KICK

Two years ago

I set my empty pack of smokes on the concrete floor beside me. My arse hurts. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but the girl has been dozing on and off for what feels like hours, sleeping fitfully. She wakes—expecting to be somewhere else, maybe—and startles when she sees me, and then after glowering at me for the longest time, she eventually slips back under.

The door opens, and the girl jumps and then skitters back against the wall, instantly awake and huddling in the corner as Tank and Prez stalk into the room.

“Time for round fuckin’ two, bitch.” Prez throws his arms wide, looking gleeful at the panic he’s seeing in her. I wanna empty my clip into his dick, but I glare at him instead, wishing I had the balls to do something to save her from him.

I’m not under any illusions; I’m no fuckin’ hero. I’m the antihero here because I didn’t fight harder, because I watched and I got off on it, but that doesn’t mean I wanna see him do it again. She’s so fucking strong, and he might hold her down and use up her body until she’s physically broken and bloody, but she still won’t break, not mentally. I know that as inherently as I know I deserve to burn in hell for the things I’ve done, and the things I’ll no doubt do before I’m dead. I know that as well as I know that my prez won’t give up. And I know that she’ll die screaming because of it.

I rise to my feet and glance at Tank as Prez advances on the girl. Tank’s face is stoic—no surprise there—but he won’t meet my eyes, an action so at odds with everything I know about the man. I dart my eyes back to the girl just as Prez backhands her across the cheek. She’s corralled into a corner, trying to fend off Prez’s greedy fuckin’ hands. He pokes at her, the way you’d poke a stick at a dead animal.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he says, lunging for her. He wraps his hand around her throat, lifting her from the floor as she struggles against him, her face contorted in pain, the wall at her back. “That sweet little pussy ready for me, yet?”

“Fuck you.” She grits out the words around the fingers clasping her throat.

“No, sweet thing.” I can’t see his face, but I know he’s grinning like a homicidal maniac. “Fuck you.”

Her eyes meet mine over his shoulder. They’re not pleading for me to make him stop, but challenging. The bitch is fucking daring me to watch as he breaks her body. I can’t do this again. I bend double and glare a hole into the floor. “Kick, get over here.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath, my chest squeezing tight. My head doesn’t want any part of this, but my cock is already straining against my jeans. I straighten. Do I see a way out of raping this girl? Yeah. I could stab my prez in the kidneys, the way I would have done if Tank hadn’t been here to stop me yesterday. I could beat the shit out of Prez, take the girl and run, but would Tank let me? Not fuckin’ likely. If any brother but Ethan ever had my back, it’s Tank, but even he’s not dumb enough to let me get away with that shit.

Prez turns to face me. “Sometime to-fuckin’-day, son.”

Hatred burns my gaze as it bores into him. I take a step forward, my body going through the motions, but my mind is flailing around like a fish out of water, not knowing what to do. If I kill Prez and take the girl, I betray the brotherhood—assuming I can get past Tank, that is. If I go through with Prez’s orders, then I’m as fucked up as him. I want this girl, but I want her on my terms, not his. If it were any other bitch, I might not bat an eyelid. I’d do what I had to because it meant I didn’t wind up with a bullet in my skull.

I stalk forward, knowing without having to make the decision what I will do because there’s only one option here … to follow orders.

Prez smiles. He pats me on the back as I stand next to him. The girl begins thrashing; he has her pinned to the wall with one hand. He laughs as she strikes him. “Fuckin’ feral bitch, this one. Wanna watch your cock doesn’t get chewed up by that vicious little cooter of hers.”

I step between them, forcing Prez’s arm away, and I trap her against the wall with my lower body. She throws out her fist and strikes me across the side of the face with it. It isn’t some half-arsed girly attempt; this bitch knows how to hit, and she’s not pulling punches. The blow hurts like a motherfucker, my cheek throbs, and pain radiates through my skull. I catch her wrists up in mine before she can deal another blow and force them up above her head, slamming her into the wall.

I lean in and whisper close to her ear, “This will go much better for you if you stop struggling.”

I hate that I’m forced to take her like this. If I could just tell her that I have every intention of making this as pleasurable as it can be for her, she may be less inclined to fight, resulting in less damage. But rape is still rape and admitting that I don’t want to hurt her, that I’m forced to follow orders, in front of my prez is as good as a bullet to the brain. Gripping her wrists with one hand and undoing her pants with the other, I slip my hand inside, cringing inwardly when I feel the crusted blood over her swollen pussy. She bucks her hips, pressing herself further into the wall to escape my touch. That only aids me though, giving me a better grasp on her cunt, and the second she realises this, she begins twisting and writhing against me—no, not writhing against me, trying to get away from me. Though both my mind and body want her, I have to see this for what it is: rape. That’s all it can be, because as much as I might want to slide my fingers, and my cock inside her, she doesn’t want that, and this is the decision I made. This is the choice that keeps me alive—albeit a shitty one—but it is what it is, and I am who I am. I don’t make any excuses for that.

“Stop. Fucking. Struggling,” I whisper.

“Fuck you.” She rears her head back in an attempt to head-butt me, but I snap my head back out of reach. My fingers shift inside her pants, spreading swollen lips and searching for that sweet spot. I know the second I find it because she quits struggling, at least for a beat, and then she’s back to bucking like a wild animal. I rub furiously at her clit until I feel her body jerk involuntarily. Her legs tremble, her flat stomach quivers against the heel of my hand, as her muscles war with her head. She lets out a whimpering cry, half torment, half pleasure. I slow my tempo, stroking in long, sure caresses, soothing her, coaxing her pleasure from her slowly, despite the anguish she feels, despite the fact that I’m the one forcing her to feel it.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and in that moment everything slips away. Prez, Tank, her pain, the room she’s held captive in—all of it. There are only her eyes on mine, and her body succumbing to pleasure under my deft hands. Tears stream down her face, and her eyelids fall closed as her body jerks with orgasm. I continue stroking, petting, playing, even as she tries to squeeze me from between her legs by clamping them shut. I stroke until I feel the violence of another release rip through her, and then I pull my hand free and lick my fingers clean, savouring the taste of her arousal tinged with the tang of blood that dances across my tongue as she slides down the wall and curls into herself, her eyes squeezed tightly closed and her mouth open with a silent, sobbing scream.

My prez brutalised her, and she may have screamed and cried for help, but even bruised and bloody and in more pain than I imagine she was letting on, she remained strong, resilient, defiant. He couldn’t break her, but I just accomplished that feat in a matter of seconds. I knew the second her eyes met mine. I felt it, and I forged ahead anyway when I should have walked away. Sometimes kindness is a far worse weapon than brutality

Fury wells within me. Fury at him, at her, at myself. I take a step back. Prez laughs. It’s a fake, obnoxious sound, and it makes me want to rip his fuckin’ face off. He slaps me on the back. “Jesus, son, those are some magic bloody fingers.”

I shrug out of his hold and put some distance between the girl and me. I don’t trust myself with the taste of her on my tongue. I don’t look at her but at Tank instead, who’s been all too fuckin’ quiet since he walked in. He returns my glare and gives me an imperceptible nod. Is he fuckin’ congratulating me for not attacking our prez? I’ve never wanted to beat the shit out of Tank before, but these last two days have shown me a different side to my brother. A side I badly want to eradicate.

Prez pulls the girl up by her hair. I expect her to scream or cry out, but she does nothing—she just allows him to move her body wherever the fuck he wants. He spins her around to face me, positioning himself behind her as he takes hold of her throat, and his other arm snakes around her waist. Her eyes are red-rimmed, glazed and vacant. The rent in her lip has opened up again, and blood slowly pools on the surface. Her eye, where Prez beat on her yesterday, is still swollen shut. Jesus Christ. “Take off her pants. You’re not done yet, son.”

I glower at him, ready to tell him to go fuck himself, because I can’t rape this girl, and I know that still makes me scum because with anyone else, if it were the choice between staying alive and following orders, I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t falter. You do what you have to in order to stay alive, regardless of whether it helps you sleep at night. But not with this girl. Not her. I slide my hand to the knife holstered at my waist and open my mouth to speak when Prez’s phone rings in his pocket. And then Tank’s phone rings, too. Prez tips his chin in Tank’s direction, signalling for him to answer it.

Tank pulls out the phone, and his deep baritone fills the room. “What?”

His brow creases–that’s about the only expression you’ll ever get out of the man, unless you make him really mad.

“Fuck.” He hangs up and pockets the phone. “Cops are at the gate, Prez.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ? Can’t a man get fucked in peace?”

“What do we do with the girl? Can’t leave her here. Frogger says they’ve been out there for the last thirty minutes. Can’t come in without a warrant, but that doesn’t mean they’re not getting one.”

“FUCK!” he bellows and releases the girl, throwing her towards me. He stalks to the door, and then turns back to me, pointing. “Get her into the shower, you keep her in there until they pry you two apart. You don’t know nothin’ about no raid, you’re just fucking your old lady on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Got it?”

I nod.

“And you.” He turns his attention on the girl. “You make a fuckin’ sound that isn’t like he’s just fucked the shit outta you, and once those little piggies are gone, I’m gonna let every single one of my boys bury their cock in every fuckin’ hole you have to offer, bitch.”

She doesn’t say anything in response. She doesn’t even flinch. She just continues to stare at the floor as I take hold of her arm and push her forward towards the exit. Prez and Tank are already running ahead of us. There’s shit to hide, incriminating evidence to get rid of, and drugs to flush.

“Don’t try anything stupid. It won’t get you rescued; it’ll only get you dead,” I say to her as we clear the stairs. I open the door leading to the outside, and the light blinds us both. I throw my free hand up to block the sun, and the girl takes that opportunity to elbow me in the guts. My reflexes kick in. I let go, because being punched in the gut always feels like someone just shattered your balls with the turn of a vice. She begins screaming for help as she runs, but she’s injured and definitely not quick enough.

I bolt after her, collecting her up by the waist and slamming us onto the asphalt. It hurts like a mother fucker, winds us both, but I recover before her and climb on top of her, holding her arms above her head as she struggles. “I told you not to fuckin’ run, bitch.”

She spits in my face. “Go fuck yourself, you filthy fucking pig.”

“If I didn’t do that shit back there, it would have been so much worse. You want my dick inside you, bitch?”

“Fuck you.”

“We’re both still alive enough to feel the adrenaline runnin’ through our fucking veins because of what I did in that room. You should be fuckin’ thankin’ me.”

“Thanking you? For molesting me? I should be driving that god damn knife at your belt into your heart.”

“This knife?” I ask, unsheathing it. Her eyes dart around wildly, looking for an exit. I take the wickedly sharp blade and slide it down the front of my jeans. “By all means, take it, princess.”

She glowers at me. I push up off her and pull the knife from my pants. Wouldn’t help to cut off my cock, now would it? That might make our story a little hard to believe. I lean over and grab her arm, and half-walk, half-drag her to the door leading to the clubhouse. Her skin is scraped to hell from our roll on the asphalt. “Run again, and I will slit your throat.”

She struggles, digging her bare feet into the ground. She tries yanking her arm from my grasp, desperate for escape. I tighten my hold and drag her forward. She gasps as the ground scrapes her feet. She might be tall but she’s a little thing, and despite her inner strength, she’s not strong enough to fend me off. I can’t see the gate from this side of the compound, so they sure as shit can’t see or hear us, but I still need to get her inside before the boys in blue are bangin’ down our door.

I open the door to the clubhouse and shove her inside, wedging her up against the wall with my body. I deadbolt the door from the inside, then I drag her, kicking and screaming down the hall to my room before I unlock it and throw her inside.

“Get undressed,” I command. I don’t bother locking the door because the bastards will just kick it down, and then I’ll have to buy a new lock. Instead, I grab her by the wrist and lead her to the shower. I shut the bathroom door behind us. The girl stares at me. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

“No.”

“Bitch, I’m getting real tired of you fightin’ me,” I say. “Take your fucking clothes off, or I’ll do it for you.”

She doesn’t move and even though she’s being an obstinate little bitch, under different circumstances, I’d fuckin’ love the idea of having to rip the clothes from her body.

I throw her into the shower and turn on the spray, and then I strip her bare while she howls, and kicks, and scratches, and yeah, even bites. She sobs as I push her back under the water. I strip off my shirt and throw it to the floor, and then I unbutton my jeans and shove them down my hips. My cock springs free, jutting upwards, hard for this beautiful mess of a woman with her bruised body and her face all jacked up, as if she just got out of federal prison. I step out of my jeans and throw them in a sopping heap on the floor.

She turns her body toward the wall, huddling against the wet tile. A part of me wants to leave her there, but that’s not part of the plan. “For you to get out of here wearin’ somethin’ other than a body bag, you’re gonna need to make this believable.”

I take hold of her shoulder and spin her around to face me. I push her back against the tile and spread her legs apart by wedging my knee between them. She resists, but I give her an impatient glare and drive my leg between hers until she has no choice but to open or suffer even more bruises. “Open for me, princess. I swear I’ll be gentle.”

I use the distraction of my words to slip between her legs. Her body is pressed to mine, and my cock rests against her belly. I take hold of it and slide it into the hollow V created by her thighs, her smooth pussy skimming my dick. I can feel her wetness, her arousal left over from the two orgasms I wrought from her with my hands. That might have broken her, but if anything it’s only made me want her more. I rock against her body and promise silently that one day she will let me inside her. It won’t be because my Prez has commanded it, or because she thinks things might go easier for her if she plays nice. It will be because she wants me there. Because she craves it—needs it. And when that time comes she won’t just be a princess of an MC, she’ll be a motherfuckin’ queen. My motherfuckin’ queen.

“When are you going to get it through that fuckin’ thick skull of yours? You’re going to die unless you go along with this. You got me, babe? You play nice, and when I can I’ll help you get outta here, but if you fuck this up, if you run again, or you don’t go along with everything I say to the coppers that are about to come busting through that door there, then no one can fuckin’ help you. Not me. Not your dad. No fuckin’ one.”

“Please don’t hurt me. Please?” she begs.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, darlin’. And I’m not going to rape you. So long as you play nice, you get to leave this bathroom with your pretty skull intact.”

I move my hips back, unable to resist the sensation of my wet cock sliding against her slick cunt. I know this isn’t doing much for my promise not to rape her, and I wouldn’t, because I’ve had a taste of this wildcat’s surrender and it’s the closest thing to holy that I’ll ever get in this life, or the one after. Shoving myself inside her without permission isn’t going to get me more of that delicious submission, it’ll only make her fight, and while I may even enjoy that too, it’s not how I want her.

I want the taste of her cunt on my tongue, I want to bury myself so deep we merge into a single being. I want her begging and pleading with me to send her over the edge, and for perhaps the first time ever, I want someone to need me, to depend on me. The arsehole, the bastard who’s left a long string of whores broken in his wake without so much as a second thought. The piece-of-shit whose life was almost snuffed out by his father, who wakes every day and looks in the mirror with enough self-loathing to detonate Times Square, if only that shit was combustible. That pathetic excuse for a man wants to be worthy of someone. The question I need to figure out now is: why?

Out in the clubhouse sounds of protests, glass breaking and furniture being overturned ring out. I stare at the girl’s eyes; they’re wide and panicked, and I know she hears it too. I press my palm flat against her sternum. Her eyes grow wider, and she stares at the spot where out bodies are connected. Her heart taps out a staccato beat against her flesh, and mine.

“Look at me, princess,” I say. Her wild gaze shoots up to meet my own. “I’m not going to stick my cock in you; not today, anyway. But I can make this enjoyable for you, like downstairs.”

“Touch me again, and I swear to you I will scream.”

“Yeah, you will,” I say. Her eyes narrow with anger, her jaw clenches tight. “Face it—I know exactly where to touch you. I know exactly how to break you in, and you like it. You don’t want to, but you do. It’s written all over your face, and it’s here.” I slide my hands down between us and slip into her slick pussy lips. She jolts away, but she has nowhere to go. I have her penned in with one arm, and the other is stroking her pretty cunt, coaxing more pleasure, coaxing her orgasm from her. She sobs, but it’s the sound of resignation, not pain.

I quicken my pace, lean forward and whisper, “Scream for me, princess.”

She clenches her teeth, resisting. I rise to the challenge, or I guess I bow down and kneel to it. The dirty tile hurts my knees. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on them before another person, but I push past the discomfort and spread her thighs apart, hooking one leg over my shoulder. She struggles; when does she not? But I take that bud in my mouth, sucking hard and wrenching the screams from the back of her throat. Her thighs clench around either side of my head as her whole body gives over to the spasms, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open in pure blissful pleasure.

I don’t stop at just one, though. I lick and suck through her twisting and twitching, her protests and punches. I delve my tongue into her hole, as far as I can reach, rubbing my coarse stubble against her pussy, making her flinch and cry out, and eventually tilt her hips toward me for more.

When the cops finally bust down my door, I’ve forgotten all about the fuckers. I stand quickly and capture her face in my hands. If she’s smart, she’ll play along; if not, this may be the only time I get to taste her, have her, kiss her. So I do that, despite the fact that I’m buck naked, she’s scared out of her fucking mind, and the cops have a gun trained on my head. I lower my lips to hers and drive my tongue into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself, to feel me in her mouth the way I was inside her pussy. I use the distraction to wrap my hand around the nape of her neck, realising how easy it would be to twist and snap it, and fearing the fragility of her all at once. I keep my eyes trained on her as I take her mouth. She’s doped with pleasure, and her eyes are glassy—or the one that I can see is. The other is still swollen shut.

“Get your hands on your head and turn around slowly,” the cop commands. I let the girl’s face go and place my hands behind my head, turning with a cocky smile and an even cockier dick, considering I’m still fucking hard as concrete and begging for release. That’s one orgasm I can kiss goodbye.

The cop closest to the door curls his lip in distaste. “Jesus Christ.”

“There a reason you officers are busting down my door while I’m trying to make sweet mad love to my old lady here?”

“Step out of the shower, and drop to your knees, Sir.”

“Listen, fellas, you might swing that way down at the station, but I don’t suck cock. As you can see, I like pussy.” A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Mostly just her pussy, but I’m not fussy.”

One of them pulls a towel from the rack and throws it at me. “Cover yourself up,” he hisses, bringing his hand back to his gun.

I step from the shower and wrap the towel around me, not bothering to dry off, then I throw another at the girl and say, “Princess, go wait for me in bed, okay? This shouldn’t take long, and then I can get back to fucking the shit outta that sweet cunt of yours.”

She just stares at me, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Could she be any more fuckin’ suspicious? Her gaze darts from the cops to me, and back again. She opens her mouth to speak, but I shoot her a warning look, and her eyes widen. I’m shoved to the ground. The men slap me in cuffs, though I’m not read my rights, so I don’t know what the fuck is going on. For a half a second I think my prez might have used me as a scapegoat, but no one rats to the cops. Not even Prez can come back from that shit. You rat, you die. It’s the reason they’ve been gunning for Ethan’s head for so long, because the Angels believe he ratted and then cashed in his get-out-of-jail-free card. I know differently, but I can’t exactly tell them that, because that would open up a whole slew of questions Prez wouldn’t like the answer to. Answers that would get me a bullet to the face.

The water shuts off, and her little feet thud on the mat beside me. I dare a glance in her direction. She’s covered by an old towel, hair plastered to her back and water beaded on her skin. I wanna lick it off. I wanna trace my tongue over every fuckin’ inch of that gloriously brown body, but one of the bastards in blue hauls me up by the cuffs and shoves me forward. The towel slips from my waist. The cop in front of me lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Christ. Can we get some clothes on this fucker?”

“Just do up the God damned towel.”

“I’m not going near his Johnson. You fucking do it.”

I roll my eyes as the two cops fight about my junk hanging out for the world to see. Princess surprises us both, I think, when she bends down in front of me and retrieves the towel. It’s more surprising still when she glances up at me from her position on the floor. Her eyes are dark with challenge. Over what? I don’t know.

Princess stands and wraps the towel around me, skimming the hard muscles of my hips with her tiny, fragile hands as she tucks one end of the towel into the part covering my waist. “Thanks, princess. Now be a good little girl and go wait in bed for me.”

Her hatred is a fuckin’ beam that sears me right down to the core. She stands before me, not saying anything, but conveying everything with the tension in her gaze.

“Princess,” I hiss through my teeth.

“He the one that did that to your face?” one of the officers asks. She just stares at him, and he turns his stupid fuckin’ questioning gaze on me. He looks like a fuckin’ dickhead. “You like to beat on your old lady?”

“I didn’t do that, but right now I’m beginning to wish I had,” I warn.

Her eyes dart between me and the cop again, and she says, “My name is Lauren Costello. My father is Slayer—” She shakes her head. “My father is Vincent Costello. He’s the president of the Severed Sons’ Motorcycle Club. These people kidnapped me, they’ve held me hostage. Their president … he raped me … he beat me.”

“Stupid fucking bitch,” I hiss, shaking my head.

So princess has a name, huh? I could have done without knowing what that was because now the name Lauren will forever be tainted by the fact that I watched her get tortured. That I watched her die right in front of me and that I could do nothing to stop it. And she will die. Prez will see to that. He won’t tolerate that shit. Just because a man wears a uniform doesn’t mean he isn’t just as criminal as the fuckin’ rest of us. And even if she gets lucky and the cops do send her home, we’ll still find her, and we’ll gun her down and string up her insides like Christmas tree tinsel, because that’s what we do to rats. You rat, you die.

“Ah, shit,” the fatter of the two officers says. His porky belly protrudes over his belt, and he jams a finger through the belt loop and tugs it upward. “And this guy? He rape you too?”

She glances at me, and it’s the fuckin’ damnedest thing, but I think I see guilt behind her eyes. “No. He was trying to help. He promised to get me out of here.”

“Stop fuckin’ talkin’, bitch,” I shout. Every word that comes out of her whoring trap sinks me further in the shitter, and she doesn’t even know it.

“Did he now?” the cop asks. Princess nods her head vigorously.

Tilting his head towards his partner, the cop yanks me out of the way while the other grabs Lauren’s wrists and hauls her through my bedroom and out into the hall.

“Wait,” she protests. The wall blocks my view of her, but I can hear the panic rising in her voice. “Can I at least get my clothes?”

“Nope. We need them for evidence,” the cop replies.

“Ow, you’re hurting me.”

I don’t need to be told to move forward, cuffs or not. I all but sprint after them, only I’m yanked back by the officer. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”

“Get your filthy fuckin’ piggy hands off me, motherfucker.” I try twisting from his grip, but he yanks my arms up behind me, causing my elbows and shoulder blades to groan and protest the pain.

“Walk,” he commands, holding my arms at bay by the chain connecting my cuffs. I stagger out into the hall as he urges me forward. The gun trained at my head is the only thing keeping me from head-butting this motherfucker and making a break for it. Well, that and the cuffs, pinning my hands behind my back.

As I clear the hall, I’m not met with my brothers kneeling on the floor, all lined up in a degenerate little line of criminals, the way we’d usually be in a raid. Instead, my prez is relaxing back on a fuckin’ La-Z-Boy, sharing a bottle of top-shelf scotch with some douchey lookin’ rail-thin officer of the law, and my brothers are spread throughout the front room, arms folded, guns in holsters, and fuckin’ unhappy expressions on their faces. Though for some of them, that’s a regular expression. My father included, who leans against the wall and doesn’t meet my eyes. He’s probably fuckin’ pissy that he didn’t get an invite to Prez’s “Let’s Kidnap A Rival MC’s Daughter And Rape And Torture Her For Fuckin’ Kicks” party. Cunt rag.

 The only people that look as if they’re havin’ a good time here are Prez and the fucking arsehole in blue who’s holdin’ princess close to him and feelin’ up every inch of her body as she struggles.

Prez watches me closely as I’m pushed towards the centre of the room. I might have my eyes glued to the fucker whose paws are all over princess, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel Prez eyeballing me harder than a whore he wants inside of. “And speaking of fuckin’ pathetic,” Prez says as I’m forced down on my knees before him. “I had such high hopes for you, Kick. We raised you from a fuckin’ babe, we made you into a man, and then you go and turn into a snivellin’ fuckin’ pussy, over some fuckin’ pussy.”

Sniggers come from all around the room. “Have you been inside her tight little cunt yet?”

“Fuck you.”

He leans forward and strikes me across the face. I rock back on my knees with the force of the blow, and then I’m shoved flat on the floor, his boot pressing against the back of my neck, crushing my upper spine.

“Get comfortable, kid,” he says. “I’m gonna teach you the difference between takin’ pussy and fuckin’ being one.”

I growl into the filthy carpet. My eyes dart wildly around the room and land on my father. He looks bored. The arsehole looks as if he’d rather be scratching his arse than standing here, watching his son debased in front of the club.

My eyes dart to Tank, but he glares back at me, stoic as ever, and then he turns and leaves the room. Prez doesn’t try to stop him. No, Prez doesn’t care about anything but teaching princess and I a lesson.

Her screams make me struggle. Prez lifts his foot, and for a second I can breathe easier, and then he calls Frogger to his side, and the fucker straddles my back, pulling my head up by the hair, brutally yanking back my neck.

He leans down and whispers, “I’m gonna savour this moment forever, you little shit.” He jerks on my head again, and I’m forced to see it: her, them, touching her, tasting her, hurting flesh that should be mine to hurt. Punishing her cunt with their cocks as she screams and struggles and bleeds. I try to close my eyes, but Frogger punches my kidneys to make me watch. Prez and the police officers take it in turns, and then Juke steps forward. His mouth turns up in a sideways grin that even the devil wouldn’t touch. He lifts her up. She’s bruised and beaten, covered in cum and blood and spit. She’s not even crying anymore—she doesn’t fight, just allows herself to be positioned wherever they want. However they want.

“Wait,” I growl out. I’m surprised anyone but Frogger hears me with the ruckus of the room.

“SHUT UP!” Prez bellows and the room falls into silence. “Kid’s got somethin’ to say. Let’s hear it, lover boy.”

“She’s mine. I’m laying claim to her. Want her for my old lady.”

Prez chuckles. It’s a dark and foreboding sound. “You can’t take a fucking club whore as your old lady, kid.”

“She’s not a club whore, and you know it.”

“Well, if it walks like a club whore, and talks like a club whore …”

“She’s Sons’ property. Slayer’s gonna tear this club apart when he finds her.”

“Exactly; she’s Sons’ property, and she serves a purpose you can’t even comprehend.” He turns back to my father. “Take her to fuckin’ town, Juke. Show the boy how it’s done.”