There hadn’t been a single moment in the past eight years when I’d awoken and wished I could forget.
Every morning had been a struggle to remember.
Every night a battle between needing to know and needing to forget.
I’d tried to trick my mind into remembering, but either I was too stubborn or too afraid, because it never worked. And … as the days turned from hell to heaven and Arthur fell back in love with me, I didn’t really mind that a chunk of my life was missing.
I had him back. Larger than life and even more perfect than any recollection could do justice.
I was content with that.
But living in the silver haze of amnesia, with no past or present, came with its own burdens and trials. It meant I couldn’t find my true self, but it also granted unusual freedom. Freedom because I couldn’t find my true self. I had the latitude to be stronger, braver—all because I had no notion of who I’d been or what I was risking by choosing certain paths.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that indulgent laxity … that power.
It’d granted me silent strength to chase Arthur even when he seemed unchasable. And it’d helped me find the truth that I’d been missing all these years.
But now, pinned to a table with men gawking at my half-naked form, I wished I could disappear into the void where my mind had vacationed for so long.
I wished I could delete whatever was about to happen.
I struggled against the fingers around my wrists, unable to look up at the men holding me down. My cheek squashed against the table; my toes ached as I dug into the tiled floor, trying to stop myself from sliding and becoming completely helpless.
Rubix stood behind me. The heat of his thighs against my T-shirt and the roughness of his fingers sent my heart spiraling.
Please, don’t let this happen.
Rubix was many things, but a rapist? Would he stoop that low?
The unequivocal answer reverberated through my head.
Yes.
Especially if such a thing would hurt the one person he hated above all. Arthur would never be able to forgive himself if I was violated so terribly.
It will kill him.
My heart shattered into kaleidoscopic pieces at the thought of destroying Arthur in such a way. Me? I could brave it. I could heal. But him? He’d never be able to look at me again without suffering such awful guilt.
“Why do you hate your son so much?” I whispered, fearing his answer.
Rubix chuckled. “You never guessed?”
Never guessed? “No.” How would I ever guess something so wrong?
“He was supposed to be like me. Instead, he was like her.”
“What?” My forehead furrowed. “Like her … your wife?”
“Yes,” he snarled. “So fucking soft. She was always so meek—riddled with indecision and then later with disease. Arthur was supposed to make me proud—but all he did was make me a laughing stock.”
“All because he preferred to use his brain over his fists? Because he chose to go to school instead of smoking crack with the rest of the lowlife prospects?”
Rubix tucked my hair behind my ears. “No, pretty Buttercup, because he chose your family over his own.”
My stomach ruptured. “He didn’t choose us over you. You gave him no choice. Arthur wanted to be good rather than follow morals he didn’t believe in. That doesn’t make him soft. That makes him strong.”
Stronger than you’ll ever be.
He bared his teeth. “He was mine. His blood was mine. His destiny was mine. But then you and your fucking kinder-than-thou family stole him from me.”
“We didn’t steal him. We loved him. Just like you should’ve—”
Rubix fisted my hair. “How could I ever love someone who could settle for second best? How could I tolerate my own flesh and blood thinking he was fucking better than me because he wanted diplomacy over violence?” His face turned puce with rage. “Our world is governed with fists not democracy. Arthur refused to follow my orders. He was a fucking pussy and no son of mine.”
Had Rubix ever loved his son? Was that all it took for so-called love to turn into bitter resentment?
Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps Rubix hurt because he felt Arthur abandoned his family. Perhaps they could reconcile and whatever awful misunderstanding could end. Even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t possible. Too much time had passed. Too much hate had gathered.
“Don’t do this, Scott,” I implored, keeping my voice low, controlled.
You’re wishing for a miracle.
Standing tall, he grabbed my hips. The stiffness of his erection dug into my ass. “Do what?”
The bikers snickered as Rubix rubbed disgustingly against me.
“Hurt me to hurt him.”
He laughed, running his fingertips up my rib cage. “Now where would the fun be if I didn’t?”
I squeezed my eyes as Cobra muttered, “You heard the prez, you’re ours now. Ours to do whatever the fuck we want with.”
My breasts ached from being pressed so hard against the table. The awful metallic taste from being drugged never left my tongue. I wanted nothing more than to slip away from this part of my life and pretend it never existed.
I hated myself for being weak. I hated that my strength to escape dwindled by the second. But helplessness didn’t stop me from searching inside my compartmentalized brain, begging for the gift of amnesia to sweep me away and save me.
If I couldn’t run physically, perhaps I could run mentally.
Like I did all those years ago.
Hadn’t I endured enough at the hands of this man?
Hadn’t I paid whatever debt I owed?
“Do you know what your father planned for me, little princess?” Rubix’s fingers stroked my spine, digging into each vertebra. Each pinch left a resounding bruise on my flesh.
“He planned to teach me a lesson. To cut me from the Club, all because I had balls big enough to imagine a better way of life than he ever could.”
His touch slid over my ass, tracing my thigh and disappearing up the hem of Arthur’s T-shirt. “He was weak, your father. He believed in redemption instead of retribution. He believed in leniency instead of law. And look what happened to him.”
The men chuckled.
My eyes stung with unshed tears. My father had been a good man. Despite his chosen lifestyle and rule-breaking, he’d been kind and generous and loving.
This man … he was just a coward, a snake, an insect.
“Can you see the irony, princess?” Sycamore said. “Can you see how soft that motherfucker was?”
Cobra jumped in, ensuring I wasn’t stupid enough to miss their punch line. “Your father was a pussy and now he is dead.”
Rubix’s fingers skirted higher; repulsion tugged on my gag reflex. “Your father didn’t deserve this Club. And my son didn’t deserve me as his father.”
“Just me, Prez.”
That voice.
It sliced through the heavy stares and whipped around me with filth. I sucked in a breath as the owner ducked by my side and stared into my eyes. “Hello, baby Cleo.”
My cheek ached from kissing the table but it faded as my blood washed with wrath. “You.”
Arthur’s older brother grinned. The family resemblance was strong, with matching aquiline noses, symmetrical features, and sculptured lips. However, Arthur had prominent cheekbones that stretched his tanned skin, turning him ageless, whereas Dax “Asus” Killian had full cheeks and a dimple on his chin.
I bared my teeth. “I hoped you were dead, Asus.”
He grinned. “Didn’t you figure it out already? Life doesn’t care about your hopes.”
He looked pudgier than last I’d seen him—sitting too long on his butt hacking innocent people’s laptops with his own Asus computer. That was how he earned his nickname—by being a geek with bad intentions.
Turns out gifts with numbers runs in the family.
My nose crinkled
at his horrendous aftershave. “I didn’t understand at first, but now I do.”
When I didn’t elaborate, Rubix pulled my hips back, grinding himself on me. “Understand what?”
Asus threaded his fingers through my hair, slowly tightening his fist until agony bloomed. Two Killians tormenting me and all I craved was the third to make it go away.
“Continue, by all means.”
My blood turned to dry ice, smoking through my veins. “I couldn’t understand why Arthur didn’t kill you the day he escaped prison, but now … I do.”
The men in the room grumbled under their breath. The stench of violence and cruelty thickened.
Rubix growled, “I suggest you think about what you’re going to say, otherwise—”
“I know what I want to say,” I snapped, cutting him off. Turning my attention back to Asus, I smiled. “He doesn’t just want to exterminate you; he wants to rip everything from you like you did from him.”
Asus leaned forward, drawn by my quiet voice. “He’ll be dead in a few days; then we’ll see who won in the extermination.”
Rubix’s questing fingers pressed against my inner thigh. “Everything he’s been working toward, everything he thought was secret will come to bite him in the fucking ass.” Raising his voice, he demanded, “Cobra, if you will.”
The bald-headed tattooed biker nodded and stood, leaving my left wrist unfettered.
Tucking my hand beneath my torso, I willed sensation to enter my shoulder and arm. If I spied an opportunity to fight, I needed my body to move swift and sure.
The men watched in silence as Cobra moved toward another door that led to a meeting room where Arthur and I used to eavesdrop on the men while they discussed world domination. He disappeared for a moment before returning with a prisoner.
A woman.
Her head was covered with a black cloth, her body naked and bleeding.
Oh, God.
The ground became quicksand as my hope sank into grainy despair.
“Let Cleo go, Sycamore,” Rubix ordered.
Immediately, my other wrist was freed, relinquishing me into Rubix’s control. Rubix yanked me upright, molding my body against his and holding my chin with biting fingers.
I squirmed. My flattened breasts smarted as blood rushed back.
“Recognize her?” His breath wafted hotly in my ear. “You should. She was there the night my son kidnapped you.”
I blinked, wishing I could ignore his every word. I didn’t know who stood before me but my heart hurt for her—for the obvious torture she’d endured.
One kneecap looked shattered. The right side of her chest was concave, and she couldn’t stand upright without being supported.
She’d been demoted from healthy human to emaciated marionette.
Nobody—regardless of their crimes—deserved to be so thoroughly broken.
“Remove the hood,” Rubix said, gathering me tighter against him. The hollow of my back burned as he ground his belt buckle against me.
Every part of me demanded to struggle and run. Everything about him repulsed and petrified me but I swallowed back the insane pressure to fight and stood stoic. On the outside, I looked queenly and unaffected but inside the pulsing of my blood and the panic whooshing in my ears drove me faster into madness.
Cobra grinned. “With pleasure.” With one hand, he held the girl’s bound wrists in front of her naked body, somehow propping her up, and with the other ripped off the hood.
Blonde hair once the color of sun-warmed wheat was now matted and stained pink with blood. Her eyes were like broken moons in a face butchered and swollen.
I didn’t recognize her.
But wait …
The longer I stared, the more my memories tugged at some vague recollection. She’d been there. She’d been in the truck when we’d arrived at the scene of mutiny with Arthur and his men. She’d stood in line with me as we all stripped and delivered ourselves into Pure Corruption’s control.
I sucked in a breath.
Rubix laughed softly. “So you do remember her.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re doing or what you want me to say, but I won’t do it.” My heart was tied to an anchor, slowly sinking deeper and deeper into desperation.
“You do know and you’re far too bright not to see the point I’m about to make.”
No!
I would’ve sold every worldly possession to save her.
But I was bankrupt.
Cobra slapped the blonde girl, dragging her forward and kicking the back of her legs so she slammed to her knees before me.
She screamed, her shattered kneecap excruciating.
It ricocheted around the room like a voice boomerang, ringing in my ears.
My stomach convulsed.
Instant sobs escaped her mouth. She looked up and our gazes locked—hers full of begs and pleas while mine were no doubt bleak and desolate.
“Arthur Killian, my useless treasonous son, stole this whore from Chainsaw’s bed. Do you know who Chainsaw is?”
I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes from the girl.
She trembled. Every rib stuck out from malnutrition. How long had Rubix held her as a captive? It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks. How had he damaged her so swiftly?
“Chainsaw is an honest member of Dagger Rose—he earned this bitch when I gave her to him as a gift for pleasing me. However, she was stolen and given to the president of a Club past our borders.” Rubix’s voice grew angrier the longer he spoke. “Not only was she given as a token, but it also solidified an agreement between the Night Crusaders and Pure Corruption.”
My brain tripped in its urgency to understand. There was so much Arthur had been planning—so many carefully laid parts to his overall vengeance. Why had he stolen women from his father’s bed and given them to other presidents? What did he hope to gain?
Rubix shook me. “My son tried to buy the Night Crusader’s loyalty. He made them pledge their allegiance to fight against me when the time came, all for the price of a girl and a few measly dollars.”
Art had paid men?
My mouth fell open.
He’s creating an army.
An army to destroy any enemy who’d supported his father and ruined his life.
No, not just his life.
My life.
Tears swelled behind my eyes. All of this: Art’s thirst for revenge and his obsession with retribution was all for me—for what they’d broken the night I disappeared.
Rubix snapped, “He enlisted other Clubs to fight against us. He went against every code and took the coward’s way out of hiring other people to do his fucking dirty work. But it didn’t go the way he wanted.”
Rubix forced me to stand over the girl, bending me as if I were her judgment and executioner.
Cobra smiled, fisting the blonde girl’s hair and jerking her head back. Her throat strained, exposing translucent skin and blue veins.
She was so close. So terrified.
I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to save her so desperately.
“This is what happens to those who defy me.” Rubix thrust his erection against my lower back as Cobra reached behind him and withdrew a hunting blade.
“No!” I fought. “Don’t!”
Slamming my head back, I tried to make contact with Rubix’s nose. But it was no use.
In a horrible heartbeat, Cobra dragged the sharp knife across the girl’s neck, slicing sickeningly deep. Her blood fountained from the wound, red—the color of love and valentines spritzed the air with metallic mist.
She gurgled and twitched as her life force drenched my half-naked body, staining my hair, my eyelashes, my lips. I bathed in her blood. I wore her death like a mortal sin.
Every part of me rebelled. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to hide. I wanted to bite and tear and kill.
But all I could do was be there for her as she faded before my eyes. Every pulse of her heart spewed more hot crimson down her fr
ont, slowly pushing her into a deep, dark sleep.
The room remained silent. No one coughed or laughed or spoke.
And that final moment, when the last pitiful beat of her heart sent her from living to dead, a spark, a tingle, an all-knowing sixth sense radiated out like a chime.
Her soul escaped.
She was free.
Closing my eyes, I found I didn’t have to fight tears or nausea. I was numb. Numb and cold and terribly, terribly angry.
You’ll suffer for your sins. You’ll watch as they’re torn from you like you’ve torn them from others.
Rage twisted my insides until I housed a nest of poisonous snakes. “I’ll kill you myself,” I hissed. “I’ll avenge that poor girl and rip out your blackened hearts.”
Rubix laughed as Cobra let go of the girl’s hair, tossing her to the side as if she were trash. Her body was graceful even in death, languishing on the tiles like a heartbroken ballerina after an ill-fated tryst.
“You’re not strong enough to kill me, pretty princess. And neither is anyone else. You’re a walking corpse, just like my son. And it’s time to send him a message he will never forget.”
His hand disappeared down my front, groping me brutally in front of his men.
I gasped.
I fought the urge to vomit.
My lips pursed with revulsion.
But I didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. My body was just a tool. It was my soul … my mind … that was the true part of who I was. As long as I remained untouchable inside, he couldn’t hurt me the way he wanted.
His fingers wrenched my nipples.
The pain was hot and consuming but I’d had worse.
Anyone could see I was a survivor of pain by the scars adorning my body.
I’m invincible to them.
Because I’d survived far worse than they ever had.
A laugh bubbled in my belly. I swallowed it down. I might be strong enough to endure whatever came next, but I wasn’t stupid enough to antagonize them by proving I was impenetrable.
“What’s the matter, Cleo? Is my son such a bad lover he’s turned you frigid?”
I couldn’t breathe without inhaling blood. I couldn’t lick my lips without tasting murder.