Sin & Suffer

And above it all were the words Property of Kill.

I trembled. I never expected to be accepted the way I had been. Never expected to find such a place after being adrift for so long.

Resting my hands on his, I sensed the pressure of his headache, the joy of his excitement, and the sharp tang of his lust.

If we were alone, I would’ve grabbed him and kissed away the lingering worry in his gaze. I would’ve shown him just how much I was already his, regardless if I had a ring, jacket, or marriage license. None of that mattered as long as I got to sleep beside him at night and rise with him in the morning. We were equals. We were each other’s.

“Cleo—” Arthur cleared his throat, his voice scratchy and coarse.

The group surrounding us gathered tighter.

I stood stiffly in front of Arthur. My heart was a runaway rabbit. My body a vibrating engine. I wanted it over with so I could sink into the new leather and find home.

Arthur’s body heat battled with mine. Pressing a swift kiss on my mouth, he murmured, “Turn around.”

Drinking in his green eyes, I struggled to obey. Pirouetting, I faced Pure Corruption.

A rustle, a footstep, then a heavy, welcoming weight fell across my shoulders. “You are no longer a Dagger Rose, but a Pure. From this day forth, you belong to this family, you will honor our rules, you will protect our members, and you will forever be welcome within our walls.”

Arthur wrapped his arms around me, kissing my hairline. His large hand imprisoned my breast, dragging my attention to the glitter of silver. “See … it’s real, Buttercup. Written in thread. You’re mine forever.”

I sucked in a breath as I looked down at the front pocket.

“It’s official now,” Arthur whispered. “The Club has spoken.”

Tears swelled as I read four embroidered words:

Cleo.

President’s Old Lady.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kill

Everything of value had always been taken from me.

If I showed the slightest affection toward anything, my brother would steal it or my father would ruin it.

That was what they’d tried to do when they’d seen the Libra eraser from Cleo.

I could’ve yelled and demanded they give it back—but I’d learned to ignore them. I’d adopted that habit with Cleo. Whenever my family was too close—I pretended I didn’t care. I hid the fact that I loved her and hurt her instead. I did it to keep her safe. —Kill, age sixteen

It was getting worse.

The pain.

The fucking excruciating pain.

The drugs the doctor had prescribed weren’t doing shit, and it took every inch of strength and energy to hide the extent of agony I was in. I fooled most people, but not Cleo. I’d never been able to fool her.

I took a huge gulp of air as we entered my home. The bike ride over here had been a blessing and a curse. The wind had helped blow away some of the hot pressure in my skull, but the concentration to lean into corners, brake for traffic lights, and keep an eye on the speedometer taxed me.

Tonight should be the fucking happiest night of my life. Instead, I battled with sadness. And, if I was downright honest, self-pity. I was done feeling like this. Done feeling so fucking weak.

Tomorrow, I would see the doctor again. I couldn’t go on this way—despite the upcoming war and meeting with Samson, I had to face facts that I needed help.

And I needed it now.

Cleo walked backward, heading toward the stairs. The foyer chandelier glittered, drenching the space in light and committing treachery to my brain.

Her fingers toyed with the zipper of her new jacket. The soft tan radiated against her flawless skin. Her green eyes popped from the mess of fiery red hair and her legs looked so damn tempting in her tight jeans.

I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together remembering how wet she’d been at the gathering. How her hips had rocked on my lap as I touched her.

My cock swelled, stealing some of the pressure from my skull.

“Where are you going?” I asked as she licked her bottom lip.

“To bed.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her lust-filled tone. “To sleep?”

She laughed softly. “What do you think?”

I think another orgasm would help a lot.

One thing that did seem to work on the pain was a release. If I could ride out the overwhelming agony to get to the point of explosive orgasm, the relief and endorphins afterward gave me much needed respite—almost as if the blood erupted from my body, allowing the swelling in my head to recede.

My eyes remained fixed on Cleo’s hands as she fiddled with the zipper. “Come to bed.”

Fuck, she looks amazing in that jacket.

I couldn’t stop staring. She was mine. All deliciously mine.

Her voice lashed through the air, licking straight around my cock. She was like a siren … like the mermaid inked on my thigh, grasping me around the balls and coaxing me wherever she wanted me to go.

Crossing the small distance, I cupped her face. My mouth watered to kiss her, but I couldn’t. Not yet. If I did, I’d end up fucking her on the stairs and I didn’t think I’d survive a breathless rutting. I wanted her. I wanted to come in her. But I needed it to be … quiet.

“Give me ten minutes. I have to do something first.”

Her eyes narrowed. She stopped playing with her zipper and pulled her face free from my hands. “Do what?”

I tensed. How could I explain that all through the meeting, all through the gathering and socializing all I could think about—all I could focus on—was the fact I’d lost a trade today.