“I hate you,” I choke out as I drop the gun by my side and am forced to find my own feet. Grainger isn’t about to help me up now. “I hate all of you. I hate this life. I hate it; I hate it; I hate it.” I’m mumbling under my breath as I stand up, dripping crimson across the pine-needle strewn floor.
My very presence here has turned this sanctuary into a pit of perdition.
The very fact that my DNA is a byproduct of Cat’s wrinkly old balls has caused yet another death.
I wish I’d never been born.
Literally.
This is not me having an existential crisis: if I could snap my fingers and erase myself from existence, I would.
“Hate me while you walk then,” Grainge snaps, yanking the door open and shoving me out.
The first person I see waiting for me … is Cat.
“Girl,” he says, nostrils flared, dark eyes wide, “you are in for a world of hurt.”
I’m forced to ride home on the back of Grainger’s bike. I’d much rather go with Sin or Crown or even Beast, but no. No, I get Grainge. Again. He’s like a disease I can’t cure, a poison I can’t treat. I couldn’t even take Fem with me. I had to leave him with Crown; half of me is terrified that Cat will shoot him to teach me a lesson.
“You are so fucking lucky you’re still alive,” he tells me as Nellie meets us at the front door, sobbing and throwing her arms around me. I stiffen up, and I only let her hug me for the span of a single heartbeat. Then I push her aside, trailing blood across the floor as I head for the stairs. Some of it dried in the punishing wind as we drove home at manic speeds, but not all of it.
I start stripping right there in the foyer, tossing aside my leather jacket and sopping tank, the bra that has … gore inside of it. Can’t think about what, exactly, any of that gore is because if I do, I’ll stop walking, sit down on the stairs, and refuse to get up for days.
“What happened?” Nellie’s asking, but even though I sort of feel sorry for her, the truth is this: neither Grainger nor I think she’s worth talking to. Neither of us like her. Fuck, that’s awful isn’t it? Shouldn’t a girl love her mother, especially when she’s the only daughter that’s left? But I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t forgive and forget just like that.
When Mom found out she was pregnant with Gaz, she should’ve ran from Cat and saved us all the heartache and the pain.
“Are you listening to me?” Grainge continues, following me up the steps as I kick my boots aside, peel off my socks. I try to take a stair or two between each item of clothing, but I feel so gross. I just need it off. Off, off, off.
“No.”
When I get to the top landing, Grainge digs his fingers into the back of my leather pants and yanks me back toward him, putting my back to his front. My breasts are bare; my breath is a panting, gasping mess, but none of that matters. The heart wants what it wants—even when that heart is black, broken, and bleeding.
Kissing Sin at the funeral stole all my pain away. What would happen if I fucked Grainge now? I hate him; I hate myself; I hate what just happened. I’m full of it, all of this wild, wild hate.
Nellie is watching us from the bottom of the stairs, but what is she gonna say? Cat is fifteen years older than her; Grainger is fifteen years older than me. My mother’s fucked other men in front of me while my dad returned the favor with other women in the same room. What pedestal does my mom have to stand on?
Grainger shudders from behind me, his breath stirring my hair. When he leans down and puts his lips near my neck, I almost fall to the floor. My legs are already shaky enough as it is. He leans into me, the bulge in his pants pressing into my bare lower back. His mouth moves to my ear, making me shiver.
“Get in your room,” he growls, letting go of my pants and giving me a small shove in my lower back. I’m proud of myself for managing to keep my feet as I storm toward my room, suddenly full of rage as well as hate. “And get used to it because you won’t be leaving it for months.”
“Despite what you may think,” I quip as I pause at the door, turning and baring my breasts to Grainger’s hungry gaze, “you are not my father, so stop acting like you are.” With my usual, rebellious flare, I slam the door closed as hard as I can, but Grainge catches it. He shoves his way in and yanks it closed behind him.
“When have I ever acted like your father?” he asks me, stepping forward and expecting me to move back. That’s just proof that he doesn’t know me at all. How could I expect him to anyway? We spent a few months hanging out on and off, smoking pot together, getting drunk. Once, Grainge sat back and watched me snort some coke.
And then there was that night …
That horrifically beautiful nightmare, that dream made of shadows.
“Get out of my room,” I snarl, looking down at my bloodied toes, pressed against the steel-toed fronts of Grainge’s boots. I can feel him staring at me, this hot, achy feeling creeping over my naked flesh. If only his big, hot hands would palm my breasts, trace down the curve of my waist to my hip. That would make the pain go away, wouldn’t it?
“So you can sneak out the window again? Fat fucking chance.” Grainger pulls a multi-tool from his belt and heads over to the door, opening it and starting in on the hinges.
What. The. Fuck?
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap as I cover my breasts by crossing my arms over my chest. Finally, finally I’m starting to get real boobs. I may never be as big as Queenie or Posey, but … that’s okay. I pause next to Grainger and watch in horror as he removes my door from the jamb, screw by agonizing screw.
“Cat’s orders,” he barks as I stare at that little moon tattoo on his hairline. If Cat said I was in for a world of hurt, he means it. The fact that he sent me home unmolested means he’s either planning something or he’s so pissed he doesn’t know what to do with me. If he sends Gaz again … Fuck, I just hope my dog is okay.
“He wants to strip me of my dignity now as well as my freedom, huh?” I ask, but Grainger doesn’t answer. No, he’s too busy taking away my last level of defense against Cat and Nellie. A door might not seem like a big deal, but in this house, with this crowd, it’s huge. My throat closes up and I take a step back, purposely flicking the button on my pants in a way that draws Grainger’s attention. The zipper comes down next, and I oh-so carefully peel the bloody leather over the generous swells of my hips.
Without another word, I kick the pants off and challenge Grainger’s dark gaze with one of my own. His is filled with violence, lust, shadows, pain … I wonder what mine looks like? Does it reflect back like a wolf’s eyes in the dark? Do I look like a predator, too? Or is it just Grainger that looks that way?
I turn and head into the bathroom, not bothering to switch the lights on, and climb in the shower before the water is even warm. The ice cold spatters hit my back as I stare at the shadowy porcelain floor. The freezing spray reminds me of that day in the cemetery, with ash instead of leaves swirling in the wood, shiny coffins, dead girls.
I feel like a dead girl right now, standing in a shower of melancholy and regret.
Grainger moves over to the doorway, rimmed in light from my beside lamp. I can see him through the plastic shower curtain. The bottom is frosted, but the top isn’t. Can he see my breasts from there, or is it too dark? I tell myself it doesn’t matter either way, but I want him to come after me because I’m too chicken shit to go after him myself.
Too afraid to fuck the hurt away because once that’s gone … then what’s left?
What if I’m just empty inside?
“I’m not supposed to take my eyes off of you,” Grainger snarls, like he’s just so damn pissed about that statement he can barely remember to breathe.
“I don’t think Cat meant to stare at me naked in the shower,” I quip, because even when I’m falling apart on the inside, I can pretend that I’ve got it together on the out. Reba … She’ll never talk to me again after this, no way. Not a chance in fucking hell. I’ve ruined the one positive rel
ationship I had in my life besides the one I have with my dog. There’s not a single other person around that I don’t hate.
What am I going to do?
“I can’t believe I’m stuck babysitting a kid,” he whispers under his breath, just loud enough that I know he means for me to hear that. Ire surges up inside of me like a tsunami, just as the water goes from cold to hot and scalds my naked flesh. I throw aside the curtain and step out onto the white rug, moving over to stand in front of Grainger and not caring that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
“You didn’t seem to think I was a kid two years ago. What’s changed, huh?” Grainger curses, swiping his hand down his face in frustration. “Or at the church just last week. Have you already forgotten about that?”
He looks at me then, and his face is just all sorts of sadistic and savage.
“Gidget, you are in way over your head.” Grainger steps back, his arms rippling with tattoos, his eyes half-lidded and his gaze cruel. “You might have a lush body and perky tits, but you have no fucking clue what you’re doing.”
“Don’t I?” I ask, moving forward until we’re standing front to front. When I breathe, my hardened nipples brush against his chest. Grainge scowls at me, but when I curl my fingers under the waistband of his jeans, he doesn’t stop me. “You’re so easy to read, Cade Grainger.” I find the thick hard length of him, trapped behind denim and straining to get out. As I stroke him with my fingers, I undo his belt with my other hand. The leather whips out of the denim loops with a hiss, and I toss it aside.
He just fucking stares at me.
“Playing games you can’t win,” he scowls, reaching down to grab my wrist. Instead of pushing me away, he uses it to pull me closer. Cade Grainger leans down and crushes his mouth to mine, running his tongue along my lower lip and spreading an ardent wave of heat through my body. My right hand finishes undoing his jeans, and since we’re already so close and I’m already so naked, Grainge just picks me up and parks my ass on my desk.
There’s no door to my room. Nellie is down there. Cat could be home at any minute.
If he caught us like this … I’m not sure what would happen, but Armageddon is a distinct possibility.
Grainge’s eyes are so dark and pretty, his lashes so long. It’s so … not fair. Why would nature dress up a crazy asshole in such beauty? He’s almost … fuck, I don’t want to say irresistible, but that’s the only word that’ll come to mind.
“Who says I’m playing a game?” I ask as I push Grainge’s pants down and free his hard length. He’s sweaty, and he smells like cumin and saffron, black pepper and vanilla. Just a little bit of sweet with all that spice. Too bad none of that translates to his personality. Our eyes are locked as I work him with my hand, watching his breath as it shudders between his lips.
He wants me. I can see it written into every tense line in his face, in the tightness of his muscles, in the hard press of his fingers against my ass.
Only … this doesn’t feel like the hate fuck I wanted so badly. No, it’s like it’s transformed into something else and that’s scaring me.
Grainger must sense it, too, because he reaches up, skims one palm over my full breast, and then shakes his head.
“Oh fuck no,” he snarls, pushing away from me and putting his dick back in his jeans. I try to grab onto his t-shirt, but he tears from my grip and spins away, raking his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?” He looks back at me, and there’s the strangest goddamn expression on his face. “Stay away from me, Gidget.”
“Stay away from you?!” I ask, lifting my chin. I refuse to feel shamed by my nakedness. I won’t let Grainger make me ashamed. “You’re the ones who won’t leave me alone! Everywhere I look, there you are. Demons, devils.” I hop down from the desk, grab a robe from the back of my bathroom door and slip it over my shoulders. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be left alone, but Cat won’t let me go. He doesn’t even like me, so why won’t he let me leave?” Tears threaten, but I won’t let them fall. My life is a mess, but at least I have one, right? I bet Posey and Queenie would rather be here suffering than buried in ice-cold ground with nothing to do but dream.
I should be grateful.
Instead … I’m ruination incarnate.
“You’re his daughter,” Grainger snaps, nostrils flared, standing in my bedroom doorway like a prison guard. I’d give anything to go back to that time, so long ago, when I thought the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club was a safety net, a group of soldiers to guard a princess. What a joke. If I am royalty, then I’m the heir to a dirty throne of motorcycles and madness. My crown would be made of chrome thorns, and my dress would be sewn of leather. I’d ride a metal beast to battle, and rule the underground of the city with fear and intimidation.
I don’t want to be a princess at all—especially not that kind.
“I’m his property,” I say, and Grainge doesn’t argue. So I pick up a wooden husky carving—a gift from Reba—and I throw it as hard as I can in the man’s direction. He lets it hit him and grunts, narrowing his eyes on me.
“So what? There are worse things.” The laugh I give in response to Grainge’s statement is so raw, so caustic that it burns even my ears. I still smell like blood by the way; I reek of it.
“Worse things than being trapped in a cage of chrome?” I ask, shaking my head and moving back into the bathroom. I try to close that door, and there the bastard is again, stopping me with a palm and pushing it inward. When he starts to take the screws off with his multi-tool, I lose my shit. I grab the showerhead and spray him in the face with hot water.
Grainger curses, and then he’s up and at me in such a quick, hot second that I don’t even have time to take a breath. He slams me against a wall with his hands on my wrists.
“You’re gonna pull this childish shit after the crap you put us all through today? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. You think you’re so goddamn mature, but you’re nothing but a spoiled brat who doesn’t know how good she’s got it.” Grainger’s hair drips in his face as the showerhead thrashes on the ground like a snake, spraying us both and sticking my robe to my body. Grainge dips his gaze down and stares at my nipples, clearly visible through the thin, white silk.
I do not expect his mouth to drop down and capture one.
Hot heat surges over me as he sucks me through the silk, playing with my nipple through the fabric and keeping me on my feet with my pinned wrists.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growls at me. “Some hot, quick, dirty fuck? Will that make you feel better, Gidget? Will that make you feel more grown-up?”
“Eat shit, Cade,” I snap, and I feel that hot rage spike through me again. Before I lose it, I grab his face and try to kiss him, but he jerks back, yanking me along with him and then planting me on the bathroom counter. He tears my robe unceremoniously from my shoulders, ripping his pants open and pushing my legs wide. I can barely breathe, my heart thundering so fast, the darkest, most wicked parts of me whispering horrible things in the back of my mind.
Someone died tonight.
Someone was shot.
The Grey Wolfe Mafia is after me.
Cat is going to kill me.
“Fuck me, Grainger,” I say, and it’s so hard to make even those words come out.
You’re going to regret this in the morning. You’re going to regret this so hard, Gidge.
Grainge slips a condom from his pocket, slides the ribbed latex over his shaft, and thrusts into my aching core before I can even think to take my own advice.
And oh.
Oh.
It feels so good and so horrible at the same time. When he kisses me, it’s like licking poison and loving it. I might die, but I won’t stop. I won’t stop drinking in this tainted water and wishing it would kill me. And his cock … that’s beautiful poison, too. He slides it into me with wicked thrusts of his hips, parting my folds, filling me up to the point of tears. These I try to blink back, but they’re physical, not
emotional, and so I can’t stop them. One falls before I can catch it, and Grainger licks it off. But not in a nice way.
No, there’s nothing at all nice about him.
I’m fucking a monster right now, I tell myself, but it doesn’t matter. I was raised by monsters. Fuck, maybe I am one? As much as I know that I should run from this life, pack up in the middle of the night, steal some money, and start over somewhere else … I also know that I won’t. I can’t. Maybe I hate this life as much as I’m addicted to it?
Grainger doesn’t say a damn word as he grips my ass so hard he bruises me, thrusting deep and fast and hard. He joins his body with mine, and yet he doesn’t look at me. When he kisses me, all I taste is the ashy darkness of hate. He hates me. He really fucking hates me.
That’s exactly what I want.
I put my arms over his shoulders, but only for leverage. I don’t need to touch Cade Grainger anymore than I have to, just enough to make this hurt go away. My lids feel so heavy, I let them close, let him drive into me with all the ire and frustration that I’m feeling inside. With the hot burn of his shaft inside of me, it’s hard to summon up old memories, and impossible to contemplate new ones. For a moment there, I just pretend that I’m a club whore, and Grainger is some face I won’t remember in the morning.
He sweats all over me, his groans filling my ears. Even if he doesn’t like me, I feel good. Even if I hate him, I can’t stop this craving, can’t make myself hate the feeling of having him between my thighs. His inked fingers cup my breast, but he isn’t gentle when he kneads the soft flesh and rolls my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
The showerhead continues to spray water all over the bathroom floor, flooding it, but neither of us gives a shit. Cat has so much money now, he can just hire someone to fix it. The only thing that matters right now is feeling that release, that freedom from the pain.
Fortunately, letting my body take over primal grunts and thrusts and pleasures means that I don’t have to think or feel. Instead, my rebellious body clamps down around Grainger’s as a climax hits me. It seems almost scandalous to feel so good after everything bad that’s happened, but the euphoria that scatters itself through my twisted veins is too much to resist.
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