by Sophia Gray
If she’d had her bra at least, would he have had such easy access? Would she have been spared at least that one piece of humiliation?
But it was worse than that. What if I had been more understanding, less of a fool? She had told me she loved me and I had tossed her out like a piece of trash, like she was tainted and so wholly unworthy that I couldn’t even waste the least bit of time on her. But what if I had done what I should have done? What if I’d been honest with her, too?
I could have told her that I loved her back. We could have stayed there at my place—well, Jackson’s place—and made love a hundred more times until we were too exhausted to move, too sated to even want to try. I could have made her breakfast and she could have made coffee and we could have lounged in the kitchen, mostly naked, caressing each other’s bodies until we had each other memorized all over again.
But I hadn’t done that. Instead, I’d kicked her out when I knew that Santos had hit her. And I knew Santos well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave it at that. I should have known that he would go after her—some part of me wondered if I did know that and had let it happen, but I tried my best to shove that aside, because I wasn’t sure I could survive that kind of guilt and darkness—and I should have insisted that, whatever was wrong between us, she stay.
Now I had to live with the guilt of knowing that I could have prevented what happened to her tonight.
Taking in a shuddering breath, I forced myself to look down at her and smile. I wouldn’t let anything ever happen to her again, I swore to myself. “I wish I could just let you run out of here with the others,” I told her, letting the apology show thick in my voice. “But you’re going to have to be here to explain some things, otherwise everyone’s going to be in big trouble.”
Zelda shook her head, smiling slightly up at me, her doe eyes still big and full of lingering, haggard fear and love for me. “If you’re staying here, then I’m staying here.”
I cracked a smile at that, genuinely touched. Then I turned back to address those people who lingered in the house. Bobby, Sr. was doing a good job of getting everyone the hell out of Dodge.
“The police are going to be here soon,” I informed the group as a whole.
Wildcard cursed at the same time that Santos—who was tied up but not gagged unfortunately—barked out a harsh, angry, “What?”
“I called them before we got here and left an anonymous tip.” I turned my gaze, cool and pointed, to Santos. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
He snapped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth, and wisely chose to say nothing. I wasn’t a fool and knew full well that Santos had informed to the police on me. He was the reason I’d spent the last five years in prison and I would always remember that. It helped ease any guilt I might have had regarding calling the police on someone who was similar in so many ways to myself.
Except for the whole raping thing. No common ground there.
Wildcard looked over at me. He was pale and drawn, but hanging in there. He’d have to go to the hospital, I was pretty sure, which was going to go over about as well as my announcement that the police were coming had.
“Boss, I don’t think I should be here if the police are coming,” he admitted a little raggedly. I could hear his worry lacing his voice.
I knew a little of Wildcard’s past and understood that he didn’t have a great track record with the police. They had a tendency of taking one look at him and trying their damnedest to railroad him until he was stuck with time for crimes he didn’t even commit. It didn’t make him overly fond of them and I understood his intense desire to leave.
But I needed him to stay.
I shook my head. “Sorry, Wildcard. I know you’re not thrilled, but you played a big part in this whole thing tonight and I need our stories to match up without sounding like I’ve been force feeding it to someone. You were here, you can be honest without sounding like a storyteller.”
“What the hell are the police even doing here?” demanded Santos, who, in my personal opinion, was in no position to be demanding anything.
I shot him a cold glare. “To arrest you and make sure you go to prison for a very, very long time.”
Santos looked smug as he laughed at my statement. “With what evidence? All you’ve got on your side is the word of a couple of rough riders and a whore.” He moved his chin in the direction of Zelda, who was still in my arms.
I made to go after him, red clouding my vision as anger took over. I wouldn’t let him hurt her ever again. Not even with words. But I didn’t get very far. Zelda clutched at me, shaking her head desperately.
“He’s not worth it,” she murmured, tears in her eyes, pleading with me to stay here in her arms rather than leave to disembowel the monster before us. “Please stay with me.”
Her words and her big eyes were enough to convince me. I held her tighter and spat at him, “You’ll never fucking touch her again.”
He laughed a little at that, but it was cut short as Schumacher—the only other member of my club who lingered—punched him square in the jaw. It was already tender from earlier, it looked like, so it couldn’t have felt good now.
A groan escaped his mouth and Schumacher told him to shut up before things got uglier than his face already was.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, boss?” Wildcard asked, glaring daggers at Santos, but still sounding worried about the police.
I continued to hold Zelda as I nodded at him. “Yes. They have a pretty good idea of what’s going on, and more to the point, they’ve already got the file from—”
“The file?” Santos repeated, sounding nasally thanks to his nose which was probably broken from earlier and filled once again with blood. “You fucking destroyed it! I saw you!”
I let a malicious, cool grin spread across my face. I wouldn’t have smiled like that if Zelda had been able to see me, but she was tucked safely in my arms and couldn’t see my face. Which let me glace menacingly at Santos without worrying about scaring her.
“You saw me destroy a file,” I corrected him. “I’d acquired more than a few from your manager.”
Santos paled as he realized what I was talking about. I hadn’t been stupid when I arrived here tonight, prepared to trade my life away for Zelda’s. Santos was the kind of man who would destroy us both if he could, and make us miserable if he couldn’t. And I knew that though I had leverage against him, getting out of there with myself, Zelda, and the file all intact was unrealistic. I was hoping that maybe I could take care of all of this before things all went to hell, but I wasn’t counting on it.
Before arriving, I made a point of sending the file with all its incriminating evidence to the police department with a few additional notes of my own. I included Calvin’s name and his willingness to testify, as well as the suspected bribery going on for the lawsuits that were unceremoniously dropped. In addition, I also mentioned that Zelda had been kidnapped.
If all of that wasn’t enough to light a fire under their asses, then I didn’t know what was.
The police arrived within another five minutes. They came up and ordered all of us to have our hands up. It took a little while after that to get things sorted out, but eventually they got the message that Santos was the piece of shit who had kidnapped and attempted to rape my girlfriend. They ordered Wildcard to go to the hospital—not in handcuffs, unlike Santos—and I ended up having to go as well. Zelda was told she could check out, though she insisted that Santos didn’t actually rape her, only molested her and savagely attacked her.
It was enough that I noticed the cops weren’t particularly gentle as they handled Santos, despite his injured arm.
Schumacher was the only one of us who didn’t need immediate medical attention, so he had to stay and answer question after question. I didn’t envy him, but I also knew the rest of us wouldn’t escape questioning either.
But I didn’t care. All I cared about was the fact that I had Zelda in my arms again and Santos would spe
nd a very, very long time behind bars.
***
Over the course of the next week, we dealt with the police a lot. Answering questions and explaining how I’d gotten my hands on private documents regarding VCI and their involvement and direct responsibility with the collapse of the charity house. Thanks to Bones, who made some polite calls and veiled threats to the manager of VCI, he was going to testify against Santos in exchange for a reduced sentence, saving our butts by claiming to have “come clean” and given us the documents. That made the evidence admissible in court and it also meant that Santos was likely to take the brunt of the damage for what had happened.
Santos would stay in jail until his trial date, so I was relieved. He wouldn’t be coming for us anytime soon. Thanks to what had happened at his house and the fact that he was no longer running around out and free, the Wicked Titans were beginning to break apart. Some lingered still, but most had gotten the hint that Santos was going away for a long time and that the Berserkers MC was unlikely to tolerate them.
It seemed like there was nothing but smooth sailing, and I was more at ease than I had been in years.
I was sitting on the couch at Jackson’s with Zelda leaning against me, her long legs stretched out and propped against the opposite arm. She was reading something, lost in it while also taking comfort in being close to me.
I could understand that; I was doing the same.
Though Zelda had her own place and it would be easier for us to go stay there, she had insisted on spending most of our time here at Jackson’s. I sensed that she was still upset about everything that had happened—and who could blame her—and wasn’t entirely comfortable with her house yet. From what I understood, Santos spent more than a little time there.
I was just relieved that he hadn’t done what he’d done to her there. I wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to recover from that.
I was playing with Zelda’s hair when the door opened and voices filtered in. Zelda stiffed, immediately taken out of her book, though she continued to stare at the page, pretending otherwise.
“…redecorate! What’s wrong with the old color?” This was Jackson and he sounded like he was whining, though not truly upset.
“Because I’m not two anymore! I don’t want baby pink on the walls!”
I smiled when I heard the voice of the little girl answering him.
I was pleased to see that he’d won out in the end and that she’d come home.
As soon as Zelda recognized the voices like I had, she sat up, lowering her book at the same time. She peered over the back of the couch to see Jackson and Angel. Jackson was surprised to see her there and looked between the two of us.
He’d missed quite a bit I realized.
“Hey. So…how are things with you guys?”
Zelda laughed at that, a rich, sweet sound. “We’re good, Jackson. We’re good.” Then she looked back at me, smiling softly. She stretched so that she could plant a sweet kiss on my lips. When she pulled away, she added in a soft whisper just for me, “In fact, I think we’re going to live happily ever after.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.
THE END
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Bonus Book – Prize: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
The bad boy’s prize is a baby in my belly.
One night with the dark, mysterious man of my dreams – it should have been perfect.
He swept me off my feet, took my virginity… and left me with a child in my womb.
But just when everything seems as horrible as it could possibly be, I find out who Nikolai really is – and what he is about to do to my family.
Who knew getting lucky would turn out to be so unfortunate?
I was new to the city, an innocent country girl with dreams as big as my eyes.
He was a killer with a million-dollar smile.
Some lines aren’t meant to be crossed, but our lust didn’t care about right and wrong.
I wanted him; he wanted me – for one night, at least.
That was enough.
But two months later, a bout of nausea forces me to confront the truth:
I’m carrying the bad boy’s baby.
I don’t know what to do – do I look for him? Do I raise the child myself?
Before I can decide, there’s a knock on the door.
It’s Nikolai.
To my surprise, he’s looking for my no-good brother.
But something in his eyes tells me that nothing good will come at the end of this search.
My brother may be a scumbag, but he’s still my flesh and blood.
If Nikolai wants to kill him, he’ll have to go through me…
And our baby.
Chapter 1
Madeline
The alarm was red and bleary, or maybe that was just my vision. It was early, too early for my alarm, which meant I was losing valuable sleep instead of rejuvenating for the exam I had in just two hours in Renaissance Paintings of Europe—a boring, “easy” class for most who were naïve and picking based on nothing more than the category it fell under—art in this case, but it was part of my major. There was a lingering image in my mind, something about a dream and a man and something dark and hot. I blushed at the thought that maybe it was a wet dream, but then I felt my forehead and decided my blushing had nothing to do with the dream.
I felt sick. Bad sick.
When my stomach roiled and gurgled, angry for being woken, yet doing the waking itself, I knew I had only moments to get to the bathroom. I tumbled from the bed, which was so close to the hardwood floor anyway that I couldn’t stick a textbook under there, much less anything else. The sheets tangled around my legs, but I scrambled away from them, half crawling and half running for the little bathroom that was stuck between my bedroom—which was really just curtained off from the rest of the living room and kitchen—and the open living space. I ducked into it, not bothering with the door.
It was hanging off its hinges, leaning against the doorjamb at an odd angle, precarious enough that I thought more than once I’d knock it over and have it fall on top of me while I was trying to pee.
Today I didn’t worry about it, though. All I cared about was getting to the toilet.
When I reached the porcelain bowl, I got my face over it just in time to retch up anything that might have been lingering in my stomach. I ached and burned, flushed with what was probably a nasty fever as my body tried to expel whatever toxins were in my system. I had enough forethought to hold my long blonde hair away from my face, keeping it mostly out of the bowl. When I thought the throwing up portion of my morning was finished, I flushed the toilet, but I didn’t get up right away.
I felt awful. And not just a little bit.
Leaning against the wall beside the door, I sat on the cool tiles and tried to calm my still queasy insides.
Maybe it’s just nerves, a very stupid part of my brain tried to convince me.
Nerves over this huge test which I needed to pass to get a good grade in the class, which I needed to have since my major was art. And it wasn’t one of those classes that was all “portfolio work” and “sketchbook time” and whatever else came with those kinds of classes. This was all history and studying and long-winded, fluff-filled papers. All of the stuff that didn’t come necessarily naturally to me. If anything, I was working harder in this class than I ever had before in my life.
Who would have guessed college was so hard?
I groaned, slumping farther so I could press my forehead against the tile. It was delightfully cool and brought me some modicum of relief. Just a little, but it was enough. Until I felt my stomach lurch again and then I was back over the toilet.
The flu. It’s definitely the flu, I thought, and continu
ed to heave until there was nothing left.
I took a shower directly after that. Mostly because I felt so gross that not taking a shower wasn’t an option. I understood bodily functions were bodily functions and everyone did them, but that didn’t mean I was cool with throwing up. Ew. So I showered. I washed my hair and I brushed my teeth about ten times. I nearly threw up again, but just managed to avoid it. And by the time I got out of the shower, I felt better. Not completely better, in fact my stomach was still bothering me, but a little better. Better enough to go to class.
At least that was what I was telling myself. I had to get to that class. Period. My exam could not wait, nor would Mrs. Sylvia cut me any slack, no matter how sick I was.