I’m going to die.
The boy I loved is going to kill me.
I’m too young to die.
I just turned eighteen a few days ago.
With a grunt, he yanks my jeans off one leg and then pushes my thighs roughly apart. I scream when he cuts through my panties. He’s just pulling his dick out, with the sticky rubber he was wearing with Juicy still hanging on, when he freezes, his eyes widening in shock. Blood still runs past his lips from losing teeth, but he’s no longer trying to assault me.
“Get. The. Fuck. Up.”
The voice behind him is cold and evil. Bone chilling.
Milk yelps when he’s yanked off me and to his feet. The man behind him isn’t a demon. It’s the devil himself. Dark eyes. Dark hair. Dark soul. A thick, scarred “X” cuts through his skin on his face, making him look utterly terrifying. He has a fat knife pressed to Milk’s throat.
“He rape you?” the man growls, eyeing me with wild, manic eyes.
“Run, Hadley.” Milk’s violent stare is gone and he’s the worried boy who loved me at one time.
I shakily grab for my jeans, but the big man is standing on them. “You’re not going out there.” His command freezes me. “Where’s Putnam?” the man hisses, pressing the blade into Milk’s flesh so that he bleeds from the action.
“I don’t know,” Milk lies.
“Three seconds to answer.”
“I said I don’t fucking—”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The deafening sound of gunfire has me shrieking. I scramble into the safety of the storage room, butt-ass naked, no longer worried about my jeans. The devil man stalks after me, hauling Milk with him.
“I was going to make him watch, but not after this shit. You don’t deserve to fucking breathe another second, you piece of shit,” the man snarls. “This. Is. For. Your. Father.”
I stare in horror as the man stabs Milk so many times I lose count. Ribs. Stomach. Chest.
“Nooooo!” I scream. “Noooo!”
Milk gushes blood from each hole and his eyes roll back. The man holds him up even though he’s clearly passed out. The gunfire is relentless in the other room, but this monster isn’t worried. He simply holds him until he stops twitching. Then, without any remorse, he drops him to the floor like a sack of garbage. A sob rattles through me as I scramble over to Milk.
“Junior!” I cry out. “Junior, wake up, baby! Please!”
So much blood.
He’s not waking up.
He’ll never wake up.
“Holy shit, Koyn,” a deep voice rumbles from behind the murdering monster. “She looks like Bla—”
“I know,” the monster growls and stalks over to me. I screech when he snags my arm, hauling me to my feet. I’m easily hoisted up and thrown over his shoulder as though I weigh nothing. My bare ass is up in the air for all to see.
“You find Putnam?” Koyn growls.
“Fucker got away. Everyone else is dead, though.”
“Goddammit!” Koyn roars, his fury rattling me to my bones.
Everyone? Hammer? Bouncer? Molly? Juicy?
Oh God.
I stop my struggling when I realize the man speaking to Koyn is wearing an FBI jacket. Am I safe? Did they save me?
“Cover this shit up, Copper. Ride back to Animal’s club with Filter. I’m getting her the hell out of here.”
Cover it up?
Copper—the fucking dirty Fed—nods, his features somber. “Fine, but you’re taking her? Why, Koyn?”
Koyn practically snarls and he grips my naked thighs hard like I might run away. “You know fucking why.”
Koyn
Blaire. Blaire. Blaire.
When I looked into the girl’s deep brown eyes—the color of how Ellie used to drink her coffee—my mind cracked. Right down the fucking middle. Blood covered her face. She was half naked. And her makeup was running from her tears.
That motherfucker was going to rape her.
Just like his father did my daughter.
Just. Like. Blaire.
I had plans for Putnam’s son. Dark, twisted, nefarious plans. Plans that involved strapping Putnam to a chair so he could watch as I shaved off every inch of his son’s flesh with a dull pocketknife.
But the moment I saw the girl, I wasn’t Koyn.
I was Dad.
Husband.
Protector.
The threat stood between me and Blaire. It had to be eliminated.
She’s not Blaire, though.
I buried my baby girl ten years ago beside her mother in a small cemetery in Pearland, Texas, beneath a willow tree.
“Please let me go,” the girl begs. “Please.”
“It’s not safe,” I practically hiss.
I walk back into the bar area and it’s a fucking bloodbath. We need to just torch the place. When Dragon’s eyes widen, I realize the girl’s still naked.
Fuck.
I jerk her off my shoulder and put her on her feet.
“Don’t move.” My harsh order makes her tremble, but she nods, her bottom lip wobbling. I yank off my cut and toss it on a table so I can pull off my long-sleeved black Henley. “You’re going to put this on.”
She doesn’t fight me as I help dress her in a shirt that falls to her knees, covering enough. I tug my cut back on over my undershirt and then snag her by her elbow.
“Let’s move, girl,” I grunt. “You don’t need to see this shit.”
I haul her outside and she puts on the brakes.
“No! I’m not leaving with you!” she shrieks. “You killed my boyfriend!”
Grabbing both her shoulders, I get in her face. She shrinks back, terror shining in her brown eyes.
“He was assaulting you. Some fucking boyfriend.”
She sobs all the way to the truck. I fling open the back seat door to the truck and toss her inside.
“Buckle in and stay put.”
“Please, mister…”
I slam the truck door and hop in the front. Copper’s stupid country music blares the moment I turn over the engine and I flip the dial until something hard roars through the cab. My adrenaline is flying through my veins like I’m high on coke or some shit. I’m practically shaking with a mix of both raging anger at losing Putnam and relief at rescuing the girl.
Not her.
Not her.
Not her.
Her sobs are loud in the back seat, but I can’t talk to her. Not now. Not like this. Not when I’m seconds away from pulling the girl into my arms, stroking her bloody hair, and promising her Daddy will make it all better.
Not mine.
She’s not mine.
Yet a sense of ownership wraps its sticky tentacles around my heart. The need to protect, all-consuming. This girl looks so much like Blaire it’s fucking with my head. She’s someone’s daughter, though clearly not mine, and doesn’t deserve to be club trash and raped.
The drive out to Animal’s clubhouse flashes by in a blur. I need to get back to my compound, but I’m shaking too fucking badly to drive the four plus hours back. I need a smoke. I need a drink. I need to chase any leads to Putnam.
“Please,” the girl begs.
“You’re safe now.” My words are raspy and cold. So much for reassuring her. “What’s your name?”