Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(12)

With a curt nod, Rubix ordered a man I didn’t recognize to shut and lock the door.

The nucleus of fear grew larger until it opened its jaws like a consuming black hole. It sucked and swirled, urging me to jump into its terror and give in.

With every attention zeroed in on me, my skin goose bumped and prickled. Their interest cramped my stomach. Their lack of empathy and blatant disregard for right and wrong ratcheted my heartbeat until my palms sweated and legs begged to bolt.

Arthur … hurry.

Pausing just long enough to make a dramatic beginning, Rubix shouted, “We have her boys. Sarah f*cking Jones.”

Some of the men frowned. “That ain’t a bitch called Sarah … that’s—”

“Hey, wait … what?”

“Thought this bitch was—”

Rubix rolled his eyes. “For f*ck’s sake, you’re a bunch of twats.” Pulling my face off the table, he choked me with his savage hold around my throat. His body singed mine, pressing hard like a living coffin behind me.

Even as terror suffocated me, I still scoffed at how stupid these men were. Before them stood a woman their president had waged a vendetta against for years. Yet they didn’t know my state-given name.

They should all die just for being half-wits.

“I know her name isn’t Sarah Jones, you dumb f*ckers. That was the name witness protection gave her. Ain’t that right, Cleo Price?”

My mind filled with memories of the tender FBI agent who swooped me away and gave me a new life. What would become of me now that I’d walked from protection and into bloodshed?

I know what will happen. Arthur will come for me and we’ll end this nightmare together.

A collective grumble of excitement worked around the table. An elderly biker with white hair growing from his ears said, “Well, shit.”

Rubix nodded. “It’s time to f*cking celebrate. The plan’s in action, boys, and there ain’t jack shit that my son can do about it.”

Questions danced on my tongue. What plan? Why had Rubix penned that letter to get me back after all these years?

“Goddamn, I can’t wait.” Cobra drank from his beer bottle.

Sycamore leaned forward, his nasty eyes never looking past my breasts. “Payback’s a bitch, little Price. And it’s been a long time coming.”

My palm itched to slap every self-righteous * before me. “You’re right. And you’ll get what’s coming to you for what you’ve done.”

The men frowned, hurling insults and profanities in a chaos of voices.

Rubix grinned, basking in the temper of his men. “This little bitch was stolen right from beneath that cocksucking son of mine. He thinks he’s better than me. He thinks he can start up a Club and not f*cking beg for my approval. Well … I have news for him.”

The men nodded, their hatred for Arthur thickening the air until the large space became stiflingly claustrophobic.

Rubix grabbed my breasts, squeezing painfully.

I bit my lip, fighting against the urge to struggle. If I fought now, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I had to come across as scared, docile. Arthur was too late.

I have to get myself out of this mess.

“Time for the fun part,” Rubix muttered, pinching my nipples. “Time to send a warning.” Grabbing my hair, he tugged hard. “Time to steal something that’s f*cking precious to him.”

Oh, God.

Suddenly, he shoved me forward. I crashed against the table. My arms sprawled sideways only to be captured by the two men closest. Cobra and Sycamore pinned me down, their breath reeking of beer and tobacco, their eyes glowing unnaturally bright from substance abuse.

“Good plan, boss.” Cobra laughed.

Sycamore asked, “So … she’s ours?”

Rubix pressed against me, grabbing my hips. “She’s all ours.”





Chapter Four


Kill


She was trying to kill me.

That was the only reason I could come up with. One moment she was the sweet, funny, terribly bad at mathematics little girl I loved more than anyone; the next, she was a little vixen, looking at me with something foreign in her green eyes, watching my lips, gasping whenever I touched her. The real Cleo—the girl—I could handle. I could love in the way I was permitted. But this new Cleo—this woman—I couldn’t. She terrified me because she made me want. I wanted her so f*cking much. But I wasn’t allowed. —Arthur, age sixteen

The wind in my face and salt on my tongue never failed to grant me freedom.

Riding alone or with others; day, night, summer, winter—it didn’t make a difference as long as I had a stretch of road before me and no commitments. It was the only way I could find some resemblance of peace.

But not today.

Not this f*cking ride.

My hand curled around the accelerator, feeding more and more gas to the snarling engine. I was already way over the speed limit but I didn’t give a rat’s ass.

If I could strap wings to my bike and fly to Dagger Rose, I would.

Come on. Faster.

I’d been raised on a motorbike, and tonight was the first time that I didn’t find that freedom—that peace. The loss of Cleo ate at my soul. The pain of failing her all over again threatened to crumble me into destruction.