My cock didn’t care that this woman wasn’t Cleo. It didn’t care that she’d been a permanent fixture serving the men who’d betrayed Wallstreet.
All it cared about was fixing a problem. Leaving boyhood for my new future.
Unbuckling my jeans, I slipped the heavy denim to my ankles. I still wasn’t used to the scratch against my legs after the well-worn cotton of jumpsuits at Florida State.
I didn’t bother touching her or myself.
Grabbing the condom, I tore it open, screwed my face up at how gross the fucking thing felt, and rolled it awkwardly down my length.
“Move back,” I growled.
Meadow immediately obeyed, inching her ass backward, wetness glistening between her thighs. My hands landed on her hips, positioning her exactly where I wanted.
She looked over her shoulder, hazel eyes glowing with lust. “You don’t want me to suck you? Don’t you want to fool around a bit first?”
Hell no.
Anger popped in my blood; I couldn’t help myself. Grabbing her chin, I forced her head to face the mattress. “Don’t look at me.”
Don’t look at me with eyes that make me hate myself. Don’t make me miss her any more than I already do.
I should’ve been gagging for this. I should’ve been panting and so fucking happy at having a willing woman on her knees about to take my cock, but all I could focus on was the guilt-ridden heart inside my chest.
Godddammit, stop it.
“Give me your hands.”
She obeyed without question and I used my discarded belt to tie her wrists together. Now she couldn’t touch me either. I might fuck her but I would never seek comfort from her. Comfort I didn’t fucking deserve.
Gritting my teeth, I grabbed my cock and positioned myself at her entrance.
Her back tensed, her fingers opening and closing in the confines.
The moment stretched, anticipation sparking in my blood.
Then I slammed home.
Possibly too hard, probably too fast. I didn’t know—I had no fucking experience. But Meadow didn’t seem to care. Her head flew back as I pulled out and drove in again.
“Oh God,” she moaned as I moved inside her, testing, learning.
Her heat was subtle, her wetness hidden from me thanks to the condom, but the action of filling a woman like I hadn’t done before was enough to make me stop thinking of Cleo and throw myself into my first-ever fuck.
That night, when the compound had finally quieted, and I’d showered off the three rounds of sex I’d indulged in, I got up the guts to pull the Libra eraser from my jeans pocket.
I flopped onto my back glaring at the ceiling of my cell… I meant room. I’d only been here a few hours, but I already hated living at the Clubhouse. It was ridiculous. A bunch of grown men all living together. What happened to freedom and our own space? What happened to disinfectant and a vacuum cleaner? What happened to family and love?
The eraser was too heavy—too knowing—in my fingers. It was the sign for justice. The sign for right and wrong. And also my star sign. Go fucking figure. Hadn’t known until she’d told me.
Serendipitous, really—turned out my personality matched, too. She’d told me she was a Sagittarius. That she wasn’t meant to love someone who wasn’t a Capricorn or an Aries. But she’d make an exception just for me.
We’d lay on the roof of the garage where a bunch of Harleys, Hondas, and Triumphs were bedded down for the night. She’d whispered the traits of a Libran.
She rolled to face me, tracing my face with her gentle fingers. “You’re graceful.”
I huffed. “On my bike, maybe, but nowhere else.”
“Peaceful.”
I laughed. “Um, biggest lie yet.”
She shook her head, seriousness drenching her green eyes. “You are peaceful. You fight for what you believe in. You fight to protect what’s yours, but in your heart… you’re kind and gentle and not a part of this world.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Same as me.”
My heart clenched. The words I love you weighed on my tongue. I hadn’t said it yet. But, fuck, I wanted to.
Her lips twisted into a smile. “You’re also an idealist.”
I nodded, pulling myself back from love and her being mine forever. “Okay, kind of agree with that one.” I had hopes. I had dreams. And I wasn’t settling.
“Those all sound pretty good. Any bad traits I should watch out for?”
She sighed, her eyes latching onto my lips, making me hard and dying to kiss her. “Superficial and vain.”
I sighed dramatically. “Ah, so the perfection ends.” Pressing my body against hers, I murmured, “Pity I agree with them the most.”
She whispered, “Reliable. You’re also reliable.”
The traitorous word slashed through the memory, dumping me back to the present.
Reliable.
Fuck that, I wished I was the most unreliable bastard. I wished that part of the damn Libran personality had screwed up. I was the most reliable person I knew. Pity others saw that—exploited that.
Reliability was the main reason my life fell apart.
I was too damn trusting. Too damn reliable.
Too fucking blind.
I balanced the eraser on my knuckles, flipping it over and over from one side of my hand to the other. Get rid of it.
My heart hurt to think of everything I’d lost. It was time to destroy it.
Not yet.
I can’t.
… not yet.
My stomach clenched thinking about tomorrow. It didn’t just clench, it fucking twisted until my last prison lunch threatened to escape though my fucking nose. For the billionth time, I second-guessed myself. So much could go wrong. So much shit could hit the fan and rain all over my headless corpse.
Wallstreet had given me the key to my future. He’d given me more than anyone, but like anything, it was up to me to make it work.
I checked the small clock on the bedside table. Four hours and counting. Four hours before I would be initiated and say good-bye to my past forever.
The next day I took control of my empire.
If it went well, I’d live to see another sunrise. If it didn’t…
I’m too young to die.
Should’ve thought about that before you agreed to this.
A thrill of excitement ran down my spine. It was a potent mix of fear, retaliation, and the knowledge my life would never be the same.
The moment I entered the disgustingly dirty common room, the large men—some bald, some with ponytails, others with more body hair than facial hair—all turned to face me.
Grasshopper appeared from the tattered boxing ring in the middle of the room, where the rigging had been draped with extra jackets of the Corrupts, along with the items I’d told him to put in place. A large bucket of water, a blowtorch, towels, and a tattoo artist with a fully equipped mobile studio.
I nodded.
He nodded in return.
I hadn’t expected to find help on this side of the world, but Wallstreet had earned not just my loyalty in this Club but Grasshopper’s and Mo’s, too. I felt a kinship with them that I hoped wouldn’t bite me in the ass in the future.
“Everyone, pay attention,” Grasshopper shouted, cutting out grumbling conversation. “As you know, Kill, has been hand-selected by Wallstreet. We all know his instructions, and there won’t be any arguments. Got it?”
The room suddenly thickened with animosity.
Couldn’t really blame them. Staring at me with my unweathered face, no calluses on my hands, and no experience other than prison.
But it wasn’t up to them to decide if they liked me. It was up to them to obey me.
Stepping forward, I clasped a hand on Hopper’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.”
A few of the older members snickered, elbowing each other with anger in their eyes. I locked them in my stare. “I know a few of you won’t survive the transition. I have no doubt I’ll strip a few of y
ou from your patches. And I also have no doubt that some of you will try and end this. But I’m here to tell you that I know how your mind works. I know because mine used to work the same way. You feel betrayed by someone you trusted. Furious at change.
“All I can offer is this. Yield or suffer. There is no other way.”
Stalking to the boxing ring, I swung up through the ropes, pointing at the tattoo artist. “Today, you will swear allegiance to me; there won’t be a ceremony to welcome me into your Club because the Corrupts no longer exist.”
Men moved forward with outrage. “What?”
“Listen here, you little pissant.”
Grasshopper jumped into the ring, waving his hand at the uproar rippling around the room. He dropped his voice. “Uh, Kill? What you doing, dude?”
I’m doing what he told me.
“I’m dissolving the Corrupts. From now on we’re Pure Corruption.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “And he sanctioned this?”
I nodded. “He knows. It was his plan. He knew I wouldn’t be able to take over as Prez and keep the name. It just wasn’t going to work. So I’m starting my own crew with his men.” Glaring around the room, I preached, “You follow me, I promise you everything Wallstreet ever did. I’ll give you money. I’ll give you power. I’ll ensure you never go to jail to serve time on shithead crimes that we don’t need to do. Our law will be steadfast and you’ll be true brothers again.”
My voice lowered. “Don’t follow me and you’ll be out. Your tattoo will be burned off, and you’ll be gone for good.”
Shrugging out of my borrowed jacket, I tore my T-shirt over my head and straddled the tattooist’s chair.
The Corrupts were about to leave their dinosaur-bone-chewing carcasses behind and enter a new century.
This was no longer a crime syndicate where personal hygiene and house cleanliness didn’t matter. This would be a smooth operation. A business. A brotherhood.
Mine.
My weapon against the men who owed me their screams.
“You—you can’t—”
My eyes fell on a potbellied man with a thick black beard. “Let me ask you a question. When you joined the Corrupts, what drew you to it?”
The room went quiet as men recalled their pasts.
Fists were still clenched, anger ripe in the air, but slowly answers trickled to my ears.
“To obey our own rules rather than a corrupt government.”
I nodded. “Good reason.”
“I joined for the business side. Wallstreet made me a wealthy man.”
I thumped my naked chest, vowing, “Follow me, and I will again.”
“To ride and have a place to go with brothers.”
I searched for the man who spoke but couldn’t pick him from the twenty pairs of eyes watching me. “Would you rather those brothers had no guidance? Violence and jail time ruining your peace?”
A ripple of discontent went through the room.
“Accept me as your president, join me and become a Pure, and I swear on my life and Wallstreet’s, you will have peace, you will have your wealth, you will have your brotherhood.”
My voice lost its edge; I allowed a small trace of vulnerability to show. “I know I’m new, I’m young, and I’m likely to screw up as I rebuild Wallstreet’s empire, but I promise I will deliver. I understand what it’s like to be betrayed, and that will never happen if you follow me.”
Shit, I wasn’t there for blood and glory. I was there for revenge. And if they didn’t fucking like it, they knew how to leave and it wasn’t through the front door.
It was Mo who vouched for me. “We’ve talked about this at length, Corrupts. You saw what happened to Magnet when he didn’t want to be part of the evolution. Now’s your time to put your oath where your fucking mouth is and pledge.” He looked at me, his face hard. “As much as I don’t like taking orders from a newbie, he’s a good kid. He’s been spoken for. And… I think we should give him a go.”
The room went silent.
I looked over my shoulder at the tattoo artist. “Ready?”
The bald guy nodded, already knowing the logo, the motto, and everything he’d been told to do. He had a long night ahead of him. Amending each brother’s tattoo to reflect the new logo of Pure Corruption: an abacus with a skull and coins waterfalling from its mouth. And a Libra scale hidden in the design. For balance of right and wrong.
My heart skipped as her green eyes entered my mind.
And for her.
Admit it.
I wouldn’t.
My heart would never forget the girl who’d died way too young. Who left me for heaven and ruined my life more surely than any prison sentence.
“What’s our new motto?” A man with a greying ponytail asked.
A smile twisted my lips. “ ‘Pure in Thoughts and Vengeance. Corrupt in all Things that Matter.’ ”
It was as if the words resonated in their biker hearts. The anger switched to eagerness and fists unclenched.
My teeth gritted against the first bite of pain as the tattoo needle pierced my shoulder blades. I would be the first to don the new cut. As was my right as president.
My mind drifted as the hum of the needle melded with the rock ’n’ roll radio station someone turned on. Wallstreet’s planning from Florida State was impeccable, just like his bookkeeping—so far, the takeover was following the plan to perfection.
Not only had Wallstreet taught me how to control my anger, funnel my need for vengeance, and line my bank balance using the stock market, but he’d given me the numbers of safety deposit boxes and bank account details, and handed over his entire legacy.
All for one simple request: to ensure his MC returned to its former glory. And to put into action his largest plan of all: political domination. Wallstreet was no longer satisfied with controlling companies through stocks and bonds. He wanted the power to rewrite laws and create a world he believed would be better than the shit-filled one we currently inhabited.
He wanted it all.
He wanted to take on the government one decree and corrupt senator at a time.
And I was the linchpin to make it all happen.
I would make Pure Corruption shine brighter and stronger than ever before. And when they were ready, they would be my weapon.
I would become invincible.
I’d been ruined, but now I would rule.
Nine Days Ago
Fuck, I hurt.
Everywhere.
Goddamn idiots not accepting the change of ownership. I’d won. Four years ago, I’d proven my point, taken the Corrupts and turned them into Pure Corruption, and done everything Wallstreet ever wanted me to do.
I’d gained power. I’d brought the men back from the brink of ruin and created a smooth business once again.
I was rich. I was in charge. I was… if not happy, then content.
And the time had finally come to start the process I’d been waiting 86,750 hours for—ever since my past betrayed me.
The first year was rocky. Fights, retaliations, men testing my control. But in the end they’d come to the right conclusion—there was no point in arguing. It was done. Not just on home turf but in the other nine Chapters around the states.
I had the oaths to prove it.
I was the president now.
And nobody, fucking nobody, was allowed to say otherwise.
Which was what fucked me off about tonight.
I was the bastard to end all bastards. My word was law and I had a shitload of new ones to dish out.
“Kill—the shipment’s in full view. We need to get it locked down.” Hopper cocked his head.
My eyes shot up. The truck that’d arrived at the tail end of the fight rested like a fucking poster for crime beneath a streetlight of the industrial estate where our power wrestle went down.
“Why didn’t they park it at the back, for Christ’s sake?”
Hopper shrugged. “Because they’re a bunch of fucking monkeys. Told
you we should never have let them do it.”
It went against every rule I’d set down when I’d taken over, but Wallstreet for some reason wanted this one shipment to be done. Five girls to be sold. Trafficking—dirty business and one I argued against until he’d let me choose the women who’d slept with the fucking devil—my father.
A wash of light-headedness crept over me. I stumbled, then blinked. Whoa, what the fuck? Looking down at my all-black attire, even the darkness of the night didn’t hide the seriously fucked-up situation I was in.
Ah, shit.
I hadn’t felt it. Hyped up on adrenaline and acting with complete recklessness, I hadn’t felt a blade slice my flesh. My jacket and T-shirt were drenched in black liquid. Not that it was really black.
It was red.
And warm.
And fucking sticky.
The very stuff keeping me alive, which should be in my veins, was pouring down the front of my goddamn chest.
Hopper’s eyes followed mine, narrowing in worry. “Shit, Kill. You’re not looking so hot.”
I growled under my breath, “Don’t let them hear you. I’ll get patched up when we’re back. Not before. No weaknesses. Remember?”
Hopper and Mo were the only ones I trusted. The only ones I would ever say that sort of shit to.
He nodded. “All right, let’s get those bitches out of sight, before the pigs get here. Then we’ll get you patched.”
Together, we crossed the concrete, which was now pockmarked with bullets and stained with blood. The bodies would be left. The cops would try to work out what went down, but I knew how to plant evidence. They wouldn’t go against the governor of the state, who was a personal friend and on my roll call of puppets.
No one argued with me. No one argued with a guy with a high IQ, a proven track record, and an extra arsenal.
In the four years I’d been in charge, I’d amassed more wealth than I would ever be able to spend, I’d donated to charities, funded schools, paid for politician voting campaigns—all in the name of building a rock-solid persona.
All in the name of buying unlimited power.
I wasn’t hated. I was loved. On both sides of the law. Two lives I could use, and friends in high places, who created the perfect alibi and protected my brothers.