the apartment, up to the third floor. All the way in the back was his door. It wasn't hard to pick the lock and just like that, I was in. I'd been tailing this guy for a month now and I knew most of his habits.

  A moment later, Jasmine followed me. For some reason, that didn't make me feel any better. Yeah, I wanted to push her away but right now, I couldn't concentrate on her. I had to be focused. I had to be prepared for what would happen next.

  Time was of the essence. His place was cramped and filthy, and in the back, I found his bedroom, and the jackpot—his computer.

  "Why are we here? That guy… Pax, I don't know about all of this…"

  Her trepidation only grated on me. He wouldn't do a damn thing to her. She was too old for him. Didn't she realize that? He was a predator.

  "Then leave. This is my mission. I have to do this."

  Not willing to risk sitting in his computer desk chair – in case he had beaten off while sitting in it - I hunched down and typed away. His computer was password protected, but I had already done research on the guy. His name was Harold Johnson, and I knew his mother's name, his date of birth, his goldfish's name… the last turned out to be his password. Amateur.

  From there, it was all too easy to find what Harold Johnson would have wished remain hidden. The pictures of young girls… in various states of undress… My stomach threatened to bring up my breakfast, the bacon burning in the back of my throat. Anger and repulsion filled me. Memories of darkened rooms and hands from a man I couldn't see reaching out for me… the fear, the self-loathing, the crying…

  It took all of my self-control to not smash the computer screen.

  "Pax…" Jasmine's voice had finally stopped sounding nagging, but now it had taken on a more sympathetic tone, which was almost worse. "What is going on?"

  "My missions…" My tongue felt too heavy for me to be able to talk.

  I had dragged her in this far. If I wanted to push her away forever, I might as well tell her everything so she would never want to come back to me.

  "When I was a boy…" Shit, this wasn't easy to talk about. I never talked about this. "My foster father…"

  She reached out and touched my shoulder.

  I shrugged her hand away, jumped to my feet, and paced the room, refusing to look at her. "He molested me, and ever since, I've been taking care of pedos in revenge," I confessed in a rush, unwilling to look at her to see her reaction.

  "A one-man crusade?"

  Now I had to know what she thought. I glanced over at her to see her wide eyes, but the rest of her expression, gave away nothing. "Me and my motorcycle club."

  Holding my breath, I waited for her to pass judgment, to see revulsion fill her eyes, for her to show signs of fear, for her to run away screaming.

  She didn't. What the hell was wrong with her?

  I turned away. Maybe she'd leave if I wasn't watching her.

  A moment passed. Another. I didn't hear any footsteps. Then I did, but they were heading toward me, not the door. Again, she touched me. Her hand slid down my elbow to my wrist and my hand, holding it as if she had every right to. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry—"

  "Sorry? What does feeling sorry about anything ever do?" I narrowed my eyes. She still didn't get what my missions entail. "Jasmine, I'm not here to track this guy and build up evidence to turn him over to the police. Jail is too good for him. No, I'm here to kill him."

  She backed away slightly, her hold on my hand lessening until she dropped it.

  "Go on and leave," I taunted her. "Tell the police if you want. I don't give a shit what you do. Just leave me alone."

  "What are… what are you going to do?" Finally, there was some real fear in her voice, but was it enough for her to leave? I wasn't sure. She had to go. Leave me to rid the world of these vile, disgusting excuses for men and to try to gain what little peace I could from inflicting my own personal justice… until I located the next guy.

  "I'm going to wait for him to come home, and then I'm going to kill him." Simple enough.

  Without waiting for a response, I marched to the door and stood in position, pulling my gun from my boot, cocked and ready. My trusty Smith and Wesson Glock 40, silencer already attached. It felt even more at home in my hand than the handle of my bike.

  Steps sounded behind me and I lowered the gun, expecting Jasmine to walk around me and leave. She didn't, just stood a few feet away from me, slightly behind me but where I could still see her. It was like I didn't know her at all anymore, and I guess I didn't, considering she didn't even know herself right now either. How scary all this must be for her.

  Not that I was going to allow sympathy to cloud my judgment or change my mind about what I had to do. She was not going to break my heart again. I couldn't let her back in. Not again. Never again. Fuck her. This was supposed to have sent her off in fear. Did she really want to witness my shooting him? Maybe she was naïve enough to believe that I wouldn't go through with it, not with her here. She was in for a rude awakening if she thought that was the case.

  "Does he live alone?" she asked after several minutes of silence had passed.

  "Yes."

  More silence. Waiting was the worst part. The killing I could handle, but the buildup was the worst. Nothing at all like sexual tension. There, the longer the wait, the better the orgasm. With killing, there was a sense of accomplishment from ridding the world of a monster, but it only lasted for a second, if that. There were so many more out there. It would be impossible to find and kill them all, but my boys and I, we did our part to try and better the world, as twisted as it was.

  Men like this one were a blight in the world, a pestilence that needed to be eradicated. My mission was to kill as many of them as I could before I die, a never-ending mission, one that might cost me my life. Some days, I hoped it would.

  "How long have you been—"

  "I would rather not talk right now." I shifted the weight on my feet. Tension was forming in my shoulders, but I wasn't about to move. Howard Johnson was mine.

  "Pax…"

  "If you won't shut up on your own, I'll make you," I threatened, but there was no malice
in my words, and from her slight scoffing sound, I knew she knew it.

  "Pax," she repeated, and the compassion she infused in my name was enough for me to want to turn toward her, to look at her, to try and read her and understand what she was thinking. How could she still be by my side?

  But the sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs, growing louder with every footfall, had me refocusing my gun on the door. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the doorknob jiggled as Howard Johnson unlocked the door to his apartment. The door swung open and he stepped past the threshold. He didn't even have time to get his head completely up before I fired my shot. The bullet cut a clean path through his skull. Hollywood so got silencers wrong. Guns don’t make soft sounds. The sound of the shot is still audible, just not as loud as it would have been without the silencer. Nothing could ever completely mask the sound of a gun firing.