Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(23)

She didn’t move.

Her skin was slippery with blood and sweat, and hot—terribly hot.

The gushing sound of foam faded into the distance as Mo attacked the fire like a veteran. He barked commands at his brothers, rallying them into throwing buckets of dirt and any other debris they could find to kill the flames.

I blocked them out. I didn’t care.

My whole world was in front of me. And she wouldn’t wake up.

“Cleo … open your eyes for me. Please.”

Brushing her hair back, I inspected her quickly. My hands shook as I searched for the wound causing so much blood. Nothing on her neck, chest, rib cage … her skin was covered but there wasn’t a single puncture or slice. My hands trailed down her side, rolling her gently onto her back. I convinced myself it was to ensure once and for all that she wasn’t bleeding out, but in reality … I had to check.

I had to know if my father had raped her.

Clenching my jaw, I traced the muscles in her stomach down and down. Following her hip bone, I glanced between her legs.

There were no bruises, no blood … but that didn’t necessarily mean …

Fuck, please don’t let them have hurt her that way.

I could fix her physical injuries. I would make it my life’s work to ensure she was cured and untarnished in every way possible, but rape … that I couldn’t cure. That might ruin her. That would ruin me.

And I would never be able to undo the pain inside.

Unable to withstand her silence any longer, I cupped her face. My headache increased, migrating to throb behind my eyes and in my ears.

I shook her gently. “Cleo, I need you to wake up.”

Nothing.

My eyes fell to a tintype photograph peeking out from beneath her shoulder.

What the—

My heart stopped beating as I picked it up.

The picture was of all of us. Cleo’s parents, my parents, and my brother. I remembered that evening. Hot and muggy—the entire Club had come together to celebrate a windfall. At the time, I’d had no idea how they’d earned. Thorn Price wasn’t into skin trades or guns, but he wasn’t averse to drugs. I guessed now cocaine had been the explanation in the sudden accumulated wealth.

It’d been a great evening of laughter, fun, and a secretive kiss on my cheek from a bold Buttercup.

I froze.

The image wasn’t just a memory, but another f*cking message.

Flipping the photograph over, I recognized my father’s scratchy scrawl instantly.

Arthur,

This is just the beginning. You thought you were untouchable, that you could outplay me. You thought you could keep her hidden. I’ve been one step ahead of your useless f*cking plans the entire time.

You can take her home, but she’ll never be safe.

Not until you’re dead.

Then I’ll make her mine and give her the life she was always destined for.

Queen of my motherf*cking Club, not yours.

Until the day of your death, son.

My throat closed over with anger so violent, I struggled to breathe. I hated to admit it, but I’d underestimated my father. I’d been too arrogant thinking I could wipe him out at my convenience without worrying if he had the same agenda.

I hadn’t waged war.

We both had.

Like father like son.

Grasshopper suddenly crouched beside me. Foam stuck to his mohawk from the fire extinguisher, face blackened with soot. The flames were no match and existed no more.

Without a word, Hopper read the message. “Well, shit. Fucking bastard is more resourceful than we thought.”

I nodded, scrunching the photograph in my fist. I didn’t want to look at the image again. He’d just ruined any happy memories I had left.

“I want him dead, Hopper. I want it so f*cking bad.” Looking down at Cleo, I couldn’t breathe at the thought of my father winning and taking her as his prize.

I will never let that happen.

“He’s already a corpse, dude.” Grasshopper rested his hand on my shoulder, his blue eyes landing on Cleo. “Ambulance is on its way. Thirty minutes.”

Glancing up, I noticed Mo loitering. “Get me a damn blanket.”

“Right.” Mo touched his temple in a halfhearted salute and took off into the house that’d been ransacked for its mattress.

Pressing my thumbs into my eye sockets, I wished I could pop the pressure in my head. Just lance the shit and let the pain trickle out somehow.

Keep it together a little longer.

Dropping my shaky hand, I cupped Cleo’s cheek. “Thirty minutes is too long.”

Cleo moved minutely, sending my heart racing. Her lips parted as a breathy moan escaped. Her forehead furrowed either in pain or nightmares.

Fuck this.

I couldn’t sit here and do nothing. “Where’s that damn blanket?” I muttered.

Almost as if he’d heard me, Mo appeared and tossed me a bundled up black duvet.

Crouching over Cleo, I gathered her shoulders and did my best to wrap her and hide her nakedness. Once I’d covered her front, I draped the rest over her sides and tucked it tightly beneath her. I hated the finished effect—she looked as if she were dressed in a shroud ready for a funeral pyre.

Standing upright, I towered over her. The next part would kill me. I needed to pick her up.

Don’t do this.