Corrupted

by Alexis Noelle

  By Alexis Noelle

  Copyright © 2016 Ashley Piscitelli

  Cover by Cover Me Darling

  Photo by K Keeton Designs

  All rights Reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be given away to another person except when loaned out per Amazon lending program. If you’re reading this and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then it was pirated illegally. Please purchase a copy of your own and respect the hard work of this author.

  *Disclaimer - The book is not recommended to readers sensitive to graphic depictions of violence. This book is not suitable for persons under 18 years of age.*

  Acknowledgements

  To all the people that help me I am so very thankful. Just to name a few Rachael Duncan, Stephanie Phillips, Missy Borucki, Desirae Shie, Marisa-Shor, Robin Bateman, Beth Cranford, Shelly Shur, and Tbird London. Also to my friends, family, and my husband thank you for you everyday support.

  To the readers that love the story and the characters you are my rock stars!

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Sneak Peek Of Heinous

  Author Bio and Links

  Run.

  They’re coming.

  I can hear the engines rumble.

  I’m being hunted.

  Prey left defenseless.

  I need to hide.

  They can’t find me.

  They’ll kill me if they do.

  One hour earlier

  “I won’t do it!” I scream at my mother. “I don’t want this. I’m only fourteen; please don’t make me do it, Mama!” I plead with my mother to understand, that this life isn’t for me.

  “Lucy, you will stop this foolishness right now. This is what’s right, and come tomorrow, it is what you will do.” Her hard face stares back at me. She can’t really expect this of me. It’s disgusting.

  “I can’t.” I whisper, hanging my head in shame from disappointing her.

  “You can and will, whether you want to or not. This is not a discussion, there are no options. You will proceed according to the plan.” She grabs my arm and I wince as the pressure of her nails dig into my skin. “If you continue with this defiance, life will be hard or it may just end prematurely.” She roughly releases me and I stumble back awkwardly. The fact that my mother just alluded to my imminent death doesn’t escape me. She moves toward the door but stops short. “I hope he can straighten you out.” Her cutting words are flung over her shoulder before my father and my uncle enter the room.

  Their faces are creased with agitation and anger that their presence is needed. My father stands next to me, a tower of superiority and dominance. His eyes bore holes through me and his disappointment is prevalent. “Lucy, this will be more painful if you fight us.”

  Fight them? What are they going to do to me?

  They grab my arms and my fight or flight instinct kicks in. I start to thrash trying to make a run for the door. My uncle’s arm rises before his fist strikes my face. I crumple, trying to shield myself with the very arms they are restraining. I try to pull myself down to the floor but they are too strong, my shoulder screams from the pressure their hold is putting on it.

  “Stop!” I cry out, pain radiating throughout my entire arm. “Please just let me go.” I plead with them hoping they just give up on me.

  “Do I need to strike you again, girl?” my uncle seethes at me.

  I shake my head no, standing back up. That’s when I see it. The rope hanging out of my dad’s pocket. No. My blood runs cold through my veins.

  My fight comes back at double the force. I have to get away.

  “Take her, Christopher!” my uncle yells to my father. He grips both of my arms and faces me toward my uncle.

  “You will learn to do as you are told.” His fist slams into my side and if it weren’t for my father holding me up I would collapse from the pain. His blows continue in succession, each one hitting a different part of my body until every inch of my skin screams for mercy.

  My father releases me and I curl into a ball on the floor of my childhood bedroom. The childhood everyone is determined I do away with. My arms are pulled behind me and I groan in agony. Every motion causes electric pain to run through my limbs. I can feel the rope wrapping around my wrists. The constraints biting into my skin, the burn matching my aches from his fists. I’m pulled roughly across the floor to the bed.

  “You do not deserve to be comfortable. You are a sinner. You will spend tonight repenting for your indiscretions and unholy thoughts.” My father and uncle glare down at me. I can’t meet their eyes. The man who gave me life, and the one who may choose to take it away. They slam the door as they exit. The cold floor provides me no comfort as I stare up at my empty bed.

  I need to find a way out.

  An escape from the hell I’ve been sentenced to.

  I pull at the rope. With each tug, my shoulders and wrists scream for reprieve. I cry silently as I try to save myself. When I feel the rope start to loosen,my determination is reignited. I give it one last tug and a crack echoes through the room.I bite into my sweater to muffle my scream as I yell out in agony.The pain sears through me and I’m seeing spots, my vision going in and out. My wrist flops lifelessly, at the same time the lack of tension makes breaking free somewhat easier. One more tug and I’m free. The throbbing from my wrist almost causes a loud scream to rip from my mouth, but I swallow it knowing that will cause them to come in here. I crawl to the window, peeking out to see everyone standing in front of the house. I have to make a run for it.

  I slowly creep down the steps biting my lip to keep the sounds of agony threatening to pour out. My bones ache from the torture my uncle inflicted on my body. My hand touches the doorknob and I hesitate. They will surely kill me if I’m caught.

  He will end up killing you if you stay.

  I turn the knob and run as fast as I can. The rough gravel and rocks pierce my feet with each step. I feel like each movement is as loud as a crack of thunder. That’s when I see a light shine near me.

  “She’s runnin’!” Someone shouts.

  I’m dead.

  I keep running.

  I can’t be caught.

  Fight or flig
ht, my mind races. I run.

  I keep running.

  I can’t stop.

  My lungs burn.

  My body is on fire as pain shoots through me from head to toe.

  I push on.

  It feels like I have been running forever as my feet pound the ground beneath me.

  My will slowly fades.

  That’s when I see it.

  My sanctuary.

  My hope.

  A warehouse that’s completely shaded in the darkness.

  I need to hide.

  As we walk into the warehouse, something feels off. I put my hand out stopping Twisted from walking any further.

  “What are you doing, Prospect?”

  Prospect.

  That’s my only identity right now. It is not easy to become a full-fledged brother in the Deathstalkers MC. Most prospects have a year wait until the club decides they have proven their loyalty. Being a prospect is basically another term for bitch boy. You are at the club’s beck and call. Whenever they say jump you don’t even ask how high you just go for it.

  “Something’s off.” I look around and that’s when I see it. Blood. Not a lot of it but enough to tell me that whoever was in here had multiple wounds. I nod to the trails on the floor and Twisted reaches for his phone.

  “Pres, someone’s been here, or is still here. There’s blood on the floor. Prospect and I will check it out and I’ll let you know.” He pauses for a minute before sliding the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “Get your gun out and keep your eyes open.”

  I nod to him. If whoever broke in is still here, they are idiots. It is well known that this warehouse belongs to the club, which basically marks it as off limits. That’s when I see it. A small scrap of white fabric peeking out from under a crate.

  I tap Twisted on the shoulder pointing him in the direction and we slowly move toward the crate. He signals to me that he is going to lift it up. His fingers count to three, and when the crate disappears, I’m stunned at what’s under it.

  It’s a girl.

  She looks really young and is cowering in the corner her head tucked between her knees. She begins to whimper and her body shakes with the tears I have no doubt are pouring from her eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here?” Twisted’s voice booms and I see her shake from the force. I squat down to her level. “When she swipes a blade out and slits your throat you’re gonna be sorry, Prospect.”

  I know what he is saying makes sense. I don’t know who this girl is or if she was sent by someone. Except my gut is telling me that she came here looking for help, not trouble. I slip my gun back into my waistband. “Hey.” I tap her arm and she recoils closer to the wall. “Chill out. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

  Her head raises an inch and I am looking at the most gorgeous damn eyes I’ve ever seen. They are as blue as those oceans you see on commercials for exotic resorts. As beautiful as they are, they are full of an immense amount of pain and fear, not only that but they’re red-rimmed from crying. Her arms are covered in scratches, and I can see blood trailing down her legs.

  I clear my throat trying to soften my voice and ease her nerves. “Listen, you gotta start talking. If you don’t he is just gonna yell and kick you out on your ass. Why are you here?”

  “I . . . I need h-help.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

  “Do you want us to drop you off at the police station? Or call them? We sure as shit can’t bring ‘em here but we can take you somewhere to meet ‘em.” Calling the cops at any point is off the table. However, I can tell by her appearance that she needs some kind of help.

  Her head lifts all the way. “No, please!” She tries to yell but her voice cracks halfway through. “You can’t. They know the cops. They’ll make me go back. They’ll kill me!” I look up at Twisted as if asking him what to do. “You guys are the bikers right? C-can you help me?”

  “Help you how? How old are you?” People tend to run from us not to us. So to have her lookin’ at me like I’m her guardian angel is more than a little outta place.

  Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. “Fourteen.”

  “Fuck this shit,” Twisted shouts startling her again. “She’s a fucking minor. She needs to go.”

  “Please! I need help. I don’t have anyone.” Her eyes plead with me and that’s when I take in the state of the rest of her body. She is wearing a dirty long sleeved white dress. There is a bruise under her left eye, blood dripping from the multiple cuts on her legs, and she is cradling her wrist as if there is something wrong with it. I stand up and walk over to Twisted.

  “This shit has trouble written all over it. We need to kick her the fuck out of here.” His voice is hard and his face unaffected as he looks over at her. He has been a brother for years and I know he is probably right.

  As I glance back in her direction I can’t help but feel some sort of pull to help her. I shake my head. “We can’t just do that. It ain’t right.”

  “Fine! You want to stick your neck out for her underage ass then you talk to the Pres about it!” Twisted takes his phone, says a short greeting then passes it to me.

  “What the fuck is going on there?” Shooter, our President, yells in my ear. He has been president of the MC for five years, and is not used to waiting for anything, especially information.

  “We got a girl here. She looks beaten up, and is askin’ for help. Claimin’ she can’t go to the cops, ‘cause they’ll bring her back to wherever she ran from.” I hold my breath waiting for his reply. I would hate to dump this girl somewhere but if he gives the order, I don’t have a damn choice.

  “What are you not fucking telling me?” Everyone has always said that the Pres is like a damn lie detector, he’s good even over the phone.

  “She’s fourteen.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He is silent for a long time, so long that I pull the phone away to check and see if he hung up. “You and Twisted bring her here. Make sure she knows that ain’t no guarantee of shit, but she had to be desperate to hide in our fucking place.” The click sounds in my ear and I turn to Twisted. “He wants us to bring her to the clubhouse.” His face contorts in anger and disbelief before he shakes his head and walks away.

  I move back to her. “I’m gonna take you to our clubhouse. My President wants to talk to you. My only advice is don’t lie to him, if you do he’ll know and he won’t hesitate to throw you out on your ass.” She simply nods and moves to stand up.

  I watch her struggle before offering her a hand. She freezes almost immediately as if the idea of touching me scares the shit out of her.

  “I’m not gonna hurt ya, Sweets.” Her eyes go wide at my statement. She slowly takes my hand, her body shaking vigorously. Thank God we took the damn truck because there is no way she could handle being on the back of a bike right now.

  I lead her outside and once we step out the door her eyes dart around. She’s looking for whoever she was running from. I find myself pulling her closer to me in an effort to make her feel safe. I don’t even know her story but any animal that would beat on a kid needs to be taught a lesson.

  We walk to the truck and I help her in then climb in next to her before closing the door.

  “She needs to keep her damn head down if there really are people looking for her.” I nod at Twisted. I can tell by his voice he is agitated we are dealing with this.

  When I look at her, she ducks her head to the point that it is resting on my thigh.

  Looking down at her even in the state she is, she is fucking gorgeous. Her long dark hair cascades down her back. As we drive I want to ask her what happened to her, but I don’t knowing that it would piss the Pres off. He is going to want her story first and not want anyone else trying to get involved.

  I see her cradling her wrist once more.

  “Something wrong with your hand?” She jumps at the sound of my voice. She is really skittish.

  “I-I think it’s broken.” She doesn’t
say anything else. She seems to relax as we continue to drive.

  We pull up to the clubhouse and the metal gates begin to open.

  Hopefully, her story is good.

  And he believes it.

  As I walk into what he referred to as the clubhouse, my body aches with each step I take, and my heart speeds up. The place smells of whiskey like my father used to drink, and cigarettes. This is my shot. I need to convince them to help me. If they choose not to, I know my family will find me. I have no resources, no money, nowhere to go.

  The one who helped me is walking next to me. As we pass all the men, I don’t dare meet any of their eyes. I can feel their stares on me and my entire body is on edge. I stop when I see a large set of boots. Looking up I see an older man, wearing a leather vest and the patch that says “President.” This is the man who holds my life in his hands. My entire body shakes as my nerves get the best of me.

  “You two stay out here.” He looks behind me. “Come on in.” He holds the door open for me and I slowly walk through it and sit in one of the many chairs at the large wooden oval table. “You need to get up girl. You don’t have a patch you don’t sit there.”

  I jump up, standing in front of the table, scared to even lean on it for support.

  “I ain’t gonna mess around.” He sits down. “What were you doing in our warehouse? Anyone send you in there? You been hired by someone?”

  I shake my head quickly. “I needed somewhere to hide.” I don’t meet his eyes. I’m scared if I do that I might cry.

  “What ya hidin’ from? What’s your story girl?” I can tell by his hard tone that he has very little patience.

  I take a deep breath before raising my eyes to him. “My name is Lucy Evans, and I’m fourteen. My family is extremely religious, and all the men have multiple wives. Today was supposed to be my wedding day.” His eyes grow wide at my admission. “I was to be married to my uncle who already has nine other wives. He’s abusive to all of them, two are actually my cousins. When I told my mother last night that I couldn’t go through with it, she wouldn’t accept it. My uncle and my father beat me and then tied me to the bedpost. I think I broke my wrist trying to break the rope, but I got away. When I heard the trucks start, I knew they were coming for me. I saw your warehouse and from what I’d heard, they would never step foot in there. I guess I fell asleep at some point because your guys woke me up this morning.” I breathe finally after saying that all so fast that I’m not sure he heard everything. Admitting the depravity of my family is hard. Telling someone that your family wants to find you and give you to a rapist is humiliating.