Torn by the Devil: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Broken Wings MC) (Satan's Outlaw Sins Book 3)

by Sophia Gray

  But what was the point in going back? He would never change. I couldn't change him. For Christ’s sake, he used to be a contract killer for the mob to fund his drug addiction! He wasn’t a good guy. He wasn't the one for me.

  My thoughts all in turmoil, I walked away from the clubhouse in search of a homeless shelter. I did not need my sister's judgment right now. She hated Pax and had been trying to convince me to leave him since we reconnected. Maybe I'd call her in a day or two, but for right now, I just needed some space to be by myself and to sort through my own issues. Not too long ago, after I had left Pax the first time, a car had hit me. It had taken me months to learn how to walk and talk again, and I hadn't remembered anything about my past. I had no idea who I was. And then, after I was discharged, two guys tried to kidnap me.

  That was when Pax had reentered my life. He claimed that we had dated, and his knowledge of my body proved it. But I had added to his scars, and he had tried to scare me off by killing a pedophile right in front of me.

  I had been given a second chance at life, so I thought he deserved one too, and I had tried to get through to him, to get him to stop killing, to figure out if there couldn't be a healthier way for him to release his stress and tension and anger. Plus, he had saved me. Maybe I could save him in return.

  So I went back to him, only to learn about the contract killings. No way could I forgive him for being a hired gun, even if it had been in the past. At least he wasn't doing drugs anymore either, but still…

  The farther away I walked from the clubhouse, the more bits and pieces of my memory came back to me. I spied an empty bench on the sidewalk. I claimed it, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. Pax had always been a hot, sexy, biker dude, but he also had another side to him. He could be tender and sweet. He'd told me several times he wasn't the romantic kind of guy. That I should never expect chocolate and roses from him. But, I was now able to remember that he would take me to the clubs that played the music I liked and he hated and we would often go to restaurants I picked. Small tokens of his love. Once upon a time, before he had divulged to me his being a contract killer, I had daydreamed about him proposing. I had figured we would spend the rest of our lives together. I had wanted to marry him.

  So not going to happen now. He might have a Wonder Cock like Marie called it, but he wasn't going to get into my pants again.

  With a start, I realized my cheeks were wet. I was crying. It didn't make me feel any better. If anything, I felt lost. I felt all alone, and I couldn't help wondering if Pax felt that way too.

  Maybe a homeless shelter was passed the clubhouse in the other direction. Sure, I was making an excuse to go back, but I wouldn't go inside. One last look. That was all.

  The back of my hand wiped away my tears, and I dried my hands on the Jasmine blue shirt Pax had given me. When I was in the hospital, I hadn't been able to remember my name, so I started to go by Jasmine. My real name was actually Allie, and even though I was getting Allie's memories back, I didn't feel like I was the same girl. Jasmine suited me just fine.

  I had dragged myself away from the clubhouse, but now that I was heading back toward it, I picked up the pace only to halt when I realized Pax's bike wasn't parked out front anymore. He had taken off. As much as I wanted to hope that he hadn't gone after the pedophile, I knew that he had.

  Worry and fear—two strong and controlling emotions—forced me back into the clubhouse. Several of his biker buddies were sitting around, talking and laughing, but they fell silent when I walked in.

  "Where's Pax?" I demanded.

  They glanced at each other and shrugged.

  "We aren't his keeper," one of them said. He had the largest unibrow I'd ever seen.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled it noisily. "Is his father still here?"

  His father—his birth father, not his asshole foster father—had been the one to inform me about Pax being a contract killer. For better or for worse, I knew the whole truth now. Not even when Pax had told me about it himself the first time, before I had lost my memory, had he been completely honest with me. He never mentioned the drugs to me back then. Only now was I able to see the hell that had been his past. And it was no small wonder that he was so screwed up, but that he refused to even consider changing…

  "Well?" I bit out. "Is his father—"

  "Nope." A bald man spoke up, entering the room from the bar. "He left."

  I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket. "Anyone know his number?"

  Baldy…. Ratched! That was his name. My memory really was coming back. And the guy with the unibrow was called Eyebrow. So original.

  Ratched pulled out his phone and read off the numbers for me.

  "What's going on?" Eyebrow asked.

  I twisted my lips into a smile. "Don't worry about it."

  "You've been acting a little different lately," Ratched said.

  I winked at him. "Don't you worry about me. I'm fine. Pax's fine."

  "Didn't sound like you were fine," Eyebrow muttered.

  Our fight had been loud and definitely not private. I winced. "We all make mistakes," I said softly.

  With that, I left the clubhouse again and dialed Pax's father.

  He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

  "Hi, this is… Allie." I had given him my old name, not my new one when we had talked earlier.

  "Allie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… I thought you already knew; I swear I did. I never would've told you otherwise."

  I didn't have time for his apology. "Pax took off. I… I know I just left him…" Again. "But I'm worried and, well…"

  "I'm just down the block. I'll be right back."

  It didn't take him long at all to return with his car. It felt so weird to have a seatbelt on. Pax only ever drove his bike, and I already missed the wind blowing my hair back and feeling his hard body against me. Riding on his bike was amazing and such a turn on.

  I shook that delicious thought away. "How can we find him?"

  "Easy, so long as he has his cell on. We can…"

  And he went on and on about apps, and my eyes glazed over. I wasn't quite sure of all of the details, and I didn't care about technology. Just finding Pax. Once I learned he was all right, I could move on with my life. I would find a job, get myself a place, buy food and clothes…

  "Ah, there we go." His father plugged the address into his GPS and floored it.

  I gripped the door handle. Like father, like son. Pax rode his bike, crazy fast too.

  Soon, we pulled up to a run-down apartment building. "What floor?" I asked. The building had five stories.

  "Don't know. The app isn't that precise." He shook his head ruefully.

  I walked around the side of the building. Some bushes were smashed, covered with broken glass, and there were some bloody footprints. I followed them, but the trail ended quickly.

  Fear making my heart pound, I glanced up to see a balcony whose door was shattered. I pointed to it. "Look."

  "Third floor. Let's check it out."

  I nodded, my throat too tight for me to respond.

  We rushed inside and took the stairs. The sound of sirens could be heard, but they were far away yet. I had to assume they were coming here. The police. Pax. If he were caught, he'd be sent to jail for a long, long time.

  With his long legs, Pax's father beat me up the stairs, and we rushed past the closed doors on either side of the hallway. Only one was open. Room 328. His father went in first, and it took me until now to realize he was holding a gun. I almost felt safer for it.

  "Uh, Allie…"

  I entered the room behind him and stared at the dead man bleeding onto the carpet. Was he the pedophile? Had Pax killed him?

  In a daze, I whirled around.

  That was when I saw him. Pax. Face down on the carpet and bleeding just as profusely as the other guy.

  I dropped to my knees beside him. So many thoughts jumbled in my mind, but I couldn't voice any of them. I couldn't breathe. What do we do? Th
e sirens were getting louder. They were definitely headed this way.

  Wide-eyed, I stared at his father.

  Wordlessly, he shoved his gun into the back of his pants, tossed me his car keys, and slung Pax onto his back. He rushed out the door.

  I could only follow him.

  "Take my car. Follow me." Grunting, Pax's father situated himself and his son onto Pax's bike and took off.

  Hands trembling, I raced to the car. It took me two tries to get the key into the ignition, but then I was off, chasing him. I couldn't see clearly. Tears blurred my vision, and a few times, cars honked at me, but I kept on driving, watching the bike in front of me, staring at Pax…

  All of a sudden, the bike veered sharply to the right. My tires screeched as I followed. We were at a hospital. Thank God, but won't they call the police? I hadn't seen enough of Pax's wounds to know for certain, but I was still positive he'd been shot… Maybe even more than once considering all of that blood…

  My parking job was terrible, but I couldn’t care less and hopped out of the car and rushed over to the bike. Pax's father was already walking to the door.

  "Won't they—"

  He cut me off. "The club always uses this hospital. It's private, and they won't report him. Just follow my lead."

  In a mind-numbing blur, I trailed behind him inside the hospital and watched as the nurse jumped to her feet to grab a wheelchair. When she noticed the bullet holes—damn, he had been shot multiple times! —she exchanged it for a gurney. A doctor and then another one approached, and they wheeled him away.

  I sank to the floor, my arms covering my head. I was back to crying again.

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  I glanced up but couldn't see through the haze of tears.

  "They're taking him to surgery. All we can do is wait." Pax's father sat in the chair closest to me. "At least I don't have to fill out any paperwork," he muttered. "Just told him he has no medical conditions, no medicine allergies, and what his blood type is. They don’t need anything else."

  I remained on the floor, not wanting to move, not wanting to feel. Even though I had just left Pax, I didn't want him to die. Grief overwhelmed me. In the hospital, depression had been my only companion, but grief was a thousand times worse. It prickled at you, sharp and constant, needling away at your soul. If he died… He wouldn't die, right? He couldn't. He had to survive.

  Had my fear come true? Had he been distracted because of me? Or had he decided life wasn't worth living anymore? That he couldn't take any more pain and disappointment from people he thought had cared for him? His scars ran so deep, and he had so many demons. Did he want to die?

  I was a firm believer that the mind was a very powerful tool. If he didn't want to live, he wouldn't survive the surgery.

  Somehow, I climbed to my feet. I stumbled over to the nurse who had helped him. "Please. I need to see Pax. I have to talk to him. I have something he has to hear."

  "Honey, he's in emergency surgery right now." She patted my arm.

  "I know," I choked out, "but you don't understand. We got into a fight and—"

  "You can see him as soon as he wakes up from surgery, dear."

  "But what if…"

  She shook her head, her gray hair not moving an inch from all of her hairspray. "Don't go down that road."

  "But he—"

  "If your connection is strong enough, he'll know you're here. He'll know what's in your heart."

  But he didn't know. Even though I had thought I was done with Pax, I realized now I wasn't. Not yet.

  Damn it, Pax, don't you dare die on me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Pax

  Light shone beyond my closed eyelids. I groaned, not wanting to move. My mind was hazy. I couldn't remember what had happened, and from the way my body felt, I suspected I didn't want to. Everything ached. So much pain.

  And not all of it was physical. I knew that much.

  Allie had returned to me as Jasmine. Just as beautiful. Just as devastating. My light. My salvation.

  Only Jasmine, just like Allie, had left me. That ache in my chest was more from her than the pain my body seemed to be trapped in.

  I still hadn't opened my eyes. Almost didn't want to. Didn't want to see where I was. Hell, most likely. I deserved it. I had done a lot of fucked up shit in my life. No way did I deserve happiness. I didn't deserve Jasmine. Hell, I wasn't sure I deserved to live.

  That thought triggered a memory, and I knew then where I had to be. My face wasn't smashed up against that dirty carpet anymore. I wasn't lying in a puddle of blood. I had been moved from the apartment the damned pedo had fled from, but not before that fucker's friend shot me twice. I knew I had killed him—saw his brain and blood splatter—but he had damned near killed me too.

  Now, I finally opened my eyes. I was in a hospital, the same private one I always went to when I needed medical attention. The only one us bikers trusted to not ask questions or require us to fill out forms. We had an understanding that worked out in both of our favors. Namely, we bought them off with some of the money we stole from the rich. Yeah, my boys were my brothers, and they were just as much criminals as I was. They helped me on my missions to kill pedos, and we were all thieves too.

  My upper thigh was bandaged, but all in all, my legs didn't hurt too badly. It was my upper chest, the left side that was the source of all of my pain. Near my heart. The shithead had gotten me and good.

  I was lying down, and I wasn't about to try and sit up. My chest felt like it was on fire. Jasmine made me hot, but this fire was so far removed from anything sexual that it stole my breath away and almost made me wish for death, just to take the burning agony away.

  What was even scarier, though, was that beneath the pain was something I hadn't felt for a long time—weakness. I was weak. I felt small and fragile. I hadn't had a brush with death for a long while, not since my druggie days. Yeah, so I had been reckless and impulsive when I’d gone after the pedo by myself, and I might have even thought that maybe my life hadn't been worth living, but since I had survived, I might have to rethink that.

  I took a deep breath and winced at the shock of pain that spread throughout my body like wildfire. Or maybe not.

  Now wasn't the time to worry about being weak and wallowing in pity because of my injuries. No. Mostly, I was pissed as all hell that the fucking pedo, Frank Greene, had gotten away. Jumped off a third-story balcony. I was certain he survived the jump. Assholes had nine lives, just like cats. Cats were assholes too.

  He had gotten away. How much time had passed? Even if he had used his friend's car to get away, he had probably switched plates by now or dumped it and stole another one. Had his friend given him cash? If so, finding him again was going to be next to impossible if he skipped town. Even though the police were also out looking for him, they wouldn't be able to follow a non-existent paper trail. Unless someone saw him and word got back to me, I had lost him. Fucking piece of shit.

  I turned to stare out the window. Just moving my neck hurt. My left arm hurt like a bitch too.

  Footsteps sounded, but I didn't bother to look to see who it was. A nurse, most likely. Wanting to prod and poke and hurt me more.

  "You're awake."

  I bristled, wincing again, at the familiar voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  My birth father walked around my bed to sit in the chair underneath the window. He looked tired and worn, and his clothes were wrinkled. The same clothes he'd worn to the clubhouse when he'd spoken with Jasmine and let slip about my previous job—a hired gun for the mob.

  I hadn't had the time to lay into him yet, considering I'd gone off half-cocked and tracked down a lead on the pedo right after Jasmine and I had a huge blow-up and she told she never wanted to see me again. This was all his fault. My birth father had never been there for me. Sure he hadn't known I was alive, and as soon as he found out, he had sought me out, but when I had needed him the most he hadn't been there for me. The guy who
replaced him in my life, my foster father, had molested me, scarred me, twisted and molded me into the man I was now.

  "The hell do you want?" I asked before he could respond to my first question.

  "I'm so glad you're all right. We… We weren't sure if you'd make it."

  "I'm here, aren't I?" I said almost bitterly.

  "Surgery almost turned sour, from what I overheard. The bullet was close to your heart, and they couldn't get to it at first. But, with time, you should be fine. You will be fine."