Beast (The Soldiers of Wrath MC: Grit Chapter #1)(5)

“Don’t thank me yet, Bridge. You don’t know what my price will be.” He smirked. “I might have said I wouldn’t let any of the Patches fuck you, but I didn’t say anything about me hitting that up.”



Bridget watched as the bedroom door at the clubhouse closed, and she let herself cry. She cried because she was ashamed for getting into all of this shit in the first place and because she was so damned scared. Although she hadn’t spoken to Beast in so long, she knew, as soon as she’d seen that man killed, he was the only one who could keep her safe. Rafe wouldn’t stop until she was dead, because what she’d seen could put him and his father away for a long time. They could lose everything, and killing her was a small price to pay to hold onto their empire and their freedom.

She stood and went into the bathroom attached to the room. Beast wasn’t exactly the tidiest man, and shit was all over the place, from clothes to empty beer cans, even condoms—still in the packaging, thank God—were scattered over the floor. She turned on the light and wrinkled her nose at the state of the bathroom. If she was going to be staying in this room, she needed to clean this up, not just because she liked everything clean, but it would hopefully help occupy her thoughts and worries.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, she ran her hands over her hair. She hated this color on her, hated that she’d changed. When she saw Beast again she’d ask him to take her, or get her, some hair dye that was her natural color, and a pair of scissors. She’d try to at least color her hair back to normal, cut it, and hopefully that would make her feel more life herself and make her less recognizable. If she couldn’t do it herself surely someone at this club, one of the sweet butts, could help her strip the color and get it back to normal. As it was, she couldn’t even stand looking at herself in the mirror.

Of course, that was just another thing to help, or try to help, distract her from her real problems. And her situation, her reality, was pretty damn perilous.



Beast had set Bridget up in his room at the club, which he used when he crashed. Knowing she’d be in his bed, her scent surrounding everything, had his cock hard. Beast never said he was a good guy, never claimed he wanted to do the right thing, never claimed he could. Bridget had come to him, and he’d protect her, but he knew he was a bastard and he’d told her it would come with a price.

Of course, he didn’t have to make such demands. He could have just helped her to help her, and he knew the club would have done the same. But honestly, he was slightly pissed at her. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, yet she’d come to him because she was in trouble and needed help.

He left her in the room and went in search of the rest of the club members. He needed to gather them and come up with a fucking plan; he knew enough about Francis and the shit he was into to know that things could get very bad very fast. Since they knew Bridget had witnessed the murder, they’d be after her, no doubt about that. Beast didn’t know much about Rafe, but he would find out all their dirty shit, because he had to know every aspect if he was going to protect Bridget and bring down one of the biggest players in the mafia.





Chapter Four




“What the fuck are you talking about?” King asked. Payne sat at the head of the table, thinking.

“There’s no fucking way we’re taking on Francis Rodriguez and living to tell the tale. He guts his bastard family without batting an eye, and he even films it,” Smalls said. “He’s one ugly ass fucker you don’t want to try to get to.”

“I even heard he filmed as several of his men raped his own daughter because she tried to get out of the family,” Pike said, shaking his head. “It was fucking disgusting. She screamed until she couldn’t scream anymore.”

“Fuck! What the fuck happened to her?” King asked.

“Rumor has it she was locked in a white room and not allowed any visitors. Shit he did to her was fucking rotten,” Pike said.

Beast had heard similar rumors, and had encountered some survivors of what Francis and Rafe Rodriguez were capable of. He’d hoped he’d been mistaken. The survivors were scarred to fuck, damaged beyond repair, and the only reason they kept them alive was to use their horror stories as examples to warn others.

Running fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Bridget?

He knew she was completely innocent and had stumbled into it accidentally.

“What was your sister doing with them?” Smalls asked.

“Stepsister.” He’d always corrected people. What he felt for Bridget had nothing to do with her being his sister. He wanted to fuck her, to take her sweet pussy as his, and fill her with his spunk. She’d look damn good naked and leaking his seed out of her pussy and her ass. Just the thought was enough to thicken his dick and have him raring to go.

This was what it had always been like with Bridget. Not when he’d first met her; she was too young then. When she’d been young, she’d done nothing but annoy him. Now, she’d stumbled into mess, and it was up to him to protect her. Apparently, she was still was fucking with his life.

“Regardless, what if it’s a set up?” King asked.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“There’s no way you can turn round and say she stumbled into this mess. It’s Francis Rodriguez.”