My skin crawled. “Fine.”
Tilting his head, he said, “I think you’re a stuck-up fucking princess who was raised by a redneck and pampered by a whore. You warped my son’s mind and used your pussy to divide my family.”
In a flash, he pounced. Shoving me against the vanity, he wrapped fingers around my throat, the cold porcelain dug into my lower back. “How’s that for the fucking truth?”
Tears sprang to my eyes as he squeezed my neck. My hands shot up to cover his, clawing at his hold. “Not … truth …,” I gasped, hating the way my larynx squeaked from being crushed. “Insanity.”
He choked me harder.
Our faces were so close, his nose brushed mine. It was as if he tried to wring me dry—waiting to see what lies and secrets spewed forth.
My eyes bugged, the pressure of not being able to breathe pounding in my head.
Then … he let me go.
I collapsed at his feet, sucking in air with loud inhales.
His large boots stayed glued to the floor as I panted and coughed and slowly dragged enough oxygen into my bloodstream to halt the screech of death.
Keeping my head down, I muttered brokenly, “What you believe … it’s not the truth—just lies you fed yourself over and over.” Rubbing at the blazing pain in my throat, I wheezed, “I loved you. You scared me and I always felt as if I disappointed you, but you were the father of the boy I loved. I wanted your blessing. I wanted to be a part of your family as much as mine.” Every word bruised my larynx but if I could somehow get him to believe me … perhaps I stood a chance at getting free without more pain.
A few endless seconds ticked past.
With each one, I tried not to let my hope run out of control.
I stood on shaky legs, praying that he would see sense.
But just like every time, he believed lies over truth.
Rubix’s face shaded with hate and disdain. Disdain that I’d somehow stripped him of his righteous anger by fighting him not with loathing but with love.
A love he didn’t deserve.
A love that finally died completely inside me.
He was no longer my uncle. No longer a father figure from my childhood. He was a monster and deserved to die.
His arm came up.
I twisted to avoid him, but he was faster.
His fingers wrapped in my hair, yanking me close. “Enough of these games.” His eyes flickered to my lips. “Are you ready?”
My heartbeat exploded. “Ready for what?”
Rubix smirked. “Ready for your penance, of course.”
His hair was longer, tied up with twine at the base of his skull. His leather jacket had streaks of rusty red from blood of his countless victims. It was strange to think as a child I looked up to him. I believed he would be there to protect me always … now I knew better. I was no longer blinded by young naïveté.
Every inch of me wanted to spit in his face. “I have nothing to repent for.”
Rubix chuckled. “Always were argumentative, even as a little girl.”
“Stop it!” Having him talk about our shared past infuriated me. I didn’t want to fight memories of happiness when I wanted to embrace the coldheartedness of murder. I was done with this production.
I snarled, “You’ve lost the right to talk to me. You’re dead to me, and soon you’ll be nothing more than a rotting corpse.”
For the first time in my life, I surprised the ruthless biker.
His fingers loosened in my hair, a sharp inhale on his lips.
My eyes darted behind him, down the dingy corridor to the small slice of sunlight bouncing into the lounge. If I could get past him, I could sprint to the boundary and escape.
I’d done it before while burned and bleeding.
I could do it again.
Rubix lost his shock, fisting his hand deeper into my hair. My scalp burned but my anger overrode any pain. “You really didn’t change, did you? You still have the same runaway fucking tongue as you did when you were ten.”
“You don’t scare me anymore.” I dragged my nails down the back of his hand holding my hair. The lie came out brutal and fierce—sounding truthful rather than a fib.
Rubix smiled, not flinching in the slightest from my scratches. “You should be afraid, pretty Cleo. Because unfortunately for you, your life just became a goddamn nightmare.” His breath reeked of stale coffee as he pressed a rancid kiss against my mouth. His fingers wrapped harder in my hair like an awful cage. “Don’t panic, little princess. Nothing will happen that you can’t handle.” He added under his breath, “After all, I want you alive.”
Chills darted down my spine.
My heart stopped.
Fear tangled with fury and I wanted to carve out his eyeballs and flush them down his disgusting toilet.
“Let me go!” Struggling in his hold, I kicked his leg. Hard. Extremely hard.
My toes screamed and I hoped to God I hadn’t broken them, but the pain was worth it because his fingers unlocked just enough for me to throw myself into escape.
I shoved him backward.
He stumbled.
A gap opened up between him and the doorway.
I was free.
Run!
I leaped past him and pushed myself as fast as I could.
Run, run, run.
I skidded into the lounge, tasting the breathy relief of freedom.
But it all came crashing down.
I didn’t get far.
A few steps, that was all.
Rubix launched himself at me; his heavy leathered bulk knocked me off balance and sent me sprawling to the sickening carpet below.
I cried out as my arm bent painfully; air shot from my lungs.
Rubix breathed hard in my ear, his body crushing mine to the floor. “You try that again and the outcome won’t just be a few fucking bruises.” He kissed my cheek, then climbed to his feet. With a savage jerk, he yanked me upright. Capturing my chin, he snapped my head back to glare into my eyes. “The result will be a lot worse. Understand?”
His green gaze glinted, sending me whirling into a sudden flashback.
“We have to kill him, Thorn. There’s no other way.”
I peeked through the stair railings, eavesdropping on my father and his vice president when I should’ve been sound asleep.
My father bowed his head, looking tired and stressed. “He’s one of us, man. Teach him a lesson but don’t fucking murder the son of a bitch.”
Rubix scowled. “He broke the code. He’s got to pay the punishment.”
I didn’t know who they were talking about, but I didn’t like the sound of it. Ever since I was old enough to understand, I knew the lifestyle we lived was high risk and often dealt in high penalties for disobedience, but I’d never witnessed or heard of people being killed before.
My tummy rolled as I tiptoed back to my room. I loved my parents, but I couldn’t handle hearing my sweet father who’d bounced me on his knee, painted my room my favorite buttercup yellow, and shared his desserts with me could kill someone just for disobeying.
“You’re not going to ruin my plans a second time, bitch.” Rubix shook me, dispelling the memory. “I’m through with you fucking everything up.”
He spun me around and twisted my arms behind my back. “Move,” he ordered, kicking at the back of my knee with his boot.
I bit my lip at the pain, refusing to cry out. My leg buckled, stumbling forward before my balance saved me from face-planting again.
Without another word, Rubix marched me from the house.
I didn’t struggle—what would be the point? I had to save my strength for another opportunity and this wasn’t it.
I blinked at the brightness after being in a gloomy house. The sun hung low in the sky. I guessed it was late afternoon.
Late afternoon.
It’d been nighttime when I’d been drugged and stolen from Arthur’s arms. I tried to work out if my abduction took place last night or the night before �
�� or even before that.
It depends how strong the drugs were.
An icy chill coated my insides. If it was more than a day … why hadn’t Arthur come for me yet?
Because he’s …
I slammed up a mental wall, not able to think of him dead or gone.
Deciding to believe in miracles, I clutched blindly to hope. I visualized Arthur and his Club storming the perimeter and mowing down these men. I fantasized about him thundering in on his bike and rescuing me.
And if that doesn’t happen … then what?
I had no answer to that. I would just have to save myself—through whatever means necessary.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked as Rubix pushed me forward, forcing me to lurch faster toward the large Clubhouse in the center of the complex. My bare feet landed on sharp stones and weeds. Cigarette butts littered the pebbles and black splodges of oil-stained concrete pads outside small community houses.
This was Dagger Rose.
This was my old home.
To a child, the compound had been a treasure trove of magical machinery, gruff teddy-bear men, and interesting finds of bullet casings and dirty bandanas. Now it was just destitute and unhygienic. The aura of poverty and violence sat heavily like a rain-clogged cloud, shadowing everything with black greed.
It was the exact opposite of Pure Corruption. There, men had families, love, wealth, and a president who earned their loyalty rather than demanded it. Arthur had turned a tarnished lifestyle into something safe—a true brotherhood rather than a bunch of criminals.
Men appeared from behind closed doors, all watching me with evil in their eyes. I shuddered as I remembered the rules I’d been forced to recite as a little girl.
No getting caught.
No using the merchandise.
And above all else, no going against family.
Rubix broke the third one. He went against family. He murdered my family.
Hatred effervesced in my stomach.
He’ll pay. Somehow, I’ll make him pay.
Rubix forgot one important thing: Once a member of Dagger Rose, you were no longer a single entity. You were absorbed by the clan—a cog in a machine that ran on unquestioning fealty. He broke that fealty and owed his life to pay it back.
He’ll pay forever in hell.
The concept of individual ownership was nonexistent, as was the tolerance for secrets. Men ate, slept, fucked, and fought as a family—unfortunately that family was now governed by a traitor. With Rubix as top dog, everyone else, including children and wives, all came second. Nothing was more important than the Club.
It was an age-old tradition to obey such strict guidelines—people said it forged bonds that were unbreakable. However, I thought it encouraged resentment. No one had anything to be proud of. No family to love or belongings to cherish. Everything they had belonged to the prez.
Arthur ran Pure Corruption so differently. His men were their own. They had freedom and happiness. Their loyalty was unswerving because it came with no conditions, no threats.
“Happy to be home, Buttercup?” Rubix’s fingers pinched my wrists.
I flinched as a sharp stone stabbed my toe, adding to a long list of discomforts. I should curb my tongue. Hold my rancid loathing and play along quiet and meek. If I did, I might have a better chance at lulling him into smug laxness and escape.
But I couldn’t hold my tongue.
My parents couldn’t stand up to him. Arthur couldn’t. It was up to me to point out what a twisted and deluded bastard he was.
To remind him that he’s a dead man walking.
Tilting my head, and with the airs and graces of a biker princess, I said, “This ceased to be home the day you murdered my parents.” Looking over my shoulder, ignoring the pressure around my elbows, I added, “You sold your soul, Scott Killian, and I’ll make sure you die for it.”
Rubix laughed. “Didn’t you read the report I gave you? It wasn’t me who slaughtered your family.” His fingers squeezed hard. “It was my lowlife pussy of a son.”
My heart stumbled as Arthur’s face played bright and true in my mind. His winged eyebrows, chiseled jaw, and fathomless emerald eyes. He was a romance novel. A fairy tale. My past, present, and future.
My hands fisted. “He was always too good for you.” I raised my voice. “You never deserved him. He’s a hundred times the man you will ever be and I’ll dance on your grave when he delivers the justice that you deserve.”
Rubix slammed to a halt, jerking me close so I crashed against his body. The pungent whiff of cigarettes and staleness wrinkled my nose. “We’ll see who will be dancing on graves, little princess.”
“I guess we will.” Our eyes locked and I had no doubt that if he meant to kill me, he would’ve dispatched me right there in an ocean of gravel. My blood would’ve poured through the dusty pebbles to the earth below and stained the sanctity of Dagger Rose.
But no matter how hot his temper, he didn’t slaughter me.
Why? Does he have more self-control than I thought? Or is keeping me alive more valuable than killing me?
What did he want?
Men looked up from their menial tasks around the compound, summoned by our wordless rage and silent death stare.
You won’t win. I won’t let you.
Rubix tore his eyes from mine, taking note of our audience. Smiling thinly, he propelled me farther from the home I’d been imprisoned in and toward the communal Clubhouse.
My skin prickled as more eyes fell upon me. Brothers young and old emerged from homes, falling in behind us to form a biker parade.
Tendrils of fear gathered like ghosts inside my stomach.
What are they planning to do?
Staring straight ahead with blank eyes, I forced my terror not to show on my face. However this ended, I would not show my fear.
Rubix looked behind us, grinning at his entourage. “See, Cleo … everyone has come to welcome our runaway pet. I have half a mind to collar you and make you crawl.”
“Do it, Prez!” a man shouted.
“I’d pay to see that kinky shit!” another yelled.
My body begged to whirl around and attack—to show them how rabid a pet I could be. Instead, I remained outwardly frigid, ignoring their manipulation and taunts.
I had no amnesia to hide me this time.
No protection from what would happen.
I knew these men too well and my mind filled with painful imaginings of what they would do.
Rubix laughed, shoving me the remaining distance to the Clubhouse. I tripped and winced, my feet becoming bruised and dust-painted from the gravel path. My attire of T-shirt and panties had been perfect for sleeping beside Arthur—the material enticing and sensual for my lover’s tender fingers and soft embrace. But here, with Dagger Rose devils gnawing on the fringes of my courage, it was woefully too revealing.
Then again, no wardrobe would be equipped to defend against being biker-napped and held hostage. The only armor I had was my mettle and ability to be dauntless in the face of certain torment.
“I want some clothes,” I snapped as Rubix pushed me up the stairs of the meetinghouse. “I’m still a Dagger, after all. What’s yours is mine and I demand some clothing.” The lessons Detective Davidson taught me when he prepared me for my foster family came back.
“If you ever find yourself in a situation where help fails, remember you did nothing wrong and to remain strong.”
I glanced up. My new name, passport, and documentation had been completed. I’d been in the state’s care for a few months while waiting for the final go-ahead to locate overseas. “What do you mean?”
“If you get taken, try to keep the kidnapper talking. Get them to see you, not as a victim, but as a fellow human being. Don’t beg or grovel, just be yourself. Appeal to the soul.”
I traced my pink burns. Bandages still covered the worst ones and pain was a constant daily war. “And if they have no soul?”
“Then it’s their
life or yours. And yours is paramount.”
Rubix snorted. “You’re demanding clothes?”
“Yes. I’m cold.”
“And you’re calling yourself one of us? When you just told me you’ll try to destroy me?”
I held my chin high even though navigating the steps with my arms behind my back took concentration. “Yes. I know what I’m entitled to. I’m hungry as well. Add that to my order—clothes and food.”
A man chuckled behind us as if I was highly entertaining.
Rubix gripped me harder. “No.”
“If you won’t feed me, then you should know I’ll have no energy to play your little games—whatever you have planned. Oh, and by the way, my feet are bleeding from the damn gravel.” Wriggling my toes, a fresh cut oozed with blood and grime. “Clothes, food, and shoes. That’s the very least I’m owed after everything you’ve done.”
You owe me more than that, you bastard. You owe me your life.
“Fuck no.”
I kept pushing. Each argument undermined his power in front of his men. It was stupidly defiant, but I’d be lying if I didn’t enjoy pissing him off with reminders that once upon a time I was his ruler. “I’m your prisoner. You said yourself you want me alive. It’s your job to ensure I have the things I need in order to stay that way.” My back straightened regally. “Give them to me. Now.”
Rubix chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I said I’d keep you alive, not in a life of fucking luxury.”
“Food, shelter, and medical attention are bare necessities, not luxuries.”
His voice snaked down my ear. “And you would know, wouldn’t you, princess? Always had everything you ever wanted. Keep talking, bitch, and I’ll show you how much worse life can get. Then we’ll argue about what counts as fucking luxury.”
Slamming his palm on the large door of the meeting hall, the entry swung open, revealing the same high-lofted, bare-boned structure from my childhood.
Oh, God.
Such twisted memories. Such happy times now tainted with bad. My heart filled with Arthur and the past.
Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2) Page 3
